Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Synchronicity ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

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Thanks bunches to my beta Starliteyes for giving me her stamp of approval!

 

Synchronicity

 

Chapter Three

The edges of Dean's vision started to darken, compressing the bleary details of the room down to a small prick of light at the end of long tunnel. From a distance he could hear ragged, animalistic panting, and vaguely he recognized it as his own. He had no sense of connectedness with his own body, almost like his soul was already abandoning its shell, but his skin was hyper-sensitive to the smallest touch. He could feel a cold bead of sweat as it rolled down the back of his neck, leaving an icy trail in its wake, a fingerprint of death. The duality of being separate from himself, yet so aware the smallest sensation sent him into a panic that turned his stomach.

Through the haze of fear only one thought crystallized with any sense of clarity. Sam was going to be so pissed when he came back to the room to find him dead. Pissed and then devastated. Dean couldn't stop the grief that welled up inside of him. He knew what it felt like to hold your dead brother in your arms. He knew what it was like to look down onto the face that was the center of your world for nearly your entire life and feel loss so profound that it overcame you.

It hit him then. He was going to leave his brother alone and defenseless the world. He was going to fail in his duty as big brother and Sam would be the last Winchester standing. There would be no one left to protect him, to watch out for him. There would be no one to help him grieve, to wrap an arm around his heaving shoulders as he cried. And Sam would cry just like he had at Dad's funeral pyre.

Tears began to stream down Dean's face, and a shock of adrenaline shot him to his feet. He swayed drunkenly, almost falling face first into the shag carpet. He caught himself against the pine nightstand, racking his knuckles hard against the corner. The sharp crack of pain cleared his senses enough that he was able to stand upright without passing out.

He had to see Sam. He had to tell him that he was sorry, and that he loved him. He had to tell him that it was okay that he was dead, and that it was meant to be. He had to tell Sammy, that no matter what, he had to let Dean stay dead, because you shouldn't play with dead things.

He had broken that rule, and now Sam was the one who had to live with the consequences. Dean was sure that wherever Sam had been it hadn't been hell, but he couldn't say for sure what would happen next time around. Sammy wasn't the same as he had been, and Dean was sick with the thought that maybe he had destroyed something precious inside his brother when he resurrected him. Something that he had no right to fuck with in the first place.

He stumbled out of the hotel room, blindly making his way towards the library. The October morning was crisp and cold and his hard-won breath puffed out of his mouth in a cloud. He had to get to Sam and apologize to him before it was too late. He had to make amends. He wove an uneven path down the street, and with every step the tightness in his chest loosened, but the sensation of needing to find Sam, to be near him only intensified. His steps became steadier, and he raced down the street, wiping his wet face with the back of his arm.

He passed an alleyway and a fission of awareness raced down his spine. He slid to a stop, backing up to peer down the small side street that was lined with trash bins and wadded newspaper. Sam was slumped over against the sooty brick wall, his long legs folded beneath him, his head dangling to his chest.

“Sam!”

Dean barreled up to his brother, dropping down beside him to check for a pulse. Sam lolled his head back, and Dean flinched at the thin stream of blood that dripped from one nostril, trailing down his chin. Sam's eyes cracked open, and the bright, sliver of blue-green was nearly neon with his intense emotions. Dean thought he saw something flash through them, something unnatural, perhaps supernatural, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Sam reached out a mammoth hand, curling his fist into the label of Dean's leather jacket so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

“Dean,” he croaked.

“What happened? Did someone jump you?” Dean took a moment to scan the alleyway suspiciously, looking for any hint of a threat.

“Heart.”

Dean's wide eyes shot back to his brother as he rasped out the single word. Sam dragged on his jacket, pulling him closer. He tried to wrap one monkey arm around Dean's back, but Dean resisted the embrace.

“Please,” Sam begged, nearly shattering Dean's cool reserve. He allowed his little brother to pull him into a tight hug, pressing their chests together. He wrapped his arms around Sam, fisting his hands into the folds of his tan jacket. He rested his head on Sam's shoulder, briefly closing his eyes, taking comfort that his little brother was alive. That he himself was alive.

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, strong and steady like the beat of a drum. Beneath the rhythm was a second beat. It was distant, an echo beneath an echo, but with every second it became stronger, synching up with his until they aligned together in a vigorous staccato.

Two shall become one. One body.

Dean's eyes shot open with shock and he reacted on instinct.

“Get off me, you girl,” his voice was shaky and he fought to bring it under control.

They parted. Sam's eyes clear and focused, Dean's heart unharmed.

“What the hell just happened?” Dean asked roughly, shoving himself away from Sam to stand. His brother braced his back against the wall, using it to steady himself as he stood. Dean watched as Sam wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, smearing it across his lips. Another swipe left him relatively clean, but Dean could still see the crimson sheen of it in his mind.

“I don't know. I was walking, and my chest started to hurt. Then I started to think about you and how much I needed to get back to you, but by then I was too weak, and all I could do was stumble into the alley.”

Dean looked away from Sam uncomfortably. More unsettled by Sam's description of events rather than the raw need he saw in his brother's eyes. He remembered the overwhelming sense of panic he felt when he left the hotel room. The absolute need to be near Sam once again.

Sam peered at him suspiciously, knowing that he was hiding something from him.

“How did you know where to find me, Dean?”

Dean shoved his hands into his pocket, glancing behind him at the foot traffic that was passing back and forth at the mouth of the alley. He didn't see any sense in lying to Sam, but this was a whole other level of weird for them. And that was saying a lot.

“I felt the same. I thought---“ He grimaced and he rubbed his chest in much the same manner he had before they had visited LeGrange. Sam nodded in understanding, having felt the intense pain in his heart and fearing the worst.

“Then it was like you said. I just had to see you.” The words were simple, and he shrugged dismissively, but both men heard the wealth of meaning underneath.

“Okay.” Sam looked at his feet, his genius brain kicking into overdrive. “This has to be a symptom of the curse.”

“Yah think, college boy?” Dean clapped Sam on the back, leading him out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. He was relieved that the emo moment had passed and they could get back to what they did best, hunting.

“We need to find out her name.” Sam pulled out a piece of paper and pencil, jotting down some notes. Neither man mentioned what had just happened or what it potentially meant. Emotions on both sides were too raw to be poked at just yet. Instead they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Sam concentrated on the question and answer portion of the hunt, while Dean thought about his ammo stash and what he had that would more than likely kill a sorceress.

Wordlessly they fell in step together, walking back to the Impala. The first thing they needed to do was find their way back to her house, and after the events of the last few minutes they were unwilling to allow each other out of their sight. Never mind the fact that it may not even be physically possible to do so.

They slid into the car, and Dean pulled out, the route to the witch's house more easily remembered than her elusive name. They drove past the house once, watching for any shadowy movements through the windows. It was a small, white cottage with mint green trim, tucked away behind a picket fence overgrown with flowering plants. The neighborhood was old but tidy, and the trees that lined the street were tall and mature. Seeing nothing, they circled back, pulling up to the prettily painted mailbox to snake some of her mail.

Dean handed Sam a single envelope, leaving it to his brother to break yet another Federal law.

The brothers drove around the neighborhood, scouting the area to become more familiar with the landscape. They rolled past the bar where Dean's misadventure began, but it had long since closed down for the night and wouldn't open again until the afternoon.

“Coffee. Food. Library.” Dean suggested.

“Yeah, definitely. It says her name is Elizabeth Montgomery.”

Dean smacked his hand on the steering wheel as a flash of insight struck him.

“That's right, now I remember. Lizzy. I remember thinking about that stupid rhyme about Lizzie Borden.”

Sam looked at him in askance for a moment before he realized what he was talking about. “Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks and when she saw what she had done she gave her father forty-one. That rhyme?”

“Yah, that's the one. Now I bet that chick's house has some serious paranormal issues. We should go check it out someday.” Dean shot Sam a grin from the corner of his mouth as he drove.

Sam took the time to roll his eyes at Dean's ADD like ability to randomly jump subjects, but didn't reply. He glanced back at the envelope, staring at the black, block print on the front.

“I don't think so, Dean.”

“What do you mean?” Dean steered the Impala towards the local diner that had decent coffee and WiFi. Now that they had a name they could do a little research and get something to eat while at it.

“If I remember correctly Elizabeth Montgomery was the name of the actress on Bewitched.”

“The blonde? Samantha?”

“Yah, that's the one.”

“She was hot. That nose thing she did was a total turn on.”

“Dean.”

How his brother managed to fill one word with so much exasperation, he had no idea. Must be all those female hormones of his, Dean thought with a long, suffering sigh.

“Besides, I Dream of Genie, was way hotter,” Sam muttered and Dean grinned at him. That's my boy!

“Could be a coincidence.” Dean parked the Impala in front of the diner, and eyed Sam.

“Yah, and demons and angels have tea together, eat cucumber sandwiches and exchange office gossip about their bosses.” Sam pitched his voice into a prissy imitation of a girl that made Dean choke with laughter.

Still snickering, Dean shrugged as he got out of the car. “It's possible. You never know. A guy is a guy, no matter what he is. And if having tea is the way to get hot angel tail then a demon just might do it.”

Sam followed him, slamming the car door as he exited. “Does everything have to revolve around sex with you?”

“Look, I'm just saying. It could be a coincidence.”

“Because that happens all the time in our line of work.”

Dean grinned in acknowledgement to the dripping sarcasm as they entered the diner. He automatically scanned the crowd as they walked through the room, mentally memorizing small details right down to the color of some cowboy's boots who was sitting at the counter drinking coffee. They took a seat in a corner booth, and Dean placed his back to the wall, facing the entrance.

Sam looked oblivious, but on the way into the diner he had memorized the license plates of every car in the parking lot, and he was pretty sure that the guy who passed them on the way out was an off duty cop. Luckily the guy was too tired after ending his night shift to take too much notice of them. Sam had flashed him his sincerest, I'm just a kid, look that had reassured the man that he had nothing to be concerned about.

A tired looking woman, wearing a yellow uniform trimmed in pink, took their order, not bothering with pleasantries. Neither of them cared, mutually agreeing that six am was too early for perky small talk. They both requested coffee and Dean ordered bacon and eggs, while Sam ordered toast and oatmeal.

Dean grimaced at Sam after the waitress left.

“I don't see how you can eat that slop.”

“I like to be healthy. I don't want my heart to explode when I'm thirty-five.”

Sam's grimace matched Dean's as the words came out of his mouth and he rubbed a big hand across his chest. His face screwed up into his patented, I want to have an emo moment expression, and Dean scrambled to distract him.

“Yah, well I guess I don't need to worry about that.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had screwed up. Oh, for fucksake, can't I ever say anything right?

“Cause, you know.” His words trailed off, and Sam gave him the most miserable hang-dog look ever at the reminder that Dean only had eight more months to live before the crossroads bitch took possession of his soul.

“Give me that.” Dean snatched the envelope he had given Sam earlier, ready to open it now that he had shoved his foot down his throat. Sam snatched it back, his monkey arms having a longer reach than Dean's.

Sam kept his eyes steadily on the envelope as he tore it open to read the contents. Dean had erected a very thick, impenetrable buttress when it came to anything regarding his deal with the devil. No matter how often Sam tried to get him to talk about it, Dean shut him down until it felt like he was just ramming his head into a steel wall.

All Sam could think about was that four months had already passed, leaving him with only eight short more months to figure out how to save his brother or lose him forever. He swallowed down the coffee and acid that threatened to creep up his tight throat and forced himself to speak with some measure of calm, hiding his near panicked emotions behind his own steel wall.

“It's a credit card statement. Nothing much. Some charges for shoes and clothing.”

“Keep it. We might need it later.”

They ate their breakfast while Sam scrolled through the internet, but a name search only pulled up biographies of the actress Elizabeth Montgomery, not the mysterious woman they were investigating.

“Can you hack the credit card database? Find a previous address or something?” Dean asked, waving his fork in Sam's direction, dropping some of his speared scrambled eggs onto the table.

“Yah, but that will take a while. It would be easier if Ash was here.”

Both men fell into a moment of silence as they thought about the lives lost at the Roadhouse the night of the fire. Yeah, Ash had been a freak. A crazy smart, freak genius, but he didn't deserve to die.

“We should call Bobby. He might know how to break this curse if we can't talk her into dispelling it.” Sam's tone was subdued, and it made Dean uncomfortable. Then again, everything that reminded him of Sam dying made him damn uncomfortable.

“Dude, remember the last time this happened?” he asked, trying to distract his brother with levity.

Sam rolled his eyes up from the laptop screen to glare at him.

“How could I forget? You shot me with a crossbow.”

“Well, you shouldn't have gotten between me and my target.”

“You shouldn't have fucked both sisters and gotten involved in their little rivalry.”

“How many times do I have to tell you Sam? I didn't know they were sisters.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to drink strange potions? And more importantly, you shot me.” Sam faced him, full of indignation.

“Yah, like you're the only one who can say that.” Dean cast him a look full of underlying meaning that shut Sam up with a snap, his face twisted in regret.

Dean sighed heavily. “Dude, she spiked my beer. How was I to know that throwing back a few would get me turned into Sarah's little lap dog? It was a good thing you were there to stop me from killing her sister though. It just sucks that you had to put yourself in the way to do it. Besides if you hadn't been there to negotiate a temporary cease fire between the two I still might be down in Texas playing pony to her cowgirl.”

A fleeting frown curved on Sam's lips as the imagine of his brother on his hands and knees naked except for a pair of cowboy boots while the hedge witch Sarah rode him bare back invaded his mind. He chuckled hesitantly, feeling vaguely uneasy as he tucked away the laptop while Dean paid the bill.

They decided to walk across the street to the library where they spent several hours researching the local newspapers for any recent disappearances or oddities. The only thing the brothers found were articles they had already read about the local haunting. There was nothing to suggest that the area was being besieged by witchcraft, which meant that Lizzy had been laying low and behaving until Dean had to gone and pissed her off.

By the time they had finished up it was two in the afternoon, and the tavern where Dean had met Lizzy would undoubtedly be open for the late lunch rush. They headed over, Dean taking the lead when they entered the bar. The bartender wasn't the same man from the night before, but he figured it was worth a shot asking about Lizzy.

“US Marshals.” They simultaneously flashed the badges at the bewildered man who blinked at them, his gaze panning between them.

“Wow, you two been partners for a while, huh?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, brows furling in subtle confusion.

“Why do you say that?” Dean asked.

The bartender pointed at them, his hand swishing back and forth between them.

“Cause, you know. You two move, like as one or something.”

They stared at him deadpan, before Sam cleared his throat. “We're looking for some information on Elizabeth Montgomery. You might know her as Lizzy.”

“Lizzy? Sure I know her.” The bartender was short, topping off at five seven and he barely looked old enough to drink much less serve alcohol, but Sam supposed he didn't look old enough to be a US Marshal either. Flash a badge though, and people will believe anything you tell them.

“What can you tell us about her?” Dean licked his lips, wondering if asking for a beer would blow his cover.

“Nothing much. She showed up about six months ago. Doesn't work as far as I know. Hangs out here most nights.”

“Does she have any family in the area? Friends, perhaps?” Sam chimed in, flashing his dewy, trustworthy eyes.

The bartender shifted, his eyes rolling to the side as he thought over Sam's question. “I never heard her mention anything about family, and she's kind of a loner.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean finished, knowing that they weren't going to get anything else out of the guy.

“Hey, why do want to know about Lizzy?”

“That's our business, friend.” Sam replied coldly, his puppy dog eyes melting away into seriousness.

“Yah, sure. Okay.” The guy said nervously before turning away to fill the waitress's drink order.

Dean shot Sam a look, but otherwise ignored his brother.

They interviewed a few more people, but they all pretty much had the same thing to say. Lizzy had shown up six months prior, completely out of the blue. No one knew where she had come from and she had made no new friends while in town. It was a total dead end.

“It's like she never existed before coming here,” Sam muttered as he glared out the windshield from the passenger side of the Impala.

“Maybe she didn't. Maybe she's like some sort of Fairy or sumthin'. Comin' over here to cause some trouble before high tailing it back to la la land.”

“I think it's more likely that she's human. She probably moves around a lot using an alias to keep from getting caught.” Neither brother wanted to meditate on the similarities between their lifestyle and the witch's.

Dean shrugged and started the Impala. It came to life with a familiar roar and Dean instantly felt relaxed as the powerful vehicle rumbled beneath him.

“Doesn't matter. The only way to get this done is to go straight to the source.”

Sam didn't like it, but Dean was right. Their investigation had turned up no leads and a quick call to Bobby had revealed that the only thing that could break a sorceress's curse was the witch herself.

They parked the Impala around the corner of Lizzy's house at dusk. They had put together a couple of charms that were supposed to deflect magic, but they had little faith in their effectiveness.

They loaded their shotguns with rock salt, knowing that a blast wouldn't kill her, but it would sting like a mother. A wicked sneer twisted Dean's upper lip at that thought. He would rather put a silver bullet through her cold heart, but they needed her alive, at least until the curse was broken.

They stuck to the shadows, approaching her small cottage from the back. They slipped over the fence, hunching behind the bushes. The house was dark, but since it was early evening they hoped that she was out at the bar and not asleep yet. They had both decided the best way to get information on Lizzy was to go through her things before they confronted her. Maybe if they were lucky they could find a Book of Shadows or anything that would give them leverage over her.

They crossed the small yard quickly, Dean flipping open his pocket knife as they went. A quick glance told them that the house wasn't wired for an alarm and was easy pickings. Dean slid his knife under the window, flipping the lock that held it closed.

He pushed up the window, his shoulders and biceps bulging when it stuck for a minute. Finally, decades of old paint cracked and the window slid open with a loud creak. Both men froze, listening intently for soft foot falls in the house, but there was only silence. They belly slid into the room, realizing instantly that something was wrong.

The room that they entered was completely devoid of possessions except for a few dust bunnies in the corner. Dean and Sam exchanged a measuring look before searching the rest of the house. Every room was barren, as if no one had ever lived there. There weren't even any indentation marks in the carpet where heavy furniture had sat.

“Are you sure that this is the right house?” asked Sam, his face drawn in confusion.

Dean's expression matched his, but it was quickly melting away into nervousness.

“Yah, I'm sure.”

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam's voice raised a little and Dean knew he was getting nervous as well.

“I don't know, but it isn't good. She's cleared out.”

“I can see that, but to where?”

“Fuck if I know, Sam. Antarctica, maybe.”

“Not funny, Dean.”

“No shit.” Dean took one last look, concealing the shivers of dread that raced down his spine from Sam. “We gotta shag ass out of here.”

Something was wrong, and Dean couldn't get over the lingering sense that he had walked straight into a trap. He wanted out of the witch's lair, and out of the back-ass town while he was at it. Sam didn't argue as they made their way back to the Impala, stowing their weapons in the trunk before sliding into the front seat. Always ready to bail at a moment's notice they didn't need to go back to the hotel to pack their stuff. By the time they hit the city line, Dean was already doing eighty.

They drove in silence for about a half an hour when suddenly Dean jerked the wheel to the right. They hit the gravel, fishtailing to a stop on the side of the road. He slammed the Impala into park, breathing heavily though his nose as he switched off the car. For a minute the only thing that could be heard was his heavy breathing and the rhythmic ticking of the engine as it cooled.

“Get out of the car, Sam.”

“What are we doing?”

“Stop arguing with me and just do it.

Sam shot him a glare, but Dean ignored it as he climbed out of the car. Sam followed him, slamming the Impala's door for good measure.

They were parked next to a large open field that was drenched in light from the full moon that had risen. Dean waded out into the waist deep grass, Sam trudging along beside him. The night had already cooled after the mild warmth of the day and dew settled onto the long, green blades. It dampened their jeans, chilling their legs, but they ignored the discomfort as they drew towards the center of the meadow.

“We have to know how bad this is.” Dean's voice was soft, but it was filled with trepidation.

Sam nodded, already understanding what his brother wanted. He veered off to the left, while Dean went right. They walked away from each other, hearts clenching and lungs failing every step of the way.

They walked until they couldn't stand the pressure any longer, until the pain and panic of separation nearly crushed them. They spun around, jogging quickly back to each other, meeting in the center of the field. They stood side by side, their arms pressed so tightly together from elbow to shoulder that they could feel their blood thrumming beneath their skins. They hovered like that, the anxiety of being apart nearly forcing them top of each other as their hearts synched up once again.

Both brothers were panting heavily and Sam could feel Dean's moist breath as it feathered against the hollow of his neck. Breath of life, he thought distantly, knowing that someday the familiar sound of Dean's breathing might disappear forever. He could feel the heat radiating off Dean's body, the increase in temperature due to adrenaline. Dean's body heat always spiked when he was getting ready to hunt or fight, the excitement of it warmed his blood, flushing his skin. Sam recognized the subtle nuances of Dean's physiology like he recognized his own face in the mirror.

Or he used to. Now when he glanced in the mirror, he saw something different---a shadow that was gathering in the deepest pits of his eyes. He barely even looked anymore, using Dean as his mirror instead. He used Dean's unwavering faith in him to guide his actions, judging himself by the reflection he saw in his brother's eyes.

Sam didn't talk about it. Just like Dean didn't talk about dying in eight months. They both had something to hide from each other, secrets that were needed in order to maintain a sense of normality. Sam wasn't sure what Dean was hiding, but he could guess---guilt, regret and worst of all, relief. Relief that he wasn't going to be the last man standing in a world that could not see him past the masks he wore. Dean's greatest fear was to lose everyone that he loved, to fail them when they needed him the most. The demon bitch had solved that for him. If he was dead there was no chance for disappointment or heartbreak. As an added bonus, he got to die as a hero, making the ultimate sacrifice to save his little brother. It was a classic Dean way to die, going out in his own idealized blaze of glory.

Sam tried not to be angry at Dean for that, for his selfishness in believing that it was acceptable for him to die, but not for Sam. No matter how Sam tried, there was no dispelling it. The rage remained, simmering just beneath the surface---out of bounds—out of touch. And there it would remain for as long as they didn't talk.

Sam had his own secrets to keep, so he allowed the silence to drag on between them. The unthinkable was happening to him, the darkside was calling in a sing-song siren's voice that was impossible not to hear. Late at night, when their hotel room was dark and the traffic from the nearby freeway had dulled to a minute roar, he could hear it whispering to him. It egged him on, told him things he didn't want to know, showed him things he didn't want to see. To escape the wickedness, he lost himself in his mind, sinking deep, down where only his most primal self existed. Nightly he fell into a light meditative stupor that left him exhausted in the morning, but his soul still relatively intact.

He thought about telling Dean, enlisting his big brother's help, but as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the dark night, Sam knew that it wouldn't be possible. Dean unswerving belief that his little brother couldn't possibly turn evil had hampered their ability to deal with the very problem that was threatening them. There was no point in talking to Dean, because for Dean there was no problem.

So they erected their walls, refusing the peer over the battlements to the other side for fear of what they might see. Sam often wondered how it was possible for two people to be so incredibly close physically, understanding each other down to the subtlest facial tick, but so emotionally separate that having a conversation might actually result in bloodshed.

A thin cloud floated over the fat moon, and the shadows around them deepened. An entire lifetime spent in the dark made them more creature than human. Light to them was inconsequential, and the darkness was welcome.

They didn't speak, couldn't find the words to express themselves. As one, they turned to walk back to the Impala, sliding silently into the front seat. They stared out into the lonely darkness that surrounded them, feeling safe yet threatened at the same time.

“What do you think? Fifty meters?” Sam asked without looking at his brother. He suddenly found the endless night stretching out before him to be of keen interest. In the distance, above the jagged horizon of pine trees, he could see the twinkling of stars.

“Maybe sixty if we pushed it,” Dean replied tonelessly, staring out into the same deep night.

“This is bad, Dean.” Sam's voice pitched, and Dean swallowed in response, feeling his own turmoil boiling to the surface.

“Bad? This is fucking catastrophic,” Dean ground out in a brittle voice, wrapping his hands around the steering wheel, his fingers tightening until his knuckles bleached white.

They ceased to speak, each man contemplating the ramifications of being physically bound to one another. It was impossible for them to be separated by more than fifty meters without collapsing, and maybe even dying. Their bodies were linked together as one. A single entity that needed the other to live, like a heart needs blood or lungs need air. They were cursed to walk as one until the next Harvest Moon, a full year away.

Forced proximity wasn't even the worst of their problems. Dean's eyes slid to the side, golden, green hidden beneath a veil of shadowy lashes as he covertly watched his little brother.

What, he wondered, would happen to Sam in eight months if they couldn't break the curse, and Dean was pulled into Hell?