Hi. Missing scene from 7x17 - set after Dean leaves Sam's room.

I haven't written anything for weeks and feel very, very rusty. I hope you will still enjoy. And thanks Becky, you know for what ;)

Oh, by the way... Supernatural? BEST. SHOW. EVER.!

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING!

He stares at his brother's face before he sees his eyes flash to the wall again. Damn it, he sees him. The bastard is right there and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it.

Please Sam. Don't give up. Please.

After everything, this is how he is going to lose him. Right here, within these walls. And the whole time, as his body starts to shut down, Sam will see and hear that Lucifer dick giving him the play by play as he withers and dies.

He takes one last look at his brother and swallows at the acceptance he sees in Sam's eyes before the room seems to close in around him and he is overcome by the urge to flee.

'You knew this was going to happen.'

'When you put my soul back, Cas warned you…'

He staggers slightly as he exits the room, the vision of Sam dressed in 'crazy whites' and looking like a warmed over piece of crap seared into his brain.

His hand searches for the wall as his knees decide they want to take on the consistency of jello; as his body threatens to send him tumbling to the cold concrete floor below. He shuts his eyes and runs a clammy hand down his face, his agitation and guilt at war with each other.

His fingers skitter across his skin and he opens his weary eyes to stare at them as they shake and spasm in a badly choreographed display in loss of control.

Footsteps approach from behind and he does what he can to quickly regain his composure and stand to his full height. He slowly begins to move, one foot ahead of the other as the hallway starts to shift in and out of focus as he goes.

The doctor walks past him and waits at the exit to the floor, his eyes analyzing him with features full of compassion and concern.

He dares not acknowledge the look he sees on the man's face, he doesn't deserve sympathy or understanding, he just wants and needs to get the hell out of there.

He can't breathe, he feels like he is suffocating in that dark hallway. His brain whirrs in his head, searching to come up with a plan to fix his brother but he sighs in frustration when it is constantly met by emptiness. He's got nothing, he doesn't even know where to start. How do you fix someone's head when Lucifer is holding on; when his claws are shoved right into your brain?

"Why don't you come back to my office and sit down for a moment Dean? We can talk about Sam's condition."

His head snaps up and a low chuckle erupts from his throat. It's a deep, rattling noise and it probably makes him sound like he should get a room right next to his brother. The doctor's eyebrows knit in confusion at his reaction but he just shrugs his shoulders and forces a heartless smirk to flutter across his lips.

The mask is still there, although it barely contains the splinters and cracks that threaten to split it wide open.

"Thanks Doc but that ain't gonna help the fact that Sam is…" He looks back behind his shoulder and homes in on the light filtering out of the place where he just left Sam alone. Well, alone.. that would be nice. But to Sam alone just happens to mean being trapped with Lucifer as his ball and chain. He shivers. "Sam is..." His eyes close as he struggles to formulate his jumbled up thoughts into something coherent. "Gotta get outta here and look for help. Help. I can find it… I, I know I can. He's gonna be fine, I mean, he has to be... it's my job... my job... keep him safe... fix him... save him..."

The thud of his heart pounds in his chest and along his veins. He keeps his eyes closed, not willing to look the man in the eyes, unsure of whether he can keep his emotions bottled up and unwilling to let them shine through to a complete stranger whose term 'psychotic break' is the freaking understatement of the year.

He flinches at the touch on his shoulder and when he opens his eyes and they slowly come into focus he is looking directly into the other man's kneecaps. Huh, okay, time to leave, didn't even register that his body gave it up and sagged to the floor.

"I don't think you should be going anywhere right now. Maybe you need to talk about how this is affecting you."

He shrugs out of the gentle hold of the man and slowly raises himself onto unsteady legs. God, he wishes he would stop looking at him like that. He did this to Sam. He… started it. If he would have just… but he couldn't live with Sam without a soul. Right. He couldn't. Never thought once about Sam. Christ, he is the selfish dick.

But.. what was he supposed to do? Let the part that made Sam Sam stay in the pit to spend eternity as those bastards' plaything? No. He wouldn't do that to Sammy, he couldn't. As soon as he found a way he didn't hesitate, didn't stop to think about anything else other than how he had to save the essence that defines his brother from being shredded and ripped apart down in that damn cage for one more second because...it's his job. It's always been his job. To look after Sammy. To save him.

He shudders when he realizes he never really stopped once to consider the price his brother would pay if things went south. Not until now, when everything inside him screams out that it's too late.

"I'm fine. Besides, talking won't solve this. But, maybe I can fix it. Action. Mine. Gotta try and undo what's been done. Now open the door doc, I got some calls to make. No offense, but your therapies don't stand a snowball's chance."

The doctor eyes him warily once more before he moves aside and lets him pass through the door.

He barely manages to make it to their shit car of the week before the mask cracks completely and he explodes in a fury of anger and helplessness. Fists fly in every direction to land on anything and everything within reach. Only the overwhelming yet welcome throb in his torn hand stops the assault, the beating having served its purpose to expunge some of the turmoil from within.

He peels out of the parking lot and grips the wheel so tight his fingers go numb. He screams out curses towards Heaven and Hell; towards angels and demons; towards Cas. He curses them all, over and over again, until his voice is hoarse and the tears start to stream silently and unabashed down his paled skin.

His chest heaves and he swipes his injured hand angrily across his face, fresh blood mingling with the moisture that continues its journey from his bloodshot eyes.

His gaze shifts to the rearview mirror and he sucks in a breath. The gaze hardens and hatred oozes outward from his glare to be levelled squarely onto the bastard who started all of this; the one whose selfish actions have robbed his brother of his life.

When he bellows out another string of curses the object of his loathing is clear.

They are aimed at one person. Him.

End. Thanks for stopping by.