He looked at the passenger seat, and for a moment he didn’t understand why it was empty. Then his gaze found the huge hole in the windshield, explaining the shattered glass everywhere. He saw the ridiculously large log that his precious Impala’s front was crunched up against, crumpled and broken. He saw the empty highway the stretched for miles ahead of them.

And he saw the still form of Sam’s unmoving body lying facedown twenty feet away in an obvious puddle of blood on the paved road.

“HELP! Someone call an ambulance!...It’s okay Sam, I’ve gotcha…SOMEBODY HELP ME, PLEASE!” he pulled his cell roughly from his pocket, dialing while Sam’s pain-induced tears mixed with the copious amounts of blood snaking down his chin and neck, “You’re alright, Sammy, I’m right here...Hello?! I’m at the Sunset Inn on Downy – something, something’s wrong with my brother...Stay with me Sam, c’mon!...I don’t know, there’s blood coming from his mouth…Hold on, Sammy, please…I-I don’t think he can breathe!...SAM!” Dropping the phone Dean grasped his brother tighter, pulling him up and close. He could still feel him trembling and hear him choking on blood.

Dean sat on his own bed and stared at the wall for hours, then put his face in his hands and sat like that for the rest of the night. Sam thought he heard him crying for a long time.

Sam hated that he couldn't get over his fear. He hated that he had nightmares. He hated that he was scaring Dean.

Sam hated himself for his weakness.

This is a collection of one-shots about the many times bad things happen because of good food. Dean believes that whenever he craves mexican cuisine, it's a bad omen.

And he's right.

[SEQUEL TO DIMENSIONS]

Sam tried to tell himself it was nothing at first, just his imagination; but more often than not Dean was shutting the laptop when he entered the room, taking off to undisclosed areas of the library during research lulls, and staring off into space in deep thought when he thought Sam wasn't paying attention. Sam was no idiot; Dean was hiding something.

After Anna's death in April, Dean is more than messed up. But what if death is only one-dimensionsal? Can Dean fight the curses that seem to follow him and the ones he loves, or will he learn too late that all of them are meant to be damned?

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For the first time, I wonder what'll happen if they don't find me. My mind starts to stumble over itself as I allow the possibility of dying alone in this place to register, and I suddenly feel like all of my insides are constricting, because this can't be happening, I can't be dying, I'm only nine years old, my family needs me...

I doubt anyone else has ever spent a New Year's Eve that was worse than this one.

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He was surely dying. You could not be feeling this and not be dying. He had to be dying. Please, let me be dying! This was too much to live with, Sam wanted it to end, needed it to end. Oh god it hurt so much, so bad, oh god make it stop, make it stop, make it STOP! He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but scream in total anguish, not knowing where his body began or ended, feeling, hearing, seeing nothing but the pain being afflicted on his being. It was pain beyond pain, and he welcomed unconsciousness as his body reached its limit.

NOW COMPLETED!!!

“What am I supposed to do Sam?!” he asked through the door.

“I DON’T CARE! FEED A SQUIRREL, PAINT A HOUSE! BUY A FRIGGIN’ BOARD GAME!”

So he did.

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John’s weary eyes widened as the realization came. Some place inside of him that he vaguely told himself should be filled with pride was instead pierced with sorrow, and flooded with dread as he registered the thought:

Dean was a murderer.

Thinking back later, Dean wasn’t sure what response he had expected.

Whatever response he might have imagined, nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.