First of all, I wish to apologize for the sinfully long break between this chapter and the one before, but I have a good reason. My computer completely died, by that I mean my motherboard decided it didn't want to live any longer, and Staples hates me and therefore took more than a month to get it back to me. I really hoped to finish this before Sam, Interrupted so that I wouldn't be at all influenced by Dean's reaction to Jo's death, but no such luck. I hope you all still enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: I didn't get them for Christmas and my birthday isn't til October so, unfortunately, they still belong to Kripke.

My breath whistled through my nose as I took one, two, three deep breaths. Finally, I knew that I couldn't wait any longer. Sam was now well and truly unconscious and he was beginning to moan and cry out from the fever. Everything within me longed to crawl back into the bed beside him and comfort him, hold him until he was healed, but I knew his death was a far more likely conclusion if I buried my head in the sand and clung to him.

On breath number eight, I stepped quickly over the salt line and quit breathing altogether, waiting for the waves of terror that had overwhelmed me before. They didn't come and I let out all the air in my lungs, slumping in relief and drew in deep breath number nine.

I didn't waste time drinking in my relief, but left the house quickly, grabbing my bike in the front yard and pedaled to the Cozy Kettle as fast as I possibly could. My lungs soon burned and my calves felt like they had turned to jelly. I realized that I hadn't eaten in at least two days, maybe more. I was only too ready to hop off and run up to the door of room 314, the key cutting into my hand.

I fumbled and almost dropped it into the dirt by the door, cursing at myself in my haste. The door swung open to darkness. The curtains were drawn and the whole place was heavy and oppressive. My nose crinkled at the sharp odour of sweat and urine.

"Dean?" I called into the thick darkness. There was no answer, not even a rustle, only the whisper of moving air, rasping slightly on the inhale. I followed my nose to where the stench originated and found a man lying on the ground, still and quiet, cellphone clutched in dirty fingers and bloodshot eyes staring off into nowhere. "Dean!" I yelled down into his face. He didn't even flinch.

"Sam needs you." I put my hand gently on his forearm. I was on my back before I could blink, both hands stretched above my head and clenched in one of his vice-like hands, knife held unwaveringly at my throat, Dean's hips straddling mine and crushing me into the carpet. I looked up into his eyes, expecting to see great fires of rage burning there, but they were as lifeless as his voice when he finally spoke.

"Sammy's dead, you demon bitch, and I swear I will send you back to hell to join him."

XXXXX

Sam woke up shivering. He was tangled up in silky sheets and a soft pink comforter. He reached out instinctively before he even opened his eyes, searching for. . .someone. His hands met only air and for some reason, that worried him. He struggled to open his eyes, knowing there was. . .danger?

Gotts wake up, gotta stay awake. Those words rumbled around in his head with urgency, even though he couldn't remember why it was so important that he not slip back into peaceful oblivion. He thought hard, but his thoughts were going too fast on clacking wheels and throwing up sparks that blinded him and sent him into spasms of agony. "Dean. . .stop train Dean," he mumbled. "I want to get off. Can't think on steel rails. DEAN!"

Slowly his brain began to clear and he could almost grasp his thoughts and force them to a speed he could follow. He remembered being hurt the night before and began to catalogue his aches and pains, even though he could do nothing about them. The slashes to his chest had faded to a dull ache and the leg, although it throbbed continuously, was not quite unbearable.

The pain in his head kicked it up a notch as the icepick buried in his forehead began to wriggle and shake like a live thing, sending bolts of lightning through his brain. "Stop! Not that tall. No snow cap. I stay below the treeline. Sasquatch. . .that's me. Not Everest. Never Everest." He giggled to himself. "Never Everest. Neverest." The laughter set off another storm in his brain.

He tried to focus his bleary eyes and finally caught a glimpse of the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand by her bed. As he struggled to prop himself up on one elbow, he caught a glimpse of himself in the pieces of mirror that still clung to the frame of the vanity. "What do you know? There is no icepick after all," he chuckled to himself, swallowing another three pills, At that moment, he remembered who he had been reaching for upon awakening and why.

"LEAH!" He cried out. New strength pumped through him from the adrenaline rush and he pushed himself to a sitting position and swung his feet over the side of the bed. His leg protested the movement, but he ignored it. He placed his feet on the floor and tried to stand. His vision exploded and went white. He cried out and collapsed to the floor, hard-earned consciousness not willing to stay.

I hope she's with Dean, was his last thought as awareness was crowded out by the dark. He lay still, blood seeping from his wounds and staining the cold floorboards beneath him; one arm outstretched, fingers brushing the ground that lay outside the circle of salt.

Sorry for the lack of length in this chapter. I just wanted to get it up as soon as possible so you wouldn't have to wait any longer. I will try to update as soon as I possibly can. Reviews are a great motivation! ;)