Disclaimer: I own nothing relating to 'Supernatural' or its characters except my own sick fantasies. As always, this chapter is un-beta'd and all mistakes or WTF's are my own.

A/N: This chapter briefly mentions a hunt for a Loup Garou (pronounced – loo-ga-roo) that Bobby and Caleb joined forces for. A Loup Garou is, according to Cajun folklore, a werewolf-like creature that's said to inhabit the swamps and bayous of Louisiana.

I also want to take the time to extend an apology to everyone for the long delay in posting this chapter and to my reviewers for not being better at responding to your kind comments. Rest assured, I appreciate every one of them more than I can ever say. It's just that real life has had me by the neck lately.


Atrox

Chapter 6: Theatre of Pain

"You sure about this, Dean?" Trepidation colored every one of Bobby's words with a nearly palpable unease. Trying to treat Sam's large and badly infected wound with archaic, bygone methods that were, at best, unreliable in their effectiveness held so many possibilities for disaster that it had the older hunter practically squirming with apprehension. Bobby Singer had been hunting long enough to have seen far too many good men die and he was damned sure he didn't want to watch another. "We can still take Sam to a hospital. Probably oughtta, if you ask me."

Dean looked from his friend's apprehensive face and imploring eyes to where Sam lay on his bed, shuffling softly in discomfort. Ambivalence weighed heavily on Dean's thoughts as he watched his baby brother. Just in the amount of time it had taken to prepare the three herbal mixes, Sam's moans had become louder and more frequent; his movements more agitated and uncomfortable. Maybe Bobby's right. Maybe I should just pack his ass into the Impala and drag him, kicking and screaming, if necessary, into the nearest ER. Trying to deal with this on our own is just plain nuts. Sure, he'll be mad as hell at me for doing it, but at least he'll be alive to be mad as hell.

He looked back to Bobby and the tired sadness and uncertainty the seasoned hunter saw in Dean's eyes caused a lump to form in the older man's throat. It saddened the older hunter that the Winchester boys had known more moments of physical and emotional pain in their lives than they had moments of happiness. But, before Bobby could figure out what to say, Dean had already turned and walked the short distance to his brother's bedside and settled softly next to him.

"Sam. Sammy," he called quietly. Not garnering any response, Dean gently clasped Sam's left shoulder and shook him lightly. "Come on, bud. I need you to wake up."

Sam squirmed under his brother's touch, a loud, pained moan accompanying the movement. His eyes rolled under their lids and long seconds ticked by before those same heavy lids slowly rose to reveal glassy slits of muted green.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was rough and little more than a whisper as he blinked up at the face before him. He remembered wishing that Dean were here, but he couldn't remember ever calling him. When did Dean get here? How did he find him? Sam's thoughts were coming in a confusing rush and his head was pounding viciously. "Dean. Wha-...? How...? You're here?" Sam sighed heavily in relief and his eyes slipped shut again. Thank God. I'm too tired to do this alone anymore. I just can't do it alone...

"Sam, you've got to help me get you up and dressed," Dean prodded. "I need to get you to a doctor."

Sam's eyes opened again and looked around blearily, bewilderment clear on his features. His eyes traced lazily over every surface in the room before returning to his brother's face. "The...the journal. Did I...? I don't remember...We didn't find the journal...yet...did we?" Sam dragged his left hand across his forehead, trying to force back the headache so that he could think straight.

"Don't worry about the journal," Dean asserted gently as he brushed Sam's damp bangs out of his eyes. "It's a wild goose chase that you're too sick to worry with right now. We've got to get you to a hospital."

Sam stared up at Dean, his eyes searching Dean's face for long moments before his expression changed and his body tensed noticeably. Gone, was the exhaustion and fever-tinged haziness in Sam's eyes, slowly being replaced by the dawning clarity of apprehension and alarm.

"No," Sam whispered. "No...NoNoNo...I can't."

"Your arm looks really bad and you've got a fe-..." Dean's words were bitten off when he saw Sam jerk away from his touch as he extended his hand to feel the younger boy's forehead.

Dean reached towards his brother again and Sam pushed away, a pained whimper forced out by the sudden movements. A combination of confusion and anger crossed Dean's face. "What the hell, Sam?"

Dean knew it had come out far too loud and far too angry sounding when he saw Sam recoil once again from him. Only, this time, his efforts to move away didn't stop and Sam's eyes shone bright with the unmistakable glint of fear.

"No...stay away from me," Sam mewled breathlessly as he pushed himself until his back hit the unforgiving obstruction of the bed's headboard. "Can't go...Can't go with you...You're not him."

"Sammy?"

Dean edged closer but stopped when he saw his brother's heavy breathing, wide, frightened eyes and desperate attempt to jam his six-foot-four frame deeper against the headboard and into the smallest ball possible. "No! You're not him! You're not him!"

Dean turned suddenly towards Bobby, real fear flashing in his eyes. "Bobby? What the hell's going on? What's he mean, 'You're not him'?"

Bobby shook his head quickly, his eyes flicking worriedly at the youngest hunter as he hunched fearfully at the head of the bed. "I...I don't know. Maybe his fever's up?"

"But I gave him the Tylenol," Dean asserted like a wrongly chastised child.

Bobby had no other ideas and only gave the young hunter a shrug and a helpless 'What else can I say' tilt of his head. Dean scowled irritably. They needed to do something to move beyond their current position of stagnant and useless hypothesizing; move on to something, anything, that might motivate Sam into going along with the program.

"Hand me that T-shirt, Bobby. I don't know, maybe if I can get him started..."

Bobby passed a clean T-shirt to Dean who slowly unfolded it and laid it out on the bed in front of Sam, careful not to get too close and further agitate him. The younger sibling's eyes followed every one of Dean's movements with suspicion, his whole body tensed and prepared for flight.

"Go ahead, Sam. I won't touch you. You can get dressed on your own and then we can go."

"I won't go with you! I...I don't know what you are, but you're not him," Sam screamed as he pushed to his knees and tried his best to get his weak and exhausted muscles to adopt a defensive posture. "You...You're a skinwalker...or a demon...or s-something using my brother's face...but...but you're not Dean! Get away from me!"

The combination of Sam's verbal tirade and physical preparedness had quickly sapped what little adrenalin rush he'd experienced and his body sagged suddenly back to the bed, the headboard of the bed the only thing preventing him from toppling helplessly to the floor. He leaned tiredly into it, his head hanging low, and sobbed disconsolately.

"You're not my brother. Dean promised he'd help me. He promised we'd get the journal together. Dean never breaks a promise. You're not him...you can't be him...you're not my brother."

"Oh, God," Dean breathed out as he sat back and looked at Bobby helplessly. Bobby had known the Winchester boys for many years and it was clear to him, just by the hurt look that was etched into Dean's features, that, although Dean understood that they were fevered-induced and confused, Sam's words had still stung deeply. The older sibling appeared as though his heart had been ripped from his chest and dashed into a million tiny pieces on the floor.

Things were going to hell in a hand basket and it was obvious that Sam wasn't going to let anyone near him if things didn't change...and soon. That was when Bobby decided to step in.

"Sam? Sam?" Bobby slowly inched closer to the worn-out younger Winchester. He needed to gain Sam's trust and couldn't risk him perceiving his movements as threatening.

Sam's head came up at the sound of Bobby's voice and he peered at the older man as though he hadn't been aware he was there. His cheeks were flushed and his skin glistened with sweat.

"Bobby?" The sound was incredibly small and filled with despair.

"Yeah, Sam. It's me. It's Bobby."

Singer tapped at Dean's shoulder with the back of his hand and when he knew he'd gained Dean's attention he pointed to the thermometer that still lay on the bedside table. Silently waggling his fingers with his palm up, Bobby indicated that he wanted Dean to hand it to him. As he took the thermometer from Dean, he continued on.

"You trust me, right kiddo? You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, right?"

The haze of fever had returned to Sam's eyes and he blinked laggardly as his sluggish brain considered the hunter's words.

"Bobby..."

It had only been one word, but the relieved sigh that it was breathed out upon told Bobby he, indeed, still held the boy's trust.

"I need to check your temperature. Is that ok?"

Sam's head had already drooped and he answered only with a small, silent nod of his head.

"Ok, good. Here," Bobby crooned quietly when Sam once again raised his head, lifting the thermometer into place under the boy's tongue. "Now close your mouth around it. That's it. This won't take very long. We'll be done here in no time."

He continued to speak, soft and reassuring, until he heard the insistent beeps that indicated the thermometer's job was complete. Bobby slipped the instrument from it's place and peered intently at the LCD display.

"Whad'you say it was last time, Dean?"

"Hundred and one point two. But that was before he took the Tylenol." Dean checked his watch. "Tylenol's been on board for a while. Ought to be down pretty good by now."

Bobby peered down at the digital thermometer that he clutched in his calloused and grease-stained hand.

"No matter what we're plannin' to do...doctor or not...we better be doin' it fast. Fever's up...to a hunnert and three point eight."

"Dammit," Dean growled as he turned his attention back to Sam.

The younger boy was still curled against the headboard, shivering lightly, his head bobbing occasionally as he struggled to stay awake and vigilant. Sam's bloated and inflamed right arm lay limply at his side, the muscles he'd been strengthening having long ago been overwhelmed by the prolonged activity and become rebellious in their refusal to continue supporting the limb. Dean's heart clenched as he leaned a bit closer to his baby brother and Sam's eyes watched him warily. It just wasn't right that his brother was afraid of him...and it was all his own doing.

"You're right, Sam. I did promise to make you better and go looking for Colt's journal. And I'm promising you right now that I won't back down from that promise. I'm your brother and you've got to know I'd do anything for you, man."

Silent moments passed between the men as they simply held each other's gaze, Sam searching for that intangible something that would tell him that the man in front of him really was his brother. Sam's brow creased and tears welled in his eyes as he leaned forward into Dean's chest.

"It really is you...I'm so sorry, Dean...I never shoulda left you...'m sorry I left you...God, 'm just so tired...so tired..."

"Shh, it's ok, Sammy," Dean murmured as he wrapped his arms around his brother. He could feel the heat radiating from Sam's skin and the ever increasing burden of his brother's weight as the younger boy gave into his exhaustion. Without letting go, Dean turned and looked determinedly at Bobby.

"Get whatever hoodoo it is that you cooked up over there 'cause I am Sammy's brother and I'm not breaking any promises...and Sammy's not getting any worse."

Bobby disappeared in the direction of the tiny kitchenette while Dean helped his now pliant and easily manipulated younger brother to rearrange his mutinous and gangly limbs to a more comfortable position. Dean assisted Sam so that he could once again stretch his impressive height comfortably along the length of the bed, albeit, to a position were his feet dangled helplessly past the end of the bed.

"When we get a room the next time, Sammy," Dean requested of his barely conscious sibling, "remind me to to get one Queen and one Sasquatch."

Sam tiredly raised his head from the pillow and stared at his brother with a rather confounded and vacuous expression. "Huh?," Sam grunted dumbly, Dean's attempt at defusing his own tension by using snarky humor having clearly been more than Sam's foggy brain could process.

"Nevermind," Dean replied dismissively as he patted assuringly at Sam's left arm and watched as the younger boy's head sunk wearily back to the pillow.

Bobby had strode back with a small bowl of orange-red powder in his hand and was standing near the right side of Sam's bed with an expression on his face that Dean could only describe as appearing vaguely guilty. Bobby had admitted that the application of powdered cayenne onto Sam's wound would be intensely painful and Dean knew it was taking every ounce of mental and emotional strength Bobby possessed in order to be the purveyor of that agony.

Dean's eyes met Bobby's and they held the other's gaze for long seconds as each man took strength from the other. Dean gave a small nod of affirmation and slipped lightly from where he sat on the edge of Sam's bed. He dropped to his knees next to the bed, shuffling until his body was even with his little brother's chest. Sam peered up at him with complete faith shining from his fever-ruddied face, all traces of his earlier distrust erased by the knowledge that it truly was his brother, Dean, at his side.

"Sam," Dean began, his tone authoritative, yet apologetic at the same time. "We can't wait any longer to clean that arm up." He gestured towards Sam's lax right arm, bile creeping its way up the back of his throat at what they were about to do. "Bobby has some stuff that'll help to numb it..." God, I so don't want to do this.

"...but I'm not gonna lie to you, little brother, it's gonna hurt like hell for awhile." How whacked is this whole, stupid mess that we have to hurt him just so we can take away his pain​?

Sam weakly nodded his head, but the way he stared blankly up at his older brother, the lids of his distant, glassy eyes blinking unnaturally slowly, Dean wasn't certain he'd understood the words as much as he just felt an instinctual need to respond to him. Dammit! At this point, you're so sick I could have told you I was going to dress Bobby in a pink tu-tu and have him dance 'The Nutcracker' for you and you would have agreed that it was a great idea.

Dean smirked at the visual his thoughts had given him and then shot a quick glance in Singer's direction, fearful that the man might have somehow known what he'd been thinking. Sam shifted slightly on the bed, almost as though he was preparing for the pain that was to come, and Dean's attention was drawn back to him.

"I'll be here with you, little bro," Dean assured. "Ok, Bobby." Do it now. Do it before I change my mind. Before I have time to think about how wrong it is to be hurting my baby brother.

Bobby moved in closer to Sam's right arm, pulling a chair from the rickety dinette set in the room's tiny kitchen along with him. He settled onto the seat, nervously clutching the bowl of cayenne powder in his hands.

"Dean," he muttered quietly. "You're probably gonna have to hold him down." Dean nodded silently and shimmied his position again so that he could hunch even closer to his little brother's bare chest. Bobby ladled out a large scoop of the powder and paused. "Alright, Sam, here we go."

The grizzled hunter quickly sprinkled the first scoop of cayenne over the wound then hurriedly dipped the small ladle back into the bowl, scooping and spreading its contents until the entire wound was heavily coated with the terracotta-colored powder. Next, he gently laid thick gauze squares over the layer of powder before finally covering everything lightly with a white cotton towel. When the application was complete, Dean relaxed back and eyed Bobby with a puzzled expression.

"I don't get it, Bobby," Dean admitted. "I thought that was gonna hurt."

It wasn't like Dean wanted the procedure to cause his little brother any pain, it just confused and unnerved him that it hadn't. Did that mean the treatment wasn't going to work? Sam had left them no choice but to take care of the wound outside of a hospital. In order to do that, they really needed the herbal remedies to do their jobs.

"Why isn't it working, Bobby?"

Bobby stared, wide-eyed, at his patient. He wouldn't necessarily say Sam looked comfortable, but, then again, he hadn't looked comfortable since they'd found him passed out on the bathroom floor. The only other time that he had been forced to use cayenne as a numbing agent, Bobby had received an instantaneous response from the poor sap to whom he was giving aid. Never before had someone seemed so utterly unaffected by the pungent herb's caustic power. Bobby's face twitched into a scowl of uncertainty.

"I...I'm not sure, Dean."

"You're not sure?"

Dean's voice seemed to have ratcheted up an octave, making him sound more like a pre-pubescent boy than the grown man that he was. There was one thing that Bobby wassure of, and that was that Dean was on the verge of losing what little composure he'd managed to regain after spotting Sam's bloodstained clothing on the motel room floor. The change in Dean's voice was something that only ever seemed to come over Dean whenever Sam's health or safety was concerned and Dean was close to blind panic.

"I thought you said this stuff works!"

"It does," Bobby shot back irritably. "At least, it did in the past!"

"Well, it's not working now!"

"Alright, alright. Just pipe down, boy. Let me think a minute."

Bobby's eyes roamed the small room looking for anything he'd forgotten, anything he'd missed; looked for any reason the treatment didn't seem to be effective. He pulled the ball cap from his head in exasperation and scratched at the crown of his head.

Sam could feel the first tiny embers of discomfort as they smoldered along the length of his right arm. Mostly he noticed it because the stimulus felt so different from the throbbing pain he'd almost grown accustomed to over the past few days or so. This sensation was different, though, because Sam couldn't actually call it 'a pain'. It seemed to be more like a buzzing or a tingling and it's sudden appearance confused the young hunter.

Dean bowed his head and reached a burly hand up, rubbing at the tense muscles in the back of his neck. When he looked back up, he noticed that Sam's eyes were still open but his forehead had creased into a rather uncertain and questioning look. Seconds later, the younger boy flexed his right knee until it rose just slightly off the bed and then straightened it back out stiffly.

"I used the same kind of dried peppers as I've used before. Same application method, everything. Maybe their effectiveness has do to with how they're grown," Bobby theorized, his attention completely captivated by the seeming ineffectiveness of his treatment.

As Sam lay there trying to get his muddled mind to understand what was happening, he was aware that the tingling was growing in its intensity, to something more of a zealous prickling. Sam shuffled his upper body lightly against the sharpening sting in hopes that the movement would help to alleviate his discomfort.

"When I used cayenne before," Bobby went on, not noticing the squirming of the youngest hunter, "Caleb and I were down Louisiana way chasing through the bayou after a Loup Garou. It nearly had Caleb cornered, 'til he pulled one of those damn fool kamikaze-samurai-ninja warrior things he'd always try turnin' to when the shit really hit the fan. Thing is, his hare-brained idea worked, too, but not before the little runt got himself tore up but good by the Garou's claws."

Sam tried to rearrange the position of his right arm but if felt weighted down and the muscles seemed too weak to move it. He struggled again to lift the arm but the effort only increased the needle-like sensation assaulting it.

"We didn't have a lick o' supplies, but for the guns we were carryin'. Lost it all, medical supplies and everything, in the black water of the swamp when that son of a bitch Garou ambushed us. We managed to finish 'im off and slogged through the bayou 'til we found a ramshackle cabin and broke in. Couldn't find much of any use 'cept an old sewin' kit, 'til I noticed an old tin of cayenne pushed to the back of some broken up cupboard. I remembered a grizzled up ol' Cajun who once told me it made a dandy anesthetic. Didn't have nuthin' else to use so I figured, what the hell. Nuthin' to lose in tryin' it, you know?"

Bobby smiled crookedly at the memories and let out a soft chuckle as he fondly remembered their fallen hunting friend, Caleb.

"The Garou mighta been gone but nobody woulda known it the way Caleb started howlin' when that cayenne hit his wounds. I dunno, maybe it worked better back then because it's got somethin' to do with where the cayenne's grown," Bobby postulated while he rubbed at his scruffy beard in concentration. "Could be it's more potent when it's grown in the silt of the Mississippi River Delta."

Dean noticed his brother squirm softly again, watching as the younger boy's eyes then scrunched shut with a sharp grimace. Within moments Sam's eyes had snapped back open and the fingers of his left hand worked at the bed's gaudy-patterned coverlet.

Before Dean could say anything about what he had seen, a soft gasp from Sam's bed brought Bobby's ruminations to an abrupt end. The younger Winchester's legs skittered purposelessly across the surface of the bed and he rolled his head back and forth on the pillow in distress. He pulled and twisted at the huge knot of bedspread fisted tightly in his left hand and his breathing had turned rough and choppy. An earnest sweat had replaced the fine sheen of earlier and the flush of Sam's cheeks had deepened considerably.

"You said you wanted this to work, Dean. Well, you best be ready, boy," Bobby admonished urgently as his eyes skimmed over the anguished boy. " 'Cause it looks like our rough ride's just beginnin'."

Dean moved closer to the bed and clasped his left hand over Sam's left forearm, marveling at the way the muscles bunched and coiled underneath his touch. He ran the fingers of his right hand through Sam's tousled hair to try to comfort him as the boy continued to toss and turn and a choked, "Oh, God..." fell from Sam's lips.

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean soothed as his fingers continued to trace a path through his younger brother's hair. "We're gonna get through this together. You and me and Bobby. Just like that 'Three Musketeer's' book you were always reading as a kid. 'One for all, and all for one', right?"

Dean had never taken the time to read the book, but he had seen Sam gazing longingly at a copy when they'd hunted an angry spirit in a huge, old public library in Lincoln, Nebraska. Dean gave up his cherished peanut M&M's for six weeks just so he could save enough money to get Sam a copy of his own. Sam had been ecstatic at the gift and had devoured the story of the three devoted and inseperable men, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, and their friend D'Artagnan; reading and re-reading the novel until the pages were tattered and dog-eared. The book had traveled with Sam wherever he went ever since, always carefully packed between layers of clothing in Sam's duffel for safekeeping.

"It's ok, Sam. It's ok." Dean tried to sound confident and soothing but the way Sam's eyes were thrown wide and roamed the room wildly, he knew his words weren't really getting through to his brother. "I know this hurts, Sammy, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dean laced his fingers through Sam's, trying to ground the younger boy as his agitated movements continued to intensify. He could tell by the distant look in Sam's glazed eyes that his little brother still wasn't comprehending what he said, but he continued to talk to him anyway. He hoped that, even though Sam wasn't understanding the words, maybe just the sound of his voice would soothe him.

"It'll be ok, Sammy. This is gonna numb it up, but it's gonna hurt for a little while first. I'm sorry, Sammy. I wish it didn't have to hurt."

Sam's escalating movements threatened to send the struggling young man plummeting from the bed. Dean shifted in even closer to his brother, slipping his left arm firmly across Sam's chest in an effort to prevent him from further hurting himself. He hated that his little brother was suffering and, judging by Sam's increasingly violent writhing, the torturous burn of the cayenne wasn't even close to abating. Dean flashed guilty, questioning moss-colored eyes in Bobby's direction as he leaned even more weight onto his brother's contorting form.

"How much longer is he gonna have to endure this, Bobby? I'm not sure how much more he can take." I'm not sure how much more I can take.

A look of unbridled panic settled over the youngest Winchester's face and his body arched stiffly off the bed, muscles straining, cording under his skin like bands of steel as he clawed and struggled against Dean's hold. Sam reached out and his face took on a deeper shade of flushed crimson as an anguished scream crashed harshly past his lips. "NO!"

ooo000ooo

Sam could hear voices murmuring next to him but he couldn't be concerned with listening to the words because the irritating prickling along his right arm had already matured to a smothering warmth that threatened to ignite into something so much worse. Sam twisted against the growing torment, a sharp intake of air hissing across his lips as his muddled brain struggled to comprehend the sensations flowing around him.

The youngest Winch writhed again as muffled sounds continued to slither and undulate around him. Somehow, he knew the sounds were words, but he couldn't make them out; his attention captured completely by the overwhelming rush of intense heat that flashed up his right arm. There was something familiar about that feeling. Something familiar, yet terrifying.

The feeling was something that stirred memories from deep within him. Over time, those memories had been buried, carefully tamped down and deprived of nourishment, but they had stubbornly refused to die. Now, with the increasing heat, the memories bubbled forth uncontrollably, sparking to life with a vivid clarity that shattered the thin veneer that prevents past memories from intertwining with current reality.

Sam tossed his head back and forth, his nostrils flaring and his eyes darting frantically across the ceiling above him as he wrestled in his older brother's firm yet tender hold. As he moved, he could feel a weight settling on him. It seemed that the more he scrambled and floundered underneath it, the heavier the weight became until he was all but pinned down.

Sam felt the first fingers of flames licking at the skin of his right arm and he gasped at the sight before his eyes. He bucked and twisted against the restraining weight and the blistering heat. He had to get up; had to get there in time. He couldn't allow it to happen again. He reached his left arm up, his hand beckoning in wild desperation as the flames fed, hungry and untamed, on everything in their path. Just as he met the limit of his reach and felt the feather-light touch of her fingers, the inferno erupted in a holocaust of roiling oranges and reds that completely engulfed the room. "NO! JESS! NOOOOOO!"

ooo000ooo

"OH, GOD! NO!"

Sam's body writhed beneath Dean, the sudden surge of strength from his exhausted body surprising and nearly overwhelming the older sibling's hold. Bobby pushed aside the chair he'd been seated in and grasped onto Sam's thrashing legs. At that moment he couldn't say what hurt him more, the anguished and confused cries of the youngest Winchester for his dead girlfriend or the silent, but no less anguished, tears that tracked down Dean's cheeks.

"It's ok, Sam. I'm here. I've got you," Dean murmured near Sam's ear. "You're safe. I've got you and you're safe."

"Dean? Dean, please," Sam begged as he latched onto Dean's arm with a death grip. "It burns! My arm's on fire! The flames...they're everywhere! Please! She's...Jess...she's...Oh, God, we've got to save her!"

Sam's body bucked viciously and sent Bobby sprawling onto the floor nearby. As Dean turned to check on the older hunter, Sam's left hand swung out blindly and connected with the right side of Dean's face. The punch had landed awkwardly but still had enough power behind it to make the room wobble hazily for a few seconds.

"You've gotta hold him, Dean," Bobby yelled as he scrambled to once again gain control of Sam's legs.

Dean shook his head, quickly wiping a hand across his chin to mop at the blood pouring from his split lip. "I'm trying! You just do your job old man, and I'll do mine!"

"Dean! Please, we've got to save her! Jess! Jess! The flames...! Oh, God. We're gonna burn to death! I'm on fire! My arm's on fire!"

Sam's eyes bulged wide as he stared at his right arm in horror. The flames were crawling up his arm and he jerked the limb and swatted at it with his other arm in an effort to smother the inferno.

Dean dove back to his spot at Sam's side, laying his whole weight into Sam's thrashing form. "Sam! Sam! Stop it! It's not real! The fire...it's not real!"

"Get ahold of his left arm, Dean! We can't let him tear that right arm up any more than it already is!"

ooo000ooo

The anguished cries and violent thrashing had gone on for nearly an hour before they had finally died away and Sam had stilled. Dean wasn't certain if it was sheer exhaustion that had ended it all or whether the cayenne had finally overwhelmed the nerve endings in Sam's right arm, numbing them to the herb's continuing burn.

Either way, Dean was just glad it was over. Seeing his baby brother hurting and not being able to do anything about it was about the worst thing he could imagine. He hoped the herbal anesthetic would work well enough to allow he and Bobby to cleanse the wound without putting Sam through any further pain.

The drainage from the wound had dampened the cayenne powder enough that simply pouring some of the cider vinegar, garlic juice, Patchouli oil and oak bark 'tea' over the damaged tissue was able to wash most of it quickly and easily away.

It wasn't nearly so easy with the tenacious areas of thick, festering goo that hugged the crevices of the yawning wound and it took an additional hour of painstaking work using the 'tea' solution to clean Sam's arm.

Working together, Bobby and Dean had had to use the Q-tips and gauzes to gently dig away the viscous slime of infection. Beneath some of the worst areas, the pair found pockets of desert sand that Sam's own ministrations had failed to budge. These areas required extensive cleansing that often elicited pained groans from Sam, despite the application of the cayenne.

Sam writhed underneath Dean's hands and a loud moan cascaded across his lips as Bobby worked at cleaning out the last, but largest, of the pockets of pus. As the older hunter turned and tossed a few more disgusting gauzes and Q-tips into the trash, Dean loosened his grip on Sam and, sitting back on his haunches, blew out a long breath and rubbed his sweaty palms across the legs of his jeans before scrubbing at the headache forming behind his eyes. The non-stop stress of the past week was really starting to get to him.

"How much longer, Bobby? The cayenne doesn't seem to be working all that well anymore."

Bobby could see the distressed look on Dean's face and knew that he was having a tough time dealing with the condition of Sam's wound.

"The cayenne's not workin' as well here because of all of the pus," Bobby explained. "Kept the cayenne powder from gettin' down to the tissue where it could numb it good. I've just about got it all now, so try to keep it together for me...for Sam...a little bit longer, 'kay?"

Dean took a deep breath and nodded his silent assent before resuming his position at Sam's side, one arm draped over Sam's bare chest, the other hand lightly stroking at the chestnut curls of hair that sprung at the ends of Sam's sweat-dampened hair. As Bobby continued his work, Sam became more and more aware until, finally, his eyelids fluttered open.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean called out quietly as Sam shifted under him again. "We're almost done, ok?"

Sam didn't have time to respond as Bobby had already started working a 'tea'-soaked Q-tip into the worst looking part of the wound, the portion of his hand where the snake's venom has done the most damage. His jaw muscles spasmed tightly and Dean felt his sibling's body tense as the older hunter's ministrations probed over the raw and inflamed tissues. Sam's nostrils flared and his breathing quickened as he struggled to maintain control.

"Oh, God," he gritted out through his clenched teeth as pain flared through his hand and shot up his forearm. He fumbled at the bedclothes with his left hand for a few seconds before he felt Dean slide his own hand into his and squeeze a reassurance. "Ahhh. Son of a...uhh, that hurts, Bobby!"

Bobby pulled the Q-tip from the wound and, seconds later, a thick stream of foul-smelling, yellow-green pus dribbled out. Dean buried his nose in the shoulder of his shirt and swallowed hard to hold back the contents of his stomach. Quickly composing himself, he turned back to comforting his little brother.

"Not much longer, little brother. Almost done."

"Sorry, Sam," Bobby apologized. "Try to hang in there while I get the rest out."

Bobby carefully guided another Q-tip into the wound and tried to trace it as lightly across the tissues as he could. Sam hissed in pain and arched against Dean's restraining arm. Even more pus rolled out as Bobby removed the cotton-tipped applicator from the wound and then flushed the area with a small amount of the oak bark 'tea' mixture.

"Stop, please!," Sam begged as tears slid down his reddened cheeks. "Oh, my God, that hurts so bad!"

"I know, Sam. I know," Bobby commiserated, his own pain at hurting the boy etched into the lines on his face. "But I've got to do this. Got to get it clean."

Bobby saw Dean strengthen his hold on Sam as he prepared to cleanse the wound with yet more 'tea' and another Q-tip. As the older man worked, Sam bit at his lower lip and strained against the pain until it was finally too much and he cried out.

"Stop! Please, stop! My arm...Oh, God...Dean! Dean, please make it stop! Dean!"

Bobby pulled the Q-tip from the wound and quickly splashed more of the 'tea' over the entire hand and forearm. "We're done, Sam! We're done. That's it. No more. I'm all done."

Sam collapsed back onto his pillow, his breathing fast and harsh. His cheeks burned with a vivid ruddiness that stood out starkly against the pallid, colorless skin of his sweat-soaked face. Dean embraced the boy and could feel him shaking in his hold as he whispered softly to him.

"It's over, Sammy. We're done. We're all done. No more, ok buddy? It's over..."


To be continued...


A/N: 'Theatre of Pain' was the name of a 1985 album by the American rock band, Mötley Crüe. Considering how hard Sam's confused and fevered words hit Dean emotionally and how much agony the herbal treatments caused Sam, I figured the tiny motel room truly was a "theatre of pain".