Chapter 2.

Sam almost faints with relief; the bunker door is unlocked and he slips in. All is silent. Everything is perfectly in place that he can see from up top of the staircase. There are no signs of Dean having any trouble.

"Dean?" He calls out, descending the stairs. Silence is all that answers him, he crosses the map room and walks up the steps into the library. One chair is crooked, Sam walks towards it.

"Dean?" He calls again, looking around. It's unlike Dean to leave anything messy in the bunker. He walks right up to the chair and then he sees the floor before it. Blood. A handprint smeared on the wood, and two on the table.

"Dean!" He yells, going down the stairs towards Dean's room. He's immediately assured he's going in the right direction by blood trails smeared along the wall. Sam's inside quake a little...Dean leaving blood trails? The fact that blood even got on the floor or wall is testimony to how bad Dean must be doing.

He picks up his pace and arrives at Dean's door and walks in without preamble. It's empty. The only evidence of his brother is his shirt and jacket left messily in the floor. He kneels silent beside the clothes...they're bloody, like really bloody. And it's not just on the clothes, it's smeared along the floor with a gruesome trail leading to the bathroom. Sam gathers the tattered clothes into his arms and walks towards the bathroom.

He places a hand on the door and tries to push it open only to feel resistance from something on the other side. "Dean?" He asks, "Dean, are you in there?" He knocks, and then pushes quickly realizing the object blocking his entrance is soft but solid like a...person.

"Dean?" He asks, and pushes a little harder getting the door a little more open. "Are you in there? Dean? Can you let me in?"

All he hears is silence but he can see the vanity. Its a messy work of blood and vomit, and he can see in the mirror; if Dean is standing he's not in the small bathroom. "Dean," he calls again, "Can you hear me?"

Again there is no answer so, Sam afraid of hurting his brother further pushes the door a little more open and slips into the cramp bathroom, door shutting behind him.

He immediately sees his brother still, on the floor and adds the amount of blood on the floor to the total he saw outside, too much. He's on his knees beside Dean and flipping him over and into his arms in a moment. Dean gives no response, his head flopping to rest in the crook of Sam's elbow, his cheek burning against Sam's arm.

Sam sees his arm right away, grimacing as the blood still oozes from the clotting wounds. The middle cut, the deepest was already ugly, a puffy red creating a perimeter around it. That was probably where Dean's temperature was coming from. Next his attention is drawn to the blood-soaked t-shirt. He grips the edge and gently draws it up.

"Oh my god," he whispers, as Dean's wounds come into sight. His hand hovers over them, not willing to touch and cause pain. He can't imagine the agony that had to come hand in hand with these ragged cuts. He thanks God silently that these don't look inflamed or infected, but he knows they need to be cleaned and sewn up quickly or else they will grow septic.

"Dean?" He asks, in a hushed voice, tapping gently on his pale, sweaty face. "Dean, can you come back to me buddy?" He gets no reaction.

And suddenly a terrible thought comes to him. Sure Dean's still hot but that doesn't mean anything. Is his brother gone? Is Sam JUST too late? So he quickly places two fingers over Dean's pulse point, holding his breath. He feels it, fast, but strong. He lets out his breath. And closes his eyes letting the relief wash over him, letting himself bathe in the glory of Dean being alive.

What to do first, he thinks. He can feel the alarming amount of heat pouring off his brother and is sure it's the arm wound that is infected and not one of the more extensive lacerations on his torso. He wants to stop the sluggish bleeding but knows once he puts in stitches there's no going back...no getting wet...no bringing down the high temperature.

So he unbuttons Dean's pants and pulls the zipper down and strips the jeans off, and untangles Dean from his t-shirt. "Alright, Dean let's take a shower," he says and wraps an arm around his brother's shoulders and then slips the other under his knees. And god, Dean is heavy...but way hotter. So Sam makes it to his feet and somehow gets them over to the shower stall. There he goes to his knees and pulls Dean chest to chest with him so that he's on his knees too, slumped into Sam.

Dean's not shivering or even trembling, his skin is hot and dry and when Sam opens his eyelids it's all white. Sam keeps an arm wrapped around his back and uses the other to hurriedly guide Dean's head to his shoulder. But as Sam shifts them to turn on the water Dean's lips move against his collarbone and he let's out a breathy moan. Sam gently places a hand on the back of his head.

"It's okay, hold on Dean, we're gonna get you cooled down in just a sec." He soothes, as he feels Dean move ever so slightly against his body.

"S'mmmm," he mumbles out in a shallow breath.

"Hey Dean," Sam says, placing a hand on Dean's face. "You with me?"

"S'm?" Dean says again, this time with a lilted tone in question.

"Yeah," Sam assures, holding his head to his chest trying to get a look at Dean, he moves himself so Dean is no longer in his shadow.

Green eyes blink blearily at him until the bathroom light hits them. Dean whines deep in his throat and buries his face in the valley between Sam's pectoral muscles.

"Bright," he whispers into Sam's shirt.

"Sorry buddy," Sam returns, and manages to get his boots and socks off while supporting Dean.

"Wha 're we doin'?" Dean slurs, still hiding in Sam's chest.

"Gotta get your temperature down, cold shower for us, big brother."

Sam reaches up and turns on the cold water. He jumps involuntarily and so does Dean. He feels Dean shift against him, his fists come to clench in Sam's t-shirt.

"S'm," Dean moans out, pushing his forehead into Sam's chest in discomfort.

"What is it, Dean?" Sam asks, "Where're ya hurting, are you with me?" He ducks his head to try and get a look in his brother's face where Dean is doing his best to hide it Sam's shirt.

"C, c'ld S'm," he stutters out, beginning to shake violently.

"I know brother," he soothes as he positions Dean more comfortably and guides his head to rest on Sam's shoulder, hiding his facing in his neck.

Dean clenches Sam's sleeve like its a lifeline. "S'm...warm," he nearly hums.

Sam laughs fondly and pulls him closer, "Stay with me Dean, I'll keep you warm."

Dean grows quiet after that, his body clearly in conflict over the cold on its outside and the raging heat inside. After a couple of minutes Sam's having trouble controlling his chattering teeth and Dean is shivering violently in his arms, and his eyes are flickering wildly under his eyelids.

"Okay," Sam stutters out through his own shivers, "Let's end the torture." He reaches up and turns off the water. Dean gives him the first reaction he's got in the last few minutes. As Sam shifts them his brother groans and tries to pull Sam closer to him and hold him still. The movement obviously causing him a lot of pain.

"I'm sorry Dean," he whispers, "But we gotta get out and to your bed, you still need stitching up."

Dean just snuggles in closer to Sam and holds on to him desperately. "Don' lea' me, S'mmy." He pleads and Sam's got a sick feeling that this is more the fever talking that Dean which means it's about ninety percent more honest.

"I'm not going anywhere Dean," he soothes, "We just got to get into something dry, and take care of your wounds."

"Wendigo," Dean mumbles into Sam's neck.

"I know," Sam assures softly as he gets his arms around Dean securely. He lifts up with a grunt and Dean moans.

"H'rts S'm," he mumbles, as Sam stumbles out of the shower and over his own boots.

And wow, Dean must be really out of it to be acknowledging pain left and right AND giving absolutely no objection to being carried to his bed. Sam slides through the slender bathroom door and into Dean's room. He walks to the bed and gently places Dean down. Almost too nervous to break contact with Dean afraid.

Sam detaches them one body part at a time until Dean's quietly laying all by himself on the bed. Sam sighs in relief and takes a careful step backwards. He's off in a heartbeat, running to the kitchen where they keep the most extensively stocked first aide kit. He then runs to his room where he grabs dry clothes and his blankets. He's back in Dean's room in record timing.

As he steps into the the room the first thing he notices is Dean is not in bed. Then in relief he spots him on the floor fumbling through his coat pockets. Sam places the stuff on the bed and then kneels beside his dripping brother.

"Dean," he says softly, placing a hand on his arm.

Dean jumps, and tries to pull his arm away, "Need to call S'mmy," he mumbles to himself without looking up.

"Dean, it's me," Sam insists, hooking a crooked finger under Dean's chin and pulling his face towards him. Dean's wide pupils try to focus on him, he sways a little where he's squatting and leaning on his arms.

"S'mmy?" He asks, squinting up at him.

"Yeah, it's me." Sam returns, trying to get him to rise and get back in bed but Dean pulls away from him.

"But I didn' get the phone, S'mmy," he mumbles, puzzled.

"I came back," Sam says, finally pulling him up onto his shaky legs and holding onto him as they make their way back to Dean's bed. "I found some blood in the impala so I came back."

Dean lays back wincing, his eyes are wide, the whites red, and his body is shaking. Sam is really hoping its from cold and not from shock, his hopes are destroyed when Dean goes a little more white.

"S'm!" He rasps out, "M' side, I s'bleeding I..." His eyes close and a groan escapes from his throat as his clumsy hand drifts over his torn side. Sam jerks his hand away, watching for the bleeding to start again. He knows Dean can't afford to lose much more blood without going to the hospital.

"Dean," Sam soothes, "Stay still okay? You're gonna hurt yourself more. Let me take care of it, okay?"

"S'm," Dean grunts out, unconsciously pushing the side of his face into his pillow, fighting against the pain. "S'mmy y'still mad?"

"No," Sam shakes his head, he runs a towel down Dean's body drying up the dampness. "No, you scared me, is all Dean." And Sam doesn't know if the incident with the Wendigo or finding him on the bathroom floor scared him more.

To silence these thoughts Sam busies himself with his brother. His skin is hot again, but not alarmingly so. Dean's sweating again, and soon there are droplets coating his chest, neck and face. Sam fills an IV bag with saline solution and antibiotics to the fight against the infection, and also some pain medication, though not too much. He needs to be able to keep track of his brother's vitals as he sews him up.

He swipes Dean's skin with an alcohol wipe, and expertly slips the IV needle into Dean's arm and vein. He tapes it down, having fought enough battles with a delirious Dean over IV needles to know he would never willingly keep one in.

Dean watches him, eyes blinking lethargically, and gazes at his hand in amazement when Sam places it back by his side. Sam hangs the bag on the handle of the drawer in Dean's bedside table. Dean watches as he lays out sutures and bandages.

"Gonna sew m'up S'm?" He asks, in a slurred voice.

Sam can't help but chuckle at the bizarreness of their lives. "Yeah, Imma get you fixed up, Dean." He assures, and pulls the chair from the desk over. He grabs up a needle, "You know the drill, keep still."

Dean just blinks at him, but jerks when Sam's fingers barely ghost over the ripped open skin. "Sh," Sam soothes, as he brings the skin back together with his finger tips so he can begin his work. Dean is twitching and shivering, his fingers clenching and releasing and Sam is concerned the most about shock. Worried that Dean's mind will lose its hold on reality and him and succumb to the shivering, quivering mass of nerves the rest of his body is. He quickly brings the blankets up to his waist and wraps the one he brought from his room around his chest, neck and arms.

He heaves a big breath and releases it calmly, pushing the needle through Dean's skin in the first stitch. Dean's breath heaves, and his stomach hollows out as it sticks in his throat. Sam spreads a big, warm hand over his chest under the blanket, and presses down gently encouraging Dean let go of the air and to take another lungful of life.

"C'mon and breathe deep for Dean, that's it." He mummers comfortingly.

He lets it out and takes another big, shallow breath, his eyes searching for Sam desperately, big glossy green gems pleading for an escape, begging him to stop. Sam swallows over the lump in his throat.

He reaches into the first aide kit and prepares a syringe of relaxant. He shoots it gently into Dean's bicep, all the while all too aware of the big eyes watching him. He waits a few moments for the taunt muscles under Dean's skin to relax and then he pulls the thread through, and starts another one his eyes already burning in the not so ideal light...

By the time Sam is done with the two first tears in Dean's side his back is aching. His fingers seek out Dean's wrist every few minutes, and then rubs down his hand and pulls his clenched fist loose giving it a gentle squeeze. In between cuts he reaches up and wipes the sweat from Dean's clammy skin. He's nearly crying himself when he thumbs tears from under Dean's glassy, fever bright eyes.

God, why does everything have to be so hard for them? He wonders, as Dean shifts under him as he pulls the needle through, as he groans when Sam pulls it tight. And he's very nearly angry with Dean again, but then...if only he'd been ready, none of this would have happened. He'd been too cocky, too sure Dean would get the thing in his first shot. He grits his teeth as he forces himself to take his time and efficiently stitch his brother up...causing him that much more pain in the process.

And Sam knows from experience that relaxant is for the surgeon not for the patient. Dean is feeling all that pain right now, and Sam feels like shit. He's got three stitches left when Dean seems to break.

A whine rises in his throat causing Sam to look at him quickly, sweat shimmers all over his skin, his fingers clenching in the sheets. His pupils go way wide, and Sam swears he feels his temperature go up it happens so fast.

Sam has never finished something so fast. Dean is watching him suspiciously with eyes flickering under his hooded lids, and it's breaking Sam's heart.

"Plz S'm," he whispers, finally at the end as Sam ties off the last knot. "Plz stop," he whispers airily exhaling.

And Sam has never thanked God so fervently. Dean asked him right when he is done and he can give him that, give him that relief. His hand rubs soothingly over the flat unmarred side of his stomach up to gently cup his face.

"It's alright Dean," he says, running long fingers through Dean's sweaty hair. "We're done." For now. Dean's eyes close as Sam's fingers graze over his scalp. Sam uses the short respite of Dean's nerve wracking fever gaze to tape gauze over the now neatly stitched wounds.

No amount of neat stitching could conceal the ragged edges if the cuts. The zigs and zags that were testimony to skin being ripped from skin by sheer force. Sam swallows back the urge to throw up as he covers up the scary proof to how close he came to losing his brother.

Sam is just about in tears as he determines only the middle, deep, angry red cut on Dean's arm needs stitching. He pours anti-septic over all three wounds. Dean hisses, watching the reddish white bubbles foam up, he gives Sam a nearly coherent dirty look as he wipes it away and pours afresh. Sam repeats the process until there is no reaction from the wound.

Dean lays limp through the fifteen tiny stitches being sown into his arm. His eyes staying unerringly on Sam the whole time. Sam watches as gentle, shaking fingers reach out to touch him hesitantly only the pull back. Sam glances at his face and Dean finally looks away avoiding him, a confused hurt look on his face.

Sam sighs wondering what is going on in Dean's fevered mind and wraps a bandage around Dean's entire forearm, ripping the end piece down the middle and tying it securely. He sighs deeply, thank you God that's done. Dean eyes his arm, and then lays back with a sigh of his own.

Sam knows from the heat radiating from his brother that the fever has yet to break, which meant that it was going to get higher. He placed a hand on Dean's arm above the bandage and rubbed the skin there with his thumb, he grabs his hand and gently pulls the fingers open from their fisted state.

"Dean?" He asks, in hushed tones. "You with me? How you feeling?"

Dean turns his head on the pillow towards Sam, blinking at him. His eyes flicker to something beyond Sam's shoulder, Sam jerks around scared, for a moment. His shoulders slump forward in relief when he realizes nothing is there. He watches, holding Dean's hand as he chases things around the room with his fever eyes.

He is so relieved to see him alive and safe, touching his warm (burning) skin, feeling the pulse sending blood pumping through his veins while he grips his sweaty hand. Sam feels the tears run down his cheeks and all he can do is press the back of Dean's hand against his mouth to keep the sobs in.

"S'm," Dean mumbles, beside him. And Sam jumps, and gently wipes his tears off the back of Dean's hand on the blanket.

"Dean, you with me?" As far as he knew Dean was still awake.

"S'mmy..." He grits out a bit louder and Sam stand and leans over him.

"Dean? You with me?" Sam's heart stands still as he places a hand on Dean's hot dry forehead, it's so hot he feels as if it's burning him. Dean's eyes are closed but Sam can see them flickering underneath the lids. He shakes him, "Dean?"

Dean is limp under Sam's hands, skin dry and hot, hands trembling rapidly. Sam strips the thin sheet off the bed and soaks it in cold water in the shower. He wrings it out and brings it back, stripping the blankets off Dean and laying the cold sheet on him. Dean gives no reaction, except for his breath catching in his chest, and soon the sound of shallow, painful breaths fill the room.

"Dean, you need to calm down," Sam says, trying to keep his voice even. Dean is still, except for the bowing of his back as he struggles to breath. "Dean!" He shouts, shaking him by both shoulders.

Sam watches in horror as his brother seizes before him and there is nothing he can do. Lips are turning blue, fingers are clenched tightly, Sam's heart is breaking to pieces. He gives a savage slap to Dean's cheek...

"Dean!"

tbc...

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