Not The Demons You're Looking For - (24 Parts)

[crazy_cat_girl]

Gah! This is soooo exciting! That mean and nasty Y.E.D. was such a good freaking villain for the show!

I love that this is Sam's P.O.V. How much he worries about Dean is adorable.

I am loyally waiting for the next part. I can't wait to see what happens!!!

[Aprilcot]

DON'T BLOODY STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Merry Christmas by the way,

HOW CAN YOU STOP THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CONTINUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have a good new year,

[iluvsneezes]

The story can't be almost done! You've done an excellent job with it, I'm dying to find out what happens, but I don't want it to end either.

[W.I.N.]

Gah! This is soooo exciting! That mean and nasty Y.E.D. was such a good freaking villain for the show!

I love that this is Sam's P.O.V. How much he worries about Dean is adorable.

I am loyally waiting for the next part. I can't wait to see what happens!!!

I loved the YED. Fantastic villain, especially because they used him so sparingly. Good times.

DON'T BLOODY STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Merry Christmas by the way,

HOW CAN YOU STOP THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CONTINUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have a good new year,

Happy New Year to you too!

Don't worry, I'm not really stopping there. The story will actually continue.

Although I'm tempted to stop just to see how many exclamation marks I can make you use.

The story can't be almost done! You've done an excellent job with it, I'm dying to find out what happens, but I don't want it to end either.

Aww, thank you! I feel the same way: I'm really excited about finishing up the story, but I'm kind of sad that it's ending, too. I mean, I've been living with this story since December 1st, and I've been writing it almost every day. It's like a friend now. *sigh*

~W.I.N.

[ID2006]

*does a happy dance for the return of this wonderful fic*

Can't wait for more of sick Dean... although this last part was really good plot wise.

[W.I.N.]

*does a happy dance for the return of this wonderful fic*

Can't wait for more of sick Dean... although this last part was really good plot wise.

Yeah, I couldn't make that part work without ignoring poor Dean for a whole chapter. So I just torture him a LOT more in the next one, just to compensate.

~W.I.N.

[Aprilcot]

Hey!!!! LOL!!!

There would be no words, just the entire box filled with exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!! Glad you are going to continue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[obsessed]

... wow. Another cliffie? Evil, brilliant woman.

[LOSTfreak]

I love all the angst and how you keep leaving me on the edge of my seat, wanting more! When I'm torturing myself in between chapters, going crazy until the next one gets posted, that's actually a very good thing. I want moooooooore....Have I tackle hugged you enough? *tackles hugs* Poor Sammy, now our pretty sicky must get out of bed a try and rescue him. *giggles giddily*

[W.I.N.]

Hey!!!! LOL!!!

There would be no words, just the entire box filled with exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!! Glad you are going to continue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LOL

That would be hilarious.

... wow. Another cliffie? Evil, brilliant woman.

Afraid so. I also fear that you won't like me today, either.

I love all the angst and how you keep leaving me on the edge of my seat, wanting more! When I'm torturing myself in between chapters, going crazy until the next one gets posted, that's actually a very good thing. I want moooooooore....Have I tackle hugged you enough? *tackles hugs* Poor Sammy, now our pretty sicky must get out of bed a try and rescue him. *giggles giddily*

Aww, thank you! *hugs you back*

I'm really glad people are enjoying this story so much.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Okay, so I'm really really mean and this is another cliffhanger. Sorry.

I've almost finished writing the story, and it looks like there are 24 chapters total. I'm not quite done, and I'm having a few issues getting the narrative to work the way I want it, so there's a slim chance it might be 25 chapters, but I highly doubt it.

Anyway, yeah. Thanks for sticking with me, folks! I love you guys.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 21

Dean had to hand it to the kid, even while he was protesting he was helping, and pretty efficiently at that. Not that he would admit it except under torture, but he knew there was no way he could manage this on his own right now. Hell, he could barely stand. Every time he so much as moved his head the whole room swayed drunkenly on its axis, and he shook with hot and cold flashes, trying to pull himself together enough to move, to get going, while in his head Sammy-Sammy-Sammy played on loop in time with his heartbeat.

Andy pulled him to his feet, steadied him on his arm. “Okay, if you insist on going through with this really really stupid plan, then you're at least going to let me help you so you don't end up getting you both killed. Come on, lean on me.”

Without fuss he helped him out of the pajama bottoms, handed him clean clothes, propped him up once when it looked as though he might fall over. “Did I mention this is a really stupid plan?”

“Yeah, you did.” Dean leaned on his knees, coughing. “Got doh choice. Sab's id trouble.”

Andy handed him a glass of water. “Drink. You can't help Sam if you can't stand up or walk straight. Sam took your car, so I'm guessing most of your gear is with him?”

“Yeah.” He drained the glass, felt slightly better. “That's dot a probleb. The odly thig we deed is this,” he pulled open his duffel bag, took out the case which held the Colt, the one bullet they had left still chambered. He held it tightly, willing his hands to stop shaking. At least the hot flashes were subsiding. Andy left him sitting on the bed, refilled the glass in the bathroom, came back with it.

“Come on, at least two more.”

“We're wastig tibe.”

“No, we're not. We'd be wasting time if you passed out halfway down the stairs, and you're wasting time by arguing with me. Come on. You know I'm right. I've been right all day, I'm totally on a roll,” Andy squatted on his haunches next to him and grinned ruefully. Dean rolled his eyes, drank the water. Andy gave him a handful of Tylenol with the last glass. “All right. Grab my arm, let's try that again.” He hauled Dean to his feet, and this time the floor stayed mercifully still. “You good?”

“Yeah. Let's go.” He pulled away at the last minute, buried his nose in his elbow. “Huh... huh-ISHOO! Oh, cobe od! How is that eved fair?” he asked, eyes directed at the ceiling.

“My van's in the street. How you doing?”

“Peachy.”

By the time they got down the stairs the dizziness had faded, and gently he shook off Andy's supporting arm, hurried out into the pouring rain. It was pitch black outside, what little light that had been filtering through the clouds during the day long gone. The moon was well concealed behind the clouds, and the rain was falling so thickly that it was nearly impossible to see more than a few steps ahead of them. He climbed into the passenger seat, clipped his seatbelt in place, and dissolved into a sneezing fit as Andy twisted the key in the ignition.

“Hih... HHEISH! ISHOO! Huh... HEPTSCHUH! HAISHOO! HEKSHUH!”

“Bless,” Andy pulled out in a screech of rubber, windshield wipers flopping wildly in a futile attempt at improving his visibility. “If anything jumps out at us, we're dead, you realize this?”

“HHKPHH! Yeah, jusdt drive, would you?” Dean was not appreciating the cruel fates who thought it would be amusing to inflict sneezing fits on him in the middle of a crisis. At the very least, he felt that the adrenaline rush should have taken care of the sneezing, if nothing else. This was just insulting.

“Workin' on it. Uh... you got a plan for when we get there?”

“Working od it.” The congestion was clearing a little bit, at least. Maybe that explained the sneezing. “HPKTSCH!”

Dean wasn't exactly the planning type. The man with a plan, that was usually Sammy. Sam of the freakish intelligence, whose brain went off in sixteen directions at once and was able to make sense of things before anyone else even realized there was something that needed making sense of. Dean was more the shoot first, salt and burn the corpse, maybe ask questions later type. In their line of work, that was generally the safest way to go. The van sped through the streets at a speed that impressed even him: for a laid-back guy, Andy certainly knew how to handle his wheels. The moment the van had come to a stop and before Andy had had time to throw it into park, Dean had cleared the front seat and was sprinting —well, trying to sprint— across the lawn toward where Sam had parked the Impala in the driveway. He pulled the spare keys from his pocket, opened up the trunk, grabbed a shotgun and a canteen full of holy water, just to be on the safe side.

He heard Andy coming up behind him, but didn't stop to wait for him, stumbled up the front stairs to the house, grabbing hold of the railing to help pull himself up. The front door was ajar, salt scattered in all directions, and as he went in he heard shrieks coming from the second floor. Andy's footsteps sounded on the outside steps just behind him, and he could hear him breathing in hard, almost-panicked gasps.

“Stay here!” He started up the main staircase. “Sam!” he cursed mentally as his voice cracked, didn't carry further than a foot or two. “Sam!”

There was another shriek, and suddenly the upstairs hallway was filled with a terrible, flickering glow, which in Dean's experience could only mean one thing: fire. He took the stairs two at a time just as smoke and flames began billowing through the open door of the baby's nursery. He threw his arm up in front of his face as the heat threatened to blister his skin, the familiar scent of sulphur filling his nostrils.

“Sam!”

He pulled the lapel of his jacket up, ducked low as the flames roiled over his head, barrelled into the room, scanning wildly for signs of Sam, of Lesley, the demon, anything. The smoke cleared for a moment and he spotted Sam sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath the windowsill from a gash at the back of his skull. There was no sign of the demon, but Lesley was cowering against the wall, both hands over her head. He reached out with one hand, pressed two fingers to Sam's throat, checked for a pulse, felt his own heart rate decrease when he found one.

“Dylan, where is he?” he barked. “Lesley!” She didn't answer, pointed wordlessly toward the crib.

“Dean?” Steven was in the doorway, his face pale, shaking with naked fear, but his eyes were clear, small fists clenched at his side.

Dean leaped back to his feet, threw himself toward the crib, snatched up the now-wailing Dylan and thrust him into Steven's arms. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Steven, go!” He heard his father's words come tumbling out of his mouth, again, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Wide-eyed, Steven clutched the baby to his chest, turned and ran, almost colliding with Andy, who gathered them both up and took off at a sprint back down the stairs.

“Sam, come on!” he grabbed his brother by the shoulders, shook him until he coughed and moaned, his eyes fluttering open. “Come on, wake up! I can't get both of you out by myself. Sam!” he bent over, coughing as the smoke coiled around them, tried to prop him up against the wall.

A moment later Sam reached out, thumped him reassuringly on the arm. “'M good.” He struggled to his feet. “The demon, it was here...”

“Yeah, I know. We'll deal with that later. C'mon, we gotta get Lesley out first. Can you walk?”

Sam nodded, and with one last pat on the shoulder Dean left him to get out under his own power, ducked through the flames to snatch at Lesley, who had curled into a ball in the corner of the room, surrounded by flames on all sides. He yanked off his jacket, threw it over her head, hauled her to her feet.

“I need you to move, Lesley! Now!”

She whimpered, fought against him, her eyes wide and panicky, and he pinned her arms to her side, began dragging her toward the door. Halfway into the hallway she finally seemed to understand that he was taking her to safety, started making an effort to help, though she was disoriented and still slightly panicked, her legs not holding her up properly. By the time he got her to the door they were both coughing and choking on the thick smoke, and he shoved her unceremoniously out onto the wet grass, fell to his knees, coughing so hard he thought he might puke.

“Dean, you okay?”

He nodded, flapped a hand vaguely in Andy's direction, while Lesley threw herself, sobbing, at her waiting children, all but crushing them to her and covering them with kisses.

“Where's Sam?” he kept coughing, spitting soot-filled phlegm onto the grass. Nasty.

“I don't know. Last I saw, he was right behind you.”

“Shit!” Dean scrambled to his feet, his heart in his throat. “He's still in there!”

“Dean, wait!”

He ignored Andy's cry of protest, took off back into the house. Smoke and flames were spewing from the upstairs windows, the glass shattered in all of them. The heat had intensified, and he felt the hair on his arms singe as he forced his way through the wall of hot air. It coiled in his nose and lungs, burning with a dry heat that made his mouth taste of ash. Sam had passed out in the hallway, was collapsed halfway across the threshold of the nursery, and without bothering to try and get him up Dean just grabbed him under the arms and dragged him backward down the stairs. At the bottom his own legs gave out, trembling from the exertion, and he half-crawled, half-dragged them both, coughing and gasping, spots swimming in front of his vision.

Andy was waiting just outside the front door, and between them they managed to hoist Sam up, pull him out of the house and onto the soaking wet grass next to Lesley and her children. Once he was sure Sam was breathing and out of immediate danger (and, seriously, how many times was he supposed to drag Sam out of a burning building in one lifetime?), Dean allowed himself to stretch out on the ground a few feet away, beyond caring that he was drenched through with rain, both arms wrapped around his ribcage as he coughed, feeling as though all of his insides had been replaced with smoke and ash. He rolled onto his side, the rain beating cold against his face, tried to will himself to his feet, but his legs refused to cooperate, scrabbling uselessly on the wet grass.

The next thing he knew, he was staring into the eyes of a strange man in a grey suit. As he watched, the man's eyes flickered yellow, and he leaned over, grinning wolfishly, to whisper in Dean's ear.

“You're too late. You always are.”

Somehow Dean managed to twist around, to pull the Colt from the waistband of his jeans, even cocked it without having his hands shake, but as he leveled the barrel at the spot where the demon had been standing, he found it was already gone.

*****

[obsessed]

... Whoa.

[crazy_cat_girl]

That was super intense.

Dean repeating his father's words like that....wow.

[W.I.N.]

... Whoa.

I take it you liked it?

That was super intense.

Dean repeating his father's words like that....wow.

Thanks! They already did something like this in the show (in "Home"), but I wanted to re-explore it anyway, give Dean a chance to really walk in his father's shoes for a moment, and redeem the situation by saving the girl, since Sam's the one who saved the woman in "Home," if memory serves. Dean needed a chance to be in control, at least in my opinion.

Thanks for commenting! Comments are happy, happy things.

~W.I.N.

A quick heads-up.

I'm leaving town overnight, so the next installment will be going up later tomorrow night.

Hope everyone has a great couple of days in the meantime.

~W.I.N.

Mod Note: Merged posts ~Mute

[Lady Blessington]

Andy pressuring Dean to drink more water and helping him get up and get out of the jammies and helping him walk when he's all dizzy made me so happy! The string of sneezes, the suspense, the action... 25's a much nicer number, don't you think? All round and... bigger?

Have a great trip!

[MusicaDiabolos]

Awesome chapter, I'm a fan of an awesome plot

[starpollen]

Andy pressuring Dean to drink more water and helping him get up and get out of the jammies and helping him walk when he's all dizzy made me so happy! The string of sneezes, the suspense, the action...

I AGREE. I love all the caretaking. And the fact that there is - literally - a life-or-death situation that forces them to keep moving, not allowing him time to rest and get better. Definitely a great reason for uber-awful-sinus-infection-sneezy-shivery-coughing-feverish-Dean. Which, of course, is the best kind!

[LOSTfreak]

This story is the best! I'm drawn in by the entire thing, not just the sneezing. That's an odd thing for me, when Dean's sneezing all over the place, sickly and precious, and I'm still captivated by the entire story. You've got me all nervous about what's going to happen to the boys. I'm already bouncing from excitement, because I know how great you are at getting a new chapter up everyday.

[W.I.N.]

Andy pressuring Dean to drink more water and helping him get up and get out of the jammies and helping him walk when he's all dizzy made me so happy! The string of sneezes, the suspense, the action... 25's a much nicer number, don't you think? All round and... bigger?

Have a great trip!

I'm back!

Thank you.

Alas, it ended at 24 chapters. Any more and I'd just be forcing the issue for no good reason. You wouldn't want meaningless filler would you?

Andy turned out way more awesome and less waffly than I thought he would.

Awesome chapter, I'm a fan of an awesome plot

Thank you!

Andy pressuring Dean to drink more water and helping him get up and get out of the jammies and helping him walk when he's all dizzy made me so happy! The string of sneezes, the suspense, the action...

I AGREE. I love all the caretaking. And the fact that there is - literally - a life-or-death situation that forces them to keep moving, not allowing him time to rest and get better. Definitely a great reason for uber-awful-sinus-infection-sneezy-shivery-coughing-feverish-Dean. Which, of course, is the best kind!

It really is the best kind of Dean, isn't it?

Yeah... I'm not giving Dean much of a break in this story. Then again, he never really gets a break in the show, either.

This story is the best! I'm drawn in by the entire thing, not just the sneezing. That's an odd thing for me, when Dean's sneezing all over the place, sickly and precious, and I'm still captivated by the entire story. You've got me all nervous about what's going to happen to the boys. I'm already bouncing from excitement, because I know how great you are at getting a new chapter up everyday.

Wow. I'm super pleased you're enjoying the story! I've been trying very hard to keep it entertaining on levels other than just the sneezing (although that's an important aspect, don't get me wrong!), so it's nice to know it's working.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

I have returned from my trip! Thank you for being patient, and here's the next installment. It's a good thing torturing fictional characters isn't illegal, because I'd be in jail by now.

Uh, I dunno how this happened, but there's no sneezing in this part either. There is in all the rest of the story, though, I promise!

Warning: Severe emetophobes should probably give this one a miss. It's non-graphic, but it does happen.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 22

Sam awoke on his back, staring at group of unfamiliar silhouettes above him, became aware of someone trying to press something over his nose and mouth. He panicked and flailed, trying to push away the hands that were trying to restrain him. Another set of hands grabbed his wrists, grappled with him, held him down.

“Easy, now, son. Take it easy! Let us do our work, now.”

“Dean!” he couldn't breathe, and coloured spots danced before his eyes.

“Keep him calm, dammit!”

“Come on, now. What's his name?” The question came from the strongest one, the one holding his wrists.

“Sam.”

“Okay, Sam. Take it easy. You breathed in a lot of smoke. You have to keep that mask on for me, okay Sam? You hear me?”

He nodded, forced himself to stay calm, tried to pull off the mask anyway. “Dean. My brother... there was a fire,” he coughed, suddenly grateful for the pure oxygen that managed to find its way into his lungs. “The kids...” he gasped, coughing harder, until he felt a hand pat his shoulder reassuringly.

“Everyone got out, don't you worry. They're all safe. Your brother, the kids, the woman. Everyone. They're all going to be fine. Just settle down.”

He felt the tension drain out of him, started to cough again as he allowed himself to feel the effects of the smoke inhalation. Everyone was safe, it was all that mattered. Soon he was surrounded by the bright lights of an ambulance, the buzz of machinery and anxious voices. Then he was staring at the fluorescent lights of a hospital ceiling flashing by, voices raised and barking numbers and words that he was pretty sure he would have understood under normal circumstances. He let his mind drift, faded in and out as an I.V. was hooked up to his arm and began pumping him full of what felt like a really awesome painkiller. He submitted without protest to being manhandled into a seated position so that someone with deft fingers and a really good local anaesthetic could stitch up the laceration at the back of his head, flopped back bonelessly when they were done. It was nice, for a while, not to have to think too hard about anything. When he was finally able to focus again, he found an older woman grasping him by both shoulders, speaking directly into his face.

“Sam, are you with me?”

He blinked, sat up a bit. The oxygen mask was gone, and when he put up a hand gingerly to probe at his head he found it wrapped in gauze, padded where he remembered it connecting violently with the windowsill. “Uh,” he managed, trying to figure out what she'd been saying before. He could hear a commotion coming from further down the hall, raised voices, tried to make out what they were saying.

“You with me, son?”

He made an effort, pulled himself together. “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

She smiled, and he decided he liked her. She looked a little bit on the maternal side, which didn't hurt, with grey hair that was rapidly going white pulled into a braid, and soft brown eyes with long lashes behind a set of rimless glasses. “Don't worry about it. You have a solid concussion, that'll throw anyone for a loop. I'm Dr. Nichols, just follow my finger, okay?” When he did so without too much trouble, she smiled. “Good job. How're you feeling?”

“Like I went ten rounds with a monster truck.” He sat up, poked at the bandage on his head.”

She laughed. “Sounds about right. You're doing pretty well, considering the number of stitches I had to put in the back of your head. No dizziness, disorientation?”

“No. I know my name, I'm pretty sure it's Thursday, and we're in Guthrie, right?”

“Bingo. So you definitely have a concussion, but it looks like we don't have much to worry about in the brain injury department. Now that you're clear-headed, can you tell me if anything else hurts?”

He shook his head. “No, I think I got lucky. I'm kind of sore, but nothing bad.”

“Good job. Umm, are you feeling up to coming with me? Normally I wouldn't ask, but we need your help with something.”

“Uh, sure. What is it?” Sam felt his brow crease, perplexed.

She gave him a rueful look. “We're having some trouble with your brother.”

“Dean?”

“Yes. He's... he's resisting treatment. Keeps fighting off every attempt we make to help him, keeps demanding to know if you're safe, what we've done with you, except he doesn't seem to believe us when we tell him you're being taken care of.”

Sam rubbed his forehead and grimaced. “Sounds about right. How is he? Is he hurt?”

“Not badly. Not as far as I can tell, but he's definitely suffering from smoke inhalation, and he's been altered since he woke up, belligerent even. He won't let me near him to even try to examine him. He's not really coherent, but I think it would go a long way to getting him calmed down if you would come talk to him, reassure him. You seem to be the focus of his agitation, so...” she shrugged apologetically.

“Of course. Where is he?”

“He's down the hall,” she gently pulled the I.V. needle out of his arm, then motioned to a wheelchair. “I'll take you. No, you're going in the chair, that's not negotiable.”

He hoisted himself into it with a sigh, let her wheel him out and down the hall, where the sounds of commotion were much louder. She took him to an exam room, pushed open the door, revealing three orderlies in green scrubs were gingerly trying to approach the far corner of the room. When he stood up —ignoring the doctor's protests— Sam caught sight of Dean backed against the wall, wild-eyed, in full fight-or-flight mode, clutching a surgical scalpel in one hand, the other arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. He was a mess, his clothing torn, bloodstained and singed, his jacket completely missing, his face blackened with smoke. Sam could see he wasn't far from collapsing completely, though he was obviously planning to take someone down with him before he did.

“Get away from me!” Sam winced as he heard the strangled croak, but Dean managed to stay upright, the scalpel never wavering, even as he broke into a fit of coughing that sounded as though it ought to choke him.

“Easy, now, son,” one of the orderlies sidled closer, only to be driven back by a vicious stab of the scalpel. “We're just trying to help. Easy, now!”

“No!” Dean lunged with the scalpel, forcing them back another step, retreated to the wall again. “Where's Sam? What've you done with him? Hey, back off!” he rounded on another orderly who'd tried to step in from his unarmed side. “I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what you did with him!”

Sam put a hand on the shoulder of the nearest man. “Here, let me. I'm his brother, he'll listen to me.”

“You Sam?” the orderly had to tilt his head back to look up at him. “Damn,” he added, obviously surprised. “Wasn't expecting you to be so big.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“It's about time,” another orderly muttered. “He's been yelling bloody murder about you. Well, if he had any voice left he'd be yelling. He's all yours, see if you can reason with him.”

“Okay, move back. You're just spooking him.”

“Spooking him?” The orderly snorted. “Man, he nearly filleted us. I ain't worried about him.”

Sam pushed him aside gently, edged closer to his brother, who looked as though he was about to fall over, in spite of the litany of threats he was still uttering. “Hey... hey, Dean. You want to put that down? Remember, you promised me, no more unlicensed surgery on the orderlies in hospitals,” he said lightly, trying to gauge just how far gone his brother really was.

When Dean didn't budge, he stepped closer, counting on his brother's being too sick and disoriented to react fast enough, snaked out a hand and grabbed him by the arm, twisting the scalpel out of his hand. Panicked, reacting out of pure instinct, Dean lashed out with his free hand, but Sam had anticipated him, caught him by the wrist, forced both his hands down and pulled him close, holding him up as much as he was restraining him. Heat was rolling off Dean in waves, fever burning in his eyes, lending a wild edge to his panic.

“Dean! It's me, it's Sam. You're okay. Snap out of it, come on!”

His brother blinked at him, the frantic look leaving his eyes, immediately stopped struggling. “Sam?”

“Yeah, it's me. What the hell, dude? You trying to set a record for how fast you can get us kicked out of a hospital?” he smiled, kept his tone reassuring and light.

Dean coughed, pulled a hand free and laid it flat against Sam's chest. “Y'okay? They wouldn' tell me where you were...”

“I'm fine. It's you they're worried about. Come on, let them check you out, okay?”

“'kay, Sammy.” Abruptly whatever last dregs of adrenaline had been keeping his brother going faded, and Sam caught him just as his knees buckled, letting him sag against his chest, still coughing.

“I'll be damned,” one of the orderlies elbowed the other. “D'you see that?”

“I saw it. Takes all kinds, is all I can say.”

“Better him than us, anyway.”

“Sammy...” Dean twisted both hands in Sam's hospital-issue shirt, clinging so hard Sam thought the fabric might tear. “The demon,” he whispered, “it was there. I couldn't get to it. I tried, Sammy... I don't know what happened.”

“It's okay,” Sam soothed him, patted his shoulder, lowered his voice to a murmur. “I saw it too. I don't know what it wanted, but it wasn't us. It threw me against the wall, and I don't know what happened after that either. Whatever happened, it's gone, now, okay? We'll just have to keep looking.”

His brother nodded breathlessly against him, eyes closed. “Okay.”

“Come on, lean on me. You need to lie down before you fall over.”

As Sam steered him back toward the gurney from which he'd torn himself earlier, Dean stopped abruptly, his breathing erratic. Sam recognized the look, pulled him down and put his head over the trash can by the wall so he could throw up, rubbed his back.

“It's okay, I gotcha.”

Dean coughed, retched some more, one arm braced against the wall, the other one still around his ribs. “Oh, man, that is nasty,” he made a face. “And I thought NeoCitran was gross going down.”

“Dude, gross.”

“Ugh. Now my mouth feels like an ashtray.”

“From the looks of it, you swallowed a couple of bucketfuls of ash, there. Think you can get up?”

Dean shook his head. “Gonna be sick again. Gimme a sec...” He was breathing hard, his face pinched and drawn. Sam kept a hand on his back, steadying him.

“Take your time. There's no hurry.”

Dean didn't answer, both arms wrapped around his ribs now. Sam could hear him whimpering under his breath after each wretched dry-heave, kept rubbing between his shoulder blades. Dean tried to push himself to his feet, stumbled, and Sam felt his stomach twist as his brother's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward into his arms.

*****

[ID2006]

I love it... as always.

[crazy_cat_girl]

OOH, Dean! Poor weak collapsing awesome Dean...with the calling for Sam, and the fever and the...

everything!

You rule.

[W.I.N.]

I love it... as always.

Thank you!

OOH, Dean! Poor weak collapsing awesome Dean...with the calling for Sam, and the fever and the...

everything!

You rule.

Aww, thanks! Poor Dean, indeed. And how could he not call for Sam? He nearly gets himself killed trying to save Sam, and now he doesn't know what happened to him. That equals freakout time for our boy.

~W.I.N.

[obsessed]

Aww. This is cutee.

[W.I.N.]

Aww. This is cutee.

Thank you!

Although I suspect Dean would be mortified to think anyone would find him cute like this.

~W.I.N.