Hellhounds: Spectral dogs of the deep. Their cursed baying is the last earthly sound that many doomed souls hear before they are dragged into Hell. There mere appearance is enough to frighten many to death and if that isn't enough they will often maul and rip apart their victims limb from limb. To those who can't see the menacing apparitions it often appears to them like the person is being attacked by someone as the human mind implants images to explain the unknown. The hounds will chase their victim for days before finally closing in, some say to—

Dean slammed the lap top shut and swore softly underneath his breath. His hands were shaking and as much as he tried to convince himself it was from all the liquor he had consumed, he knew that wasn't the case. He was scared—that was all there was to it. He didn't want to go to hell. When he had made the deal with the crossroads demon it had been without a thought for himself. All he had thought about was saving Sam. It there was any way that he could change it, his baby brother who had always looked up to him, couldn't—wouldn't die –at least not permanently. After all Sam's death was his fault..

Maybe if he had watched over Sam a little better and came to that cursed town a little faster, he wouldn't have had to watch as his brother was stabbed from behind or hold him in his arms as his body slackened as his unfocused eyes stared at him and then glazed over. Maybe if he hadn't watched over Sam so much, the kid would have grown up a little tougher and been less nice. Maybe then he would have killed that bastard Jake Talley like the man deserved and then he wouldn't have had an opportunity to kill him.

Never mind, that Sam killing Talley would have lead to Sam becoming the leader of some Demon army; at least he would have been alive.

Dean turned to stare at Sam who was lying curled up under a heap of blankets breathing heavily. He was dead asleep but even so Dean recognized the lines in his face from worry. He saw the way Sam clutched his arms around his pillow, which was something he only did when something was seriously disturbing him. And it was something he had been doing a lot lately.

Dean knew that it was hard on Sam, first Dean almost dying, then their father dying as he made a pact to save Dean. Then Sam dying himself and having his brother make a pact to go to hell in exchange for Sam's life and one last year with him. He knew his brother had been staying up late into the evening night after night, trying to find a way to break the deal and redeem Dean's soul. While Dean had been trying to drink his troubles away and ignore the fact that there was no way the deal could be broken and Sam's life not be forfeit.

Dean knew Sam had been driving himself crazy trying to hold it together and all the time struggling single-handedly to find the answer that would save Dean's soul and figure out why his brother seemed not to care, that he was about to be a eternal barbecue. Dean knew it was his fault that Sam had been
so tired from staying up late and pure exhaustion that the possessed woman and the ghost had gotten the jump on him. It was his fault Sam had been chained in a well for hours by the time Dean found him.

Dean had been too tied up in trying desperately to forget how little time he had left and how scared he actually was of where he was going when that time finally ran out. Hell, held even more ferar for him than it probably did for most others. To other people it was an abstract concept, to him it was a very real reality with some inhabitants that he knew would be waiting for his arrival and the chance to even the score. But still , even with all his problems that didn't give him the excuse to ignore Sam. Because even as he had only a few months to get ready (as if anybody could be) for hell, he had those same months to try and get his brother even a little prepared for a world without him and so far he had been doing a piss-poor job.

Sam was half-drowned and on top of that had a cold which he had before the incident but had tried to keep from Dean not wanting to bother his brother, with his own problems when Dean had the biggest problem of all: Going to hell in only a few months. Dean watched as Sam shifted restlessly in his sleep and coughed before groaning and rolling over. He saw the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and the flushed look to his skin and knew he had a fever, but Dean didn't move.

It was never supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to take care of Sam that had been his one mission in life. Given to him first by his father and then accepted entirely by him. Sam was his life, and so he couldn't live without him, even if that meant sacrificing himself, it was worth it. His father had died to save him and he still felt guilty about that but in some odd way this he felt was his penance for that. The yellow-eyed Demon had been right. Sam and his father might not need him, but he couldn't live without them. Especially not without Sam. He knew it was selfish but if someone had to die out of the two of them it would be him, hands down—no hesitation.

He remembered his father had told him that if he couldn't save Sam then he had to kill him. He could never have done that, no matter what Sam did. Even if Sam had become the antichrist or whatever the hell he was supposed to be, even if Sam had enslaved all of humanity and brought the entire inhabitants of hell to Earth, there was no way he could waste his own brother.

So it was probably better this way. Sam died, but he came back. His soul was intact, and he hadn't become whatever the yellow-eyed demon had wanted him to become, and Dean was glad. Because Sam was still Sam. Sam was his brother who had a conscience. Hell, he was Dean's conscience. He was the one who agonized over whether they should kill something; he was the one who regretted when they had too. He was the one who didn't get even a thrill of pleasure from the killing they had to do to save others. He knew his brother wasn't aware but many times over the years he had heard him, late at night after he thought Dean was asleep asking God for forgiveness for what they had done and agonizing if it was the right thing. He had seen him bent over shaggy hair in his face, on his knees , his silhouette outlined by moonlight, praying for him—Dean. He didn't know how Sam even believed in God after all they had been through—he didn't believe himself. But Sam had always been different than him, different then even their father. That was Sam, right down to the Lentil burger's, bad new rock music, and bookish behaviour—he truly cared. And that was something he never wanted his brother to lose.

If he had to die but his brother was alive and still himself then it was worth it because he cared about him more than he did himself.

Dean straightened up and drained the last dregs from his bottle. He knew he shouldn't drink anymore, but what did it matter. A hangover in the morning, a little liver damage, it was a moot point when Hell was just a short while away. He walked across their tiny motel room and crossed to the bathroom, he flicked on the shaky light and filled a slightly grimy glass with water and grabbed two Tylenol from his duffel bag which was lying outside the floor. Then he went back to Sam who was now tossing in the throes of some nightmare.

Dean nearly spilled the glass of water as he heard his own name come from Sam's lips and saw the panicked look on his face. He forced himself not to imagine what images were torturing his little brother and instead shook his shoulder. "Hey, Sam, wake up man, you got a fever and you need to drink something." Sam shifted restlessly but didn't awake. Dean pressed the back of his hand to his brother's skin and felt the heat emanating from his sweat-slickened forehead. "Come on, Sammy wake up." He shook him again harder this time and was awarded with Sam gasping and his eyes flying open.

They were filled with pure panic for a second and then as soon as Sam saw Dean, he struggled to sit up. He was gasping in between coughs "Dean, we gotta go—they're coming, B-bobby has something—that'll hold them off and—" He broke off as a spasm of coughing flitted through his body.

Dean wondered what hunt or hunts he was remembering remnants from that were haunting his delirious mind. But he put that aside as he waited till Sam had stopped coughing and then tried to force the glass of water to his lips."Sam you need to—"

Sam pushed away the glass of water causing it to slop onto them both. "Dean we got—gotta go! They're coming for you."

Sam struggled to sit up farther and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Dean pushed him back down with one arm.

"Dean please—we have to go'" Sam was practically begging as he weakly pushed against Dean's restraining arm. "Please, they're coming"

Dean stared uncertainly at Sam's feverish face and met his clearly panicked eyes. Sure, Sam was most likely sick but Dean couldn't forget that his brother often had visions too and maybe this was one of those times. "Who is Sammy?"

Sam's next words sent a cold shiver down his spine. "The Hellhounds Dean—they're coming and I'm not going to let them take you—I'm not—I'm not."

He kept repeating the last words over and over and if Dean wasn't sure that Sam was out of his mind with fever and he himself wasn't too shocked by his words he would have said one of his patented jokes about Sam watching too many chick flicks. Because he would have liked to convince himself that the liquid now trickling down his brother's face was nothing more than sweat. And the noises he was making that sounded suspiciously like sobs was just Sam trying to catch his breath after coughing.

Instead he swallowed sharply trying not to think about what Sam said. He forced himself not to think that in a few months it would be true. "Calm down Sammy, they're not coming for me now, okay? We've got a few months."

Sam looked like he didn't believe him, but after a few more assurances by Dean he finally settled down enough to swallow a few sips of water and the Tylenol and then fell back into a fitful sleep. Dean sat in a chair staring at Sam, ostentatiously in his mind, because practically somebody needed to keep an eye on Sam when he was like this. Fever's made Sam nauseated and Dean couldn't count the time he had awakened as a kid to find his brother face down in his own sick, perilously close to a very undignified end. He didn't acknowledge to himself that the main reason he was watching Sam was because they had so very little time left and sleeping for Dean felt like a waste. He'd rather spend all of his last months with Sam, even if Sam was too out of it right now to know he was there.

/O\

Towards morning Sam's fever broke and Dean continued sitting there in his silent vigil.

He first inkling that Sam was feeling better was when he turned over and stared at him before rasping in a croaky voice. "Dude, did you sit there all night?"

"Yeah,"

"Why?"

"Because, you were sick and I was making sure you were okay."

Sam looked guilty. "Dean, you should have got some rest, I'm fine, I just had a cold. You didn't have to stay up all night looming over me like Sasquatch"

Dean rubbed the sore muscles in his neck and glanced at his brother. "Yes, I did. That's my job to watch over you." He stood up and stretched his legs and then glanced back at his brother and allowed his face to break into an unfelt smile for Sam's benefit and his lightly joked. "And the only one with a resemblance to Sasquatch is you, now come on big foot let's get some breakfast."

Dean walked toward the bathroom, to take a shower, behind him he heard Sam stirring as he got up. The smile dropped off his face as he remembered what Sam had said that night. It was a reminder, his time was fast approaching. The days where he could be there for his brother were coming to an end. And strangely the one thing he was most scared about wasn't eternal torture in the pits of hell. He was most scared about what would happen with Sam.

Who would watch over him when he was gone?

So yes, my first Supernatural fic! Hope the characters were IC. I typed this up in about 45 minutes late at night and then did a spot of proofreading, hope it turned out okay. Thanks and as always feedback is welcome.