Dean only has to turn his head a little to see Sam curled up in the seat next to him. Sam's face is pale, shadows under his eyes; he is awake, Dean is sure of that, but he isn't really with it. He tosses his head from side to side and, once or twice, makes a feeble, little moan that sounds nothing like Sam at all.

Dean doesn't have to look really. The whole car seems to vibrate with the strength of Sam's shivers and shakes. Sam's whole body is moving, twitching and he has blooded his lip more than once. Dean feels something shift inside of him and he wants to cry, to shout, to rage.

But he doesn't do any of those things, he just keeps on driving, his eyes on the horizon, wondering what is going to happen to his little brother.

****
Dean is pretty sure that – if Sam was a heroin addict he would be given methadone and that might help him. He can't help but smile wryly at that. He is pretty sure there isn't a medical substitution for demon blood and he knows Sam has to get through this without any real therapeutic help.

Dean also knows that, last time, he really didn't deal with this whole demon blood thing too well. Shutting Sam in that room, leaving him there with just a bucket and some water – well he meant well – but it didn't help Sammy and it sure didn't help him either.

They won't go that way this time; couldn't even if they wanted to. Bobby was gone, a lot of their friends, good friends, lost to the fight.

Now it was just Dean and Sam – and Dean wasn't even sure of that.

****

Dean stops at the first motel he sees. It is late and he wants to sleep. He turns on the inside light and looks, really looks at his brother, his heart contracting.

Sam is still shaking; his eyes are almost black but with fever rather than anything evil, his long hair sticking to his pale face with sweat and blood. He rolls his head to look at Dean and Dean wonders, for a moment, if Sam sees him, if Sam knows where they are, who Dean is.

Dean books in quickly and drives around to the room. He opens the door and turns on the dim bedside lamp. Then he turns back to the Impala and opens the passenger door.

He pulls Sam's arm around his shoulder and hauls him upwards. Sam moans and wobbles to his feet as weak as a new born lamb. Dean holds him, hard and tight and Sam's head rolls against his collar bone.

"Dean," he whispers and it is like a benediction, "Dean – help me."

"Sammy," Dean feels his eyes sting and he holds back tears, his whole body supporting Sam's, his mouth soft on Sam's hair as he drops a tender kiss on his head, rubs a gentle finger down Sam's wet and hot cheek.

"It – it is gonna be ok," Sam says, hoarse and weak, body shaking again, his arm loose around Dean's neck.

"Yeah Sammy – its gonna be ok," Dean says and for the first time in what seems like decades, he believes it.

End