Out of time 3/?

Chapter 2: http://caity78998.livejournal.com/1222.html

HOLY CRAP! I'm sooo sorry I didn't update in a while. I don't have much of an excuse really, just I kinda got a little bored and didn't know what to write.. I know, horrible.

But, I got creative and decided to write the next chapter.

Just a heads up, I'll be posting this story on fanfiction.net as well as on here, just because I already have a Supernatural fanfiction posted on there, and I'm generally on there more often.

Worry not, I'll still be updating here too, since this is where I started.

Once again, I do not own anything.

Enjoy. ;)

CHAPTER 3: On The Way Brother

Dean's day was mostly spent hunched over the toilet, puking his guts up, swearing an intestine must of come up after the horrible heaves.

By the time Dean was at least half sure that his stomach had settled for the moment, he was in severe cold sweats, trembling, and grabbing the edge of the bathroom sink until his knuckles were white.

He cautiously stood up to the sink and turned on the tap and rinsed out his terrible tasting mouth, then gently splashed his sticky face. He took a glance in the mirror; he was pale as white, there were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was sticking to his forehead as his body was sweating and shaking.

Woah, I look like crap. He said to himself, as he walked over to flush his discarded stomach contents down the toilet.

To his surprise, the toilet was filled with not disgusting vomit, but blood. His blood.

Dean took a deep breath, and flushed it down, trying not to think of things that could be wrong with him.

Probably just a stomach bug. A really bad stomach bug. It'll pass.

Dean rinses out his mouth and washes his face one last time, and sets out towards the bunker's kitchen in search for water, knowing he should probably get some fluids in him.

After a few minutes, he finishes his glass of water after taking extremely small sips, not wanting to irritate his stomach more than it already was.

He sets down the glass, sits at the table, and checks his watch. 7:43 pm.

Dean took many deep breaths, in, and out, but he couldn't stop the shaking. He closes his eyes, takes another breath, and tries to relax as much as he can, but the shaking continues. This must be one hell of a stomach bug, He thought.

But then again it was hard not to notice the throbbing pain and heat radiating from Dean's right forearm; the Mark Of Cain. Dean gave it a small rub, but the pain never subsided.

He ignored the annoying, painful throb, and went back to his room, where he found his beloved Walkman and headset, convinced that a playlist or two of Metallica could heal any sickness.

He lay on his back on his bed, Metallica continuing on, hoping, maybe, he'll be lucky and get some much needed sleep.

Dean never got past the 3rd song before he was running towards the bathroom once again as his insides screamed and his heart raced.

This was going to be a long night.


Sam had finished talking to the 4 teenagers that witnessed Mrs. O'Neil's appearance around 6 pm. He gathered some pretty interesting and helpful information too, and by the looks of it, if Mrs. O'Neil was an angry spirit like Sam had presumed, this hunt would be done in a day, two at the most.

The friends were hesitant at telling their story at first, but after Sam worked his kind hearted, caring FBI agent magic tricks, they were pretty quick to tell him all about the diseased teacher.

Apparently Mrs. O'Neil was having an affair with the school's principle, despite her own marriage and the school board's strict rule about absolutely no sexual relationships between anyone in the school.

The kids Rosalie, Ben, Cody, and Nikki had spotted the two staff making out one day outside the school, which as you would assume was pretty surprising at the least.

They didn't know what they should do at that point, but they were determined that they had to do something, so they all agreed to tell the official school board about the incident.

Just two weeks later, Mrs. O'Neil and the principle were both fired despite their commitment to the school. And to make the best of it, Mr. O'Neil had found out about the affair, later applying for a divorce to the former teacher.

Sam could easily guess that Mrs. O'Neil was devastated to say the least, and he found out that she had swerved her car into incoming traffic purposely after getting pretty drunk one night.

Sam assumed that Mrs. O'Neil had come back to punish the teens for ratting to the school board about her love affair with the principle, which is probably why the friends had seen her pretty angry when the teacher's spirit had appeared.

After doing some more research, Sam had found out she was buried at the White Hill Cemetery, a little over a twenty minute drive from the motel Sam was currently staying in.

He grabbed his duffel bag stuffed a gas can, a bottle of salt, and a lighter, and headed out the door, slinging the back in the bag of his dreadful van.

Before heading to the cemetery, he checked his phone once again, just in case.

No missed calls.

Sam sighed. Dean was obviously fine, why should he bother calling him? He was probably swimming in another bottle of whiskey like he had any other night, Sam thought.

If something was wrong, he would have called. Sam was sure of it.

He turned the ignition, and headed out of the motel's parking lot, despite the horrible nagging feeling that something was terribly, terribly, wrong.


An hour had past, and Dean was still retching over the toilet. His throat burned, his head throbbed, his legs were weak, Dean wasn't holding it together as much as he'd hoped.

This time around in the bathroom was much more violent and painful than his last puking sessions.

He spit out more blood, and fell back onto the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom.

Dean clamped his eyes shut and took deep breaths.

In, and out. In, and out.

He went to stand out to the sink, to rinse out his mouth, but unfortunately the change of position caused his nausea to reappear harshly. He barely made it to the toilet before he hacked up another wave of blood.

So Dean lid back down onto the cold tiled bathroom floor, and pulls his knees up to his chest, once again taking deep breaths in attempt to settle himself, not daring to try to get up again.

While in his fetus position on the cold floor, Dean ponders whether he should call Sam about this miserable sickness, but he came to the conclusion that he would call him if things got out of hand.

Sure, Dean was pretty miserable himself, but surely he could handle a little stomach bug, hell, he's handled much worse.

So Dean lid there on the floor, losing track of time, panting in a cold sweat and squeezing his eyes shut from the aches all over his body, and he fell into an uncomfortable nightmare filled sleep.


Dean's frightening dreams were about the no other Mark Of Cain. He saw himself murdering innocent people, women and children, cutting of their limbs, slitting their throats, watching them scream in pain and fear.

He saw himself stabbing and killing his friends and everyone he cared for, Bobby, his dad, his mom, Lisa, Ben, Cas, Sam, and the list continued.

He saw Sam, telling him they're no longer brothers again, and telling him to go to hell, then Sam killed him.

He had the same old dreams of hell, as Alistair sliced and diced at him in ways not even Sam could imagine.

So as you could imagine, Dean didn't wake up rather calmly.

Dean woke up with a loud gasp, and his breathing was extremely rapid. His head jolted, colliding with the bottom of the sink in a painful clunk sound.

He let out a loud grunt and attempted to even out his breathing. His body was sweating enormously, soaking him from head to toe, and to make the best of it, now there was an inch and a half gash on the top of his head, causing a trail of blood to trickle down the side of his pale face.

Dean dragged himself up and above the sink, fortunately not causing any horrible nausea to rise once again. Dean turned on the tap and rinsed out his mouth a few times, then splashing water upon his sweating face.

He examined the bleeding gash on his forehead, and concluded that it wasn't deep enough to require stitches, and that a couple butterfly cuts would do the trick, even though there was already a massive multicolored bruise forming around the wound.

Dean considered fixing up the cut right then, but then he remembered the med kit was in Sam's room, and that was just so far for Dean in his weakened state, so he decided to leave it until Sam returned. It wasn't too serious anyways, it could wait.

So instead, Dean attempted to make his way to his room. He needed a change of clothes; his sweat soaked ones were pretty uncomfortable as it is.

The nausea had somewhat subsided, but Dean was finding it extremely difficult to even stand up right. As he made his way to his room, his feet staggered and his arms hanged by his sides, unable to be lifted, like he was drunk.

When Dean made it to his bedroom, he had no choice but to sit down on his bed. He was sure he was ready to pass out, despite his attempts to stay awake and in control. His breathing had quickened and his heart thumped and thumped heavily, and his eyes were closing and opening at a slow pace.

I'll just change my clothes and then I'll lie down. Dean told himself, even though he dreaded going back to sleep and witnessing those terrible nightmares all over again.

After a couple attempts, Dean managed to stand up without falling back down, and he trotted over towards his dresser.

He removed his shirt slowly, not wanting to weaken his body further, and threw it on the floor.

No time to be neat. Dean thought to himself, he could feel unconsciousness threatening to pull him under with extreme force.

He opened up one of the drawers and examined the small collection of T-shirts he had, and that's when it happened.

The pain, it took over Dean's body furiously and boiled his insides. His head was about to explode and his heart was beating like it was ready to burst.

Dean screamed out in pain and his legs buckled, causing him to fall to the floor in agony.

He grasped at his head, pulled at his hair in any attempt to relieve the pain running through his body.

His muscles screamed, his limbs were weak, and Dean's right forearm burned the most.

The Mark screamed at Dean causing him to scream out in pain once again. It was glowing red, along with the veins around it.

Dean punched the floor, over and over, but the pain wouldn't go away. Every inch of his body was on fire, and he couldn't control it.

His heart continued to race and the sweat drenched Dean's body, running down his bare chest.

Dean had no idea what was happening. The pain came on so suddenly.

Dean's body jolted in agony and Dean screamed once more. His knuckles grasped the edge of the dresser, making them white, and the pain would not subside.

He reached for his pocket, where his phone was located, and sent a little prayer when his shaking hands had found it.

He speed dialed Sam's number, eyeing the red glowing mark on his arm.

Please pick up, please pick up.

"Yeah." Sam's voice sent a wave of relief through Dean's agonized body.

"Sam, come back to the bunker, s-somethings wrong, the p-pain Sam, it won't go away, n-need your help Sam.." Dean squeezed his eyes shut and punched the floor once again.

"Dean? The pain? Dean, what's going on?" Sam's tone was on full blown worry now.

"J-just come back... need your help Sammy, make it stop," unconsciousness gloomed over Dean, finally taking him over, crashing his body to the floor in a shaking, pale, sweating heap.

"Dean? DEAN! Are you with me? I need you to talk to me man, I'm on my way." The call ended, and Dean lay unconscious on the floor, phone still in hand.


Sam waited in his van for a while until he was sure nobody was going to be coming in and out of the cemetery for the night.

He grabbed his stuff from the back and headed in search for Mrs. O'Neil's grave.

After about 10 minutes worth of reading random headstones, Sam was sure he found the right one.

Eliza O'Neil: A loving wife and friend, may she always be remembered.

Sam grabbed his shovel and started to dig, ignoring the fact that the job would be much less effort and easier if Dean were here to help him.

An hour had passed, and Sam finally reached the casket.

The smell of the corpse didn't bother Sam much anymore, you get used to it after smelling it so many times.

He poured gasoline and salt over the teacher's body, then threw the lighter into the pit, watching as it lit up in flames.

After he was sure that the corpse couldn't burn any more and it was long enough, Sam extinguished the flames, and refilled the hole with the dirt.

Finally, the work was done and Sam headed back towards his dreadful van, grateful that the hunt went well and he could head back to the bunker.

He wasn't sure what would happen when he got back, didn't know what he would expect of Dean and him, but he was ready to go home, ready to face it.

That's when he got the call. He threw his duffel and shovel into the back and shut the door as his phone rang and vibrated in his pocket.

Incoming call: Dean.

Sam smiled, at least he cared enough to call him, he thought.

"Yeah." Sam thought Dean was probably just checking in to see when he would be coming home or how the hunt went.

"Sam, come back to the bunker, s-somethings wrong, the p-pain Sam, it won't go away, n-need your help Sam.." Sam's heart stopped. His breathing sped up. What was Dean talking about? He was fine when he left, what the hell is going on?

"Dean? The pain? Dean, what's going on?" Sam jumped in the car with his keys in his other hand, and inserted them into the ignition, shaking, and worried about his big brother.

"J-just come back... need your help Sammy, make it stop." Sam's heart was racing as he heard a thump on the other end of the call.

"Dean? DEAN! Are you with me? I need you to talk to me man, I'm on my way."

No answer. Sam hung up the phone and sped out of the cemetery, breaking every possible speed limit, desperate to reach his hurting brother.

He didn't care that he left his clothes back at the motel, or didn't care if anyone looked at him funny for driving such a vehicle.

Sam needed to get to Dean, and fast.


There you go folks! Chapter 3! Again, incredibly sorry for the wait.

I can't guarantee when chapter 4 will be out, but when ever I can, I'll start to write it.

Thanks a bunch for reading and I would love for you to review.

I will be posting this story on fanfiction.net, just because I love that website and generally I am on there more than this website.

Thanks a bunch, and stay happy;)


Out Of Time 2/?

Haven't read chapter 1 yet? Here's the link:

Okay, so I decided to go ahead and write chapter 2. I had all these ideas about what's gonna happen next, so my mind was like, exploding fanfiction sentences, and also, if this story doesn't work out like I had hoped, last chapter kinda ended in a little cliffy, so I might as well get that done because I for one get annoyed by cliffhangers.

Chapter 2 is mostly going to be around Sam, but don't worry, there will be Dean too.

DISCLAIMER: Like I said before, I don't own any of the Supernatural characters, just they're just too awesome not to write about.

Here it is folks, chapter 2.


By the time Sam finished his packing, got something quick to eat, and cooled down from his little argument with Dean, it had been almost an hour and a half since he last talked to his brother after he went into his room and said he was going to lie down.

Maybe I should go say goodbye. Sam thought. Sure, Dean had already said his farewells and "be carefuls" but it felt wrong leaving without talking to Dean.

So Sam went down the long hallway after cleaning up his leftover pizza from yesterday, and knocked lightly on Dean's bedroom door. Nothing. Sam open the door a crack, peering into his brother's room and heard...what? Snoring? Dean was snoring?

Dean never snored, unless he was really tired, but he couldn't be tired, it was 12 in the afternoon! They hadn't been on a hunt in at least a week, there wasn't much to be tired about.

Sam opened up the door a bit more so that he could fit his body into the room, where he saw Dean, curled up on top of his covers, asleep with his large headphones on, and yes, he was snoring.

Sam stands there for a minute, watching Dean in his peaceful, no angels, no demons, sleep. In a way Sam felt a little jealous. He wished he could sleep peacefully like that, but the nightmares of Gadreel and Kevin dying, and just everything prevents it. The thought of Gadreel brings up a little flare of anger, but Sam quickly pushes it down, and lets out a long, well deserved sigh, and walks out of the room, looking at Dean as if saying goodbye.

Sam grabs his duffel from his room on the way down, and grabs the keys to a 1962 grey Volkswagen bus that was parked next to the impala in the large garage, knowing that Dean would probably want the impala sometime while he was away.

He grabs a shotgun, silver knife, salt, gasoline, a shovel, and some rock salt shells from the impala and checks to make sure his lighter is in his jacket. yep, top left inside pocket.

After putting all of his things in the large vehicle, he lets a little chuckle out.
God, if Dean could see me driving this he would so make fun of me.
Which was true, Dean wasn't the only one hating the sight of the old bus, but Sam was sure he wouldn't get far until a panicked Dean would call looking for his "baby" if he never took it.

Sam takes one last look at the door to the inside of the bunker, sighs, and jumps in the old, rugged bus, twists the key, and drives, away from the bunker, away from Dean.


Dean wakes up from his "pleasant sleep" around 1:20PM, but his sleep was nothing but peaceful. His dreams were haunted with memories of Sam leaving for Stanford, Sam jumping into the cage with Michael and Lucifer (and can't forget Adam), Sam doing the demon trials, Sam saying all those hurtful things to him whether he was possessed or not, Sam not looking for him while he was in Purgatory, Sam choosing Ruby over Dean, Sam shooting Dean, and of course, Sam telling Dean that they're no longer brothers, and that he would let Dean die, which to him, hurt the most.

Overall, Dean's sleep was far from pleasant, but he is surprised to feel no sweaty, clammy skin or wrecked bed sheets like he usually does when he wakes up from a dream like that. Huh, weird. He says to himself as he rubs his face.

Dean's hand comes across the Mark Of Cain again, which is in fact, still warm, and now, Dean can feel a small pulse in it, imitating his own heart. Okay then.

Dean manages to get out of bed, use the bathroom, run some water over his face and head out his bedroom door.

The bunker is very quiet without Sam. Not that there was a lot of noise coming from Sam when he was here, unless the brothers were arguing, but the bunker was missing something. It was missing Sam. Dean wondered if it would be like that if he had left.

Probably not.

Dean walks out into the kitchen and opens up the fridge, realising that he hasn't eaten today. Milk, water, beer, more beer, leftover takeout Chinese food, a very old burger, some extra beer, and a leftover pizza.

Hm, pizza sounds good. Dean removed the pizza box from the fridge and carried it over towards one of the tables in the library, because Dean thinks that if Sam can go on a hunt alone, he sure as hell can too.

Dean sits at a chair at the first table, sets down the pizza and grabs the- oh, Sam took the laptop. Instead, he gets up and grabs a bunch of books and the most recent newspapers, and takes his seat again.

He sighs when he looks at the heck load of books and newspapers. This is Sam's job, he thinks to himself, but pushes it away, and grabs a big piece of his pizza, and chows down on it, moaning at the beautiful taste of it. Most people would gag at the cold, at least 4 days old pizza, but to Sam and Dean, it's a meal.

After grabbing a beer from the fridge, Dean continues his search for a hunt, on his second piece of pizza. He ignores the headache that is racing up to meet him, and is making him squint his eyes every now and again, but he decides it's because of the stress he's been enduring.

Once, he even checks to see if Sam called in the hours he has been away. Nothing. Taking another sigh, he sets down his phone, takes a well needed gulp of his cold beer, and opens up book number two.


The hunt Sam was heading to was around Hoxie, Kansas, so it was about a 2 hour drive from their bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, which wasn't too bad. Really, Sam wouldn't have went on the hunt if it was far across the country, but he didn't tell Dean that, and he probably wouldn't.

Once Sam reached the nearest, and cheapest motel, he parked the old, bus which made him a bit embarrassed to go outside to be honest, but he really has no other choice.

By habit, he buys a room with two queen beds like the ones he and Dean used to go in. As he walks in the room and spots his mistake, he just kind of shrugs it off and thinks that nothing is there, but really, it made an intense wave of guilt rise up like a punch in the gut.

Sam immediately sets down his duffel bag and drops the keys to the horrible bus on the table next to the window. He checks his watch, 3:17PM, and grabs his laptop from his duffel, which he sets at the table as well.

Sitting down at the rustic table, Sam turns on his phone and goes to calls, where his brother's name is first in emergency contacts.

He wants to call him so, bad, he just wants to check up on him, ask him if he hurt him too much, tell him he didn't mean it, even if he meant a little, but instead he turns his phone off, shuts his eyes, and lets out a really long breath.

I'll call him later. He says to himself, and opens up his laptop, puts in the password which is the only one both brother's could agree on (well, Dean insisted) Impala67. Sam goes on the news website where there is more information about the spotted dead teacher, where it says that she was said to have been murdered in her car that was parked on the side of the road a week after she lost her job at the high school in the area, but her body wasn't there, just a lot of her blood, enough to say she was dead.

Sam looks up the school's official website, which states something pretty interesting:

It is permitted that there be no sexual relationships between staff and teachers and students.

Apparently, this was because of the strong religious beliefs of the community, and that the school was a catholic school, where the students even had to pray for 5 minutes everyday.

He goes back to the news website, where it names the students who claimed to have seen her ghost.

"It was terrifying, seeing Mrs. O'Neill after she was claimed to have been murdered. She looked mad, and just started coming toward us. We a didn't know what to do, I mean, it's not everyday you see a dead teacher coming toward you." States one of the students Rosalie Jackson, who was with her friends Ben Walsh, Cody Williams, and Nikki Adams at the time.

I'll have to go see what she says. Sam skims through some more information about the teacher and the incident, and once again, checks his phone, where Dean's name is still at the top of the list.

Dean's fine, I'll just call him after I speak to those kids.

Sam changes into his "FBI suit", grabs his badge with the name Agent Harris, and heads out the door of his motel room.


Dean lay on his bed, covered in blankets, and shivering. An hour after he ate the leftover pizza from the fridge, he had to make a mad dash to the toilet, where he threw that (and probably everything he ate the past 2 days) up.

He threw up again, and again, and again, until he was dry heaving violently in the bathroom.

Once that was over, he sat down on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, back against the bathtub, taking short, panted breaths.

It was only 5 minutes ago that he managed to get the strength enough to get up and crawl under the covers of his bed. He looked up at the ceiling, then to his shivering self, then to his left, the right, back to the ceiling, and so on. He checks his watch.

5:51PM. Dean knew he had to get up sometime. He couldn't lay in bed all day just because of a stupid stomach bug, he has had much, much, worse, believe me.

So he claws himself out from under the covers where the air in the bunker that seemed particularly cold, hits his trembling body, making him groan. He grabs onto the headboard of his bed for support, and then any other steady object in reach, until he makes it out of his bedroom.

He moves along the hallway steadily, being careful not to upset his stomach more, which was something else that hurt besides his head, arm, and now legs.

He reaches the table where all his books and newspapers were spread all across it, along with the lamp, his bear, and ugh, that godforsaken pizza.

Never, eating pizza, again. Dean says to himself, managing not to throw up again from looking at the greasy, extra meet and cheese pizza.

He puts his half-full beer, and the pizza box back into the fridge, and sits down in his chair, once again, where he checks his phone.

No calls. No Sam calls. Dean sighs. Dammit Sammy. Even though Dean feels somewhat worried about Sam and curious to why he hasn't even left a voicemail to assure he's okay, he resists the urge to call him.

Can't be clingy, right? Sam doesn't need me, I'm not his brother. Dean runs a hand over his face, where his head ache feels like has gotten ten times worse, and just sits there, staring at his phone, like if he's waiting for Sam to call.Hoping, that Sam will call.

Realizing that it would probably be a while before his little brother calls him, Dean takes 3 more pain meds, and goes back in his bedroom to lay down.

22 minutes later, Dean throws up again, but this time there's no pizza or other food mixed into his vomit.

This time, it's blood.


There's chapter 2 folks! This chapter took me a while longer because I have 3 upcoming exams (gahhh), and this chapter was a bit longer then chapter 1. I won't be going into the hunt that Sam's doing too much, just a little here and there to develop Sam's side of the story more.

For those who are wondering, by the end of next chapter, Sam will be aware that Dean is sick, and will be headed straight home to an even sicker, Dean. So yeah, free spoiler there.

Thankyou a gazillion times for reading, I'm forever grateful. <3
Please review, give me some advice, some ideas?
Thanks again.

-Caitlyn out.

Chapter 3: http://caity78998.livejournal.com/1301.html

Out Of Time 1/?

Haven't read the prologue thing I made? Check it out here for the details:

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Winchesters or Supernatural characters. If I did, Supernatural probably wouldn't be the greatest show of all time (in my opinion). Gotta love Eric Kripke, bless him and his awesome creativity.


Dean awoke that morning the same as he did yesterday, and the day before, and maybe the day before that one? He can't specifically remember that one much, he had one hell of a hangover.
Why, you ask was Dean awaking into the land of the living inside the bunker almost identical to the time before, or why did he get so wasted he can't even remember the hangover? One, particularly, short, cute little name, Sam. Which was ironic, due to Sam being quite tall and muscular, and no where near cute when pissed off.
You see, Sam isn't messing around when he gets pissed about something (usually it's Dean). No, Sam likes to really let the person (or thing, you never know in their lifestyle) know that he's angry. How does he do this? He tells them things that a lot of the time he doesn't really mean, but as long as they get the point right? But this time, Sam was far, far, away from "messing around" or joking, after Dean had actually, unbelievably got Sam out of Closing The Gates of Hell, yes, the actual Hell gates, and oh, not to mention tricking Sam into saying yes to an angel so he can possess his body so he can heal him after Sam gets into a Coma. I know, right?
of course, Dean will not apologize, and never will, due to the whole save Sam life mission deal, and claims that the manipulation thing was worth it as long as his brother is alive.
So you know what Sam goes and does? He tells Dean they are no longer brothers, and to make matters worse, he goes and tells Dean that if it came down to it, exactly the way it happened to Sam, Sam would let Dean die rather than saving his life.
Now Sam knows that Dean would take in the way that Sam would just let his brother die, and not do anything to stop it, although Sam really meant it in the way that he wouldn't manipulate his brother, and let him die if he was ready like he was when Dean went and did what he did. Sam knows that way that Dean took it, and he would like nothing more than to just hold his brother in his arms and tell him the truth, but he's angry, and Sam doesn't mess around, so he decides to leave Dean alone, he needs to understand that Sam isn't happy with what he had done.

Of course, then Dean goes and gets that goddamn Mark Of Cain. It's not often that Dean comes into the bunker, beaten up, looking so exhausted you'd think he was sleep walking, and bearing a red, lumpy symbol on his right arm. Sam asks what it is, but the expected remark comes back afterwards.

"It's nothin Sammy, I'm fine, I'm just gonna head to bed. G'night." And with that Dean half limps, half trots down the long hallway and into his bedroom, skipping the shower, because he's so, damn tired, and not to mention his arm hurts like a bitch, so off to bed he may go.

Sam sighs and a small pang of guilt flickers across him, he's sure his harsh words took a large toll on his brother, but he can't apologize, not yet. Dean needs to understand.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why Dean wakes up identically every morning and gets drunk more often then he probably should.
His arm still has a dull throb, and his head hurts more then yesterday, not to mention he has a case of the sniffles. As usual, he gets up, showers, throws on the first plaid flannel shirt in sight (which is a forest green coloured one today), takes 2 or 3 painkillers for the headache and other aches that has yet to be healed from his encounter with Cain. It's then when he finally works up the nerve to walk out of his bedroom, and into the beautiful atmosphere in the pissed off, takes no bullshit Sam in the bunker.

Dean walks into the kitchen, which has a weird vibe of Sam. Oh, that's right, it's because Sam is sitting at the stainless steel table, coffee and newspaper in hand, staring right directly at Dean with little to no emotion in his brownish-hazel eyes. oh, great. Dean thinks to himself.
Ignoring Sam's unforgotten stare, Dean walks past him towards the coffee maker, which is dreadfully empty, which shows Sam took the very last drop of the bitter mixture. Sam used to brew another pot for Dean when he would wake.Guess not, Dean thinks.

"Good morning to you too Sam." Dean mutters, breaking the award-winning awkwardness currently in the room.

"Morning." Is all Sam's reply. Oh wait, was there some sarcasm in there? Wow, he really is pissed off, more so then usual. As Sam continues to read the newspaper in his hand, Dean slips in the seat in front of him, green eyes staring directly at him, then to the article in his hands.

A Group Of Teenagers Claims To Have Seen The Teacher Who Was Murdered A Week Ago
...Police are no longer looking into this incident due to the evidence of the teacher's death, even though her body has yet to be found.

"Any leads on a hunt there Sammy?" Dean raises an eyebrow, not moving his stare away from Sam.

"Not really." Sam replies, his tone still the sarcastic, annoyed voice that is only meant for Dean when he's pissed.

"Oh? What's up with the dead teacher and a bunch of those kids then? eh, maybe it's just one of those pranks they do these days right Sammy? Not our problem." Dean flips his head away from Sam who is now the one staring, and takes a sip of the coffee he brewed for himself since Sam drank all of the first pot.

"Well, Dean, I was thinking I would go finish that one myself." Sam looks down, unable to look Dean in the eye.Oh boy he thinks. This is gonna go well like I planned.

"By yourself." In the way Dean had said it, it was more as a question, like he hadn't heard Sam right, and less as a statement.

"Yeah, Dean, by myself." Sam puts down his coffee and newspapers so he's face to face with his tad-angered brother.

"Oh yeah Sam, that always works out well doesn't it?" The sarcasm in Dean's voice flips a switch of anger in Sam's head.

"Why wouldn't it Dean? I've been okay by myself before, what's different now? I don't need you clung to my side like I'm a little kid anymore, I can handle myself, it's just a regular, no hitch, salt and burn." Sam's tone rises more then he intends it to, causing Dean to be a little taken back from his response.

"When was the last time we did a regular, no hitch hunt huh Sam? Oh that's right, like never." Dean's tone however, stays the same, quieter, neutral sound, his eyes not leaving Sam's. What dean said was true though, Sam and Dean hardly ever went on a no-complications hunt, let alone one of them going themselves, even though they did do it times in the past.

"Dean, I'm going alone, and that's that. I need to spend some time alone for the time being okay?" Sam's tone still harsh, and a wave of guilt quickly washes over him after the words escape his lips.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's tone is hurt, but his walls of "Hey, I'm Dean Winchester, don't mess with me" stay up and strong.

"Look, Dean, all I'm saying is I need sometime alone okay? These past few weeks haven't been at all easy for me."

"Oh yeah, cause its been all love and daisies for me right Sam?" Dean runs his hand under his runny nose and looks down at his coffee mug which isn't steaming anymore. "But you know what? Yeah Sam, go on a hunt, I'll be fine here, you don't need me right? You've said it yourself that we're no longer brothers, I'll just slow you down."

Dean gets up with his coffee mug and heads toward his bedroom once again, clearly done with this conversation.

"Dean, where are you going?" Sam sighs, guilty as hell that he made his brother feel that way towards him. He wants nothing more then to run up and tell Dean how he really feels, that he needs his big brother, but he still believes that Dean needs to understand how he really feels about the Gadreel situation.

Sam Winchester doesn't mess around when he's angry at something.

"Just gonna lie down for a bit Sammy. Probably be asleep when you leave. Be safe okay? And get outta there if things go south. See ya Sam." Dean calls out, not turning around to see Sam's face right about now.

Sam just watches Dean leave, knowing he shouldn't start something. Ever since he got that goddamn mark on his arm, Dean has been, I don't know, off lately, and Sam notices it. Of course he wasn't happy when he had to do research and find out himself that the strange symbol on his brother's arm was in fact the Mark Of Cain, and when he confronted Dean about it, he just shrugged if off like it was no big deal.

I'll have to do some more research on it then, or just ask Cas. Haven't seen him around lately.

Sam gets up once his coffee is gone, still guilty due to the fact that he drank the last bit of coffee on Dean, but he didn't think he would get up so early, he was drinking last night again, and Sam knows he's the reason why, but he pushes those thoughts away and heads to his bedroom, ready to gather his things.


Dean just made it to his bedroom before he put his mug on the nearest surface and collapsed into bed. The unusual anger that came up to greet him during his unpleasant conversation with Sam gave him an intense migraine and made him so, angry. Usually, he would stay and discuss that he really didn't want Sam doing the hunt alone, but his head was pounding, his nose wouldn't stop running, and he was so tired for some reason.

He took another couple painkillers, even though he took some an hour ago, and slips off his shoes and lies on his bed.

His arm begins to throb again and he reaches to feel the mark on his right arm and is surprised to feel that it is warm, feverish like. He brings his hand to his forehead, where there is no feverish warmth to it. huh, that's weird. That hasn't happened before. He thinks, although he has only had the mark for around 3 weeks, so anything could happen at this point.

Dean ignores the hot feel of the raised skin on his arm, and puts on his head set, plugs it in to his phone, and turns on his playlist of Metallica. He shuts his eyes and the thoughts of Sam going on the hunt makes him a little uneasy, but that's what the music is for.

But one things for sure, Sam Winchester doesn't fool around when he's pissed, and from Dean's perspective, there's steam coming from Sam's ears.

The thoughts are pushed away by the guitar solos of Metallica, as Dean slowly drifts off into sleep, head still pounding, nose still running, and arm still aching and feverish, but it's probably nothing right? Yeah, Right.


There you go folks! My very first chapter for my very first fanfiction. It took a total of two days, and I'll start chapter 2 in a couple days, depending on the reviews (you know, if anyone reads it. Thankyou if you did, you beautiful person) anyways, I'm open to suggestions, please do let me know if you have an idea about what should happen next in the story, or if you have any writing advice. I'm in need, people, trust me.

If you're reading this, you have no idea how grateful I am of you. Please, please review, I really want to know if this is a good idea to keep it going, or maybe just a oneshot is fine.

Thank you so much you beautiful person, you are currently my favourite person in the world right now.

-Caitlyn out.

Chapter 2: http://caity78998.livejournal.com/1222.html

Out Of Time - A Supernatural Fanfiction(COMING SOON)

What if Dean really would die if he didn't kill enough whilst having the Mark Of Cain? In the TV series, Dean kills enough to satisfy the mark, but he does get sick while locked in the bunker's dungeon thingy. What if deep down, Dean knew that he would die if he didn't kill with the mark, but Sam, on the other hand, is still angry about the whole Gadreel possession and Dean manipulating him thing, yeah, that. Dean refuses to kill anyone, due to the fact that every time he does, it grants the mark more control over him. Dean gets a little everyday, first he gets the sniffles, than a little cough, then he runs a low fever, you get the drift, although Sam doesn't really notice. Maybe it's just the flu right? But how will Sam react when Dean gets really sick and collapses?

Okay, so this isn't my first fanfiction, although it is my first one posted. I agree, there is much work to be done to my writing, and I am in need for practise, as I assure you, this fanfiction will not be one of those ones that have amazing grammar and beautifully written sentences. I'm only a girl, who though "hey? Why not write a supernatural fanfiction and post it online! Nothing can go wrong!" Now of course, I don't expect people to save (can you even save stories?) or forward, or favourite, or even like this story, although I would appreciate even one read, one like, one forward? I know, I'm dragging on this prologue, or whatever you may call this, but I just wanted to put it out there that I am no talented writer people, just a girl with a new computer that is purely in love with the show Supernatural (and maybe has a small crush on Jensen Ackles, but who doesn't?)

Anyways, this story will come soon. I am unsure on how many chapters it may be, it could be a oneshot, who knows? It all depends on the reads and reviews my fellow SPN lovers. I assure you, I am beginning writing tonight, and will continue tomorrow, but I'm unsure on how long this chapter or story may be, so just don't have any expectations, okay?

Here's to my first attempt at a public fanfiction (dear God what have I gotten myself into).

-Caitlyn out.