A/N: Perhaps bit of a sadder chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Dean lingered worriedly by the bed, afraid to go to sleep and leave Sam alone. It was well into night now, and Sam had been unresponsive since that afternoon, occasionally coughing up more blood from the damage the acid had already done. The older Winchester had opted for a basin of cool water, giving him something to rinse the washcloth in to keep his brother's face clean. The water had to be changed every half hour; Sam had already lost so much blood.

Bobby had retreated back downstairs to work on translating more of the text, hoping that there would be some clue as to how to cure the younger Winchester in a section he hadn't reached yet. It left Dean alone upstairs, a prayer for help from Cas on his lips as he once again erased the blood that marred his brother's skin. He knew his baby brother wouldn't make it without intervention from Castiel.

Fever burned through Sam and his body twitched, occasionally turning to hard seizures, sending his body arching back in painful positions, his head jerking back as he choked and sputtered on his own blood. These fits were becoming more and more frequent as the hours passed, leaving him panting, tears leaking from his eyes to soak into the pillow. Each seizure took him longer to recover. His body was weakening quickly.

Dean stood, lifting the bowl and staggering tiredly to the bathroom, dumping the bloody water into the sink, watching it drain. It felt as if his hope was draining with it. He was still for a moment before running fresh water into the bowl.

"Cas," he prayed again for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, his voice gruff with grief, "Cas,…please. I'm cryin' uncle here, okay? I don't know what else to do. Sam…is going…to die, and there's nothin' I can do to stop it." He hung his head, crying unashamedly. "It's my fault. It's all my fault." He balled his hand into a fist, squeezing the washcloth he held. "I've watched him die too many times. I can't…I can't do this again. Please."

He fell silent, his breath catching in his chest, an audible sob tearing from his throat. Desperation and determination had filled him when Sam had been stabbed right in front of his eyes. He'd known what to do. Now, no demon would make a deal for the life of his brother. There was no plan B this time. Without Castiel's help, he'd be putting his brother in the ground for the last time. No longer the vessels and no longer needed to save the world, their only hope was the good graces of the one angel who was trying to regain some semblance of order in a lawless Heaven.

Startled back to reality by another loud cry from Sam's room followed by a noticeable thud, he lifted the bowl and made his way quickly back across the hall, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. Sam was on the floor, caught in another seizure. His body twisted and arched, his veins bulging against his taut skin.

"Ah, hell, Sam." He worked his way behind his brother, pulling the tall, struggling form into his arms as his body slowly stilled. "I got ya. Easy, Sammy." He found himself flashing back to Stalls Cemetery, feeling Sam's fists connecting to his face, his body, feeling bone-crushing force of the punches fueled by angelic rage. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you alone."

He rocked his brother back and forth in his arms, repeating his promise with each rocking motion. Tears streamed down his cheeks. This had been the worst spell yet. He didn't know how to cope with losing his brother again. Lisa wouldn't take him back, not this time. Sam was all he had left.

"I'm here. I'm here, Sammy…not gonna leave you." He fisted his hands in the fabric of Sam's shirt. "Not gonna leave you alone."

~8675309~

"Who's there?" Sam called, inching into the hallway, knife raised. He could hear the sound of whispers coming from downstairs. Quickly, he looked around, noting that he was in Bobby's house. He looked back into the bedroom, seeing the blood that stained the sheet and spilled out onto the floor. His brow furrowed in worry. Blood at Bobby's house was never a good sign. Where was Dean? "Dean?"

He made quick work of the stairs, striding quickly into the living room that had been transformed into the study. Bobby sat behind the desk, nursing a glass of whiskey, Dean sat near the window, an empty glass also in his hand. His hands, arms, and clothes were covered in blood. Tears streaked his cheeks, cutting a path through the blood on his face.

"Dean?" he asked again, moving to stand by his brother.

Dean sat his glass down for Bobby to refill, seeming not to have noticed his brother. The older hunter topped up Dean's glass, sitting back heavily in his own chair.

"It's time, ya know," Bobby murmured, taking a sip from his glass.

"Not yet, Bobby. I can't bury him yet." He looked down at his glass, catching sight of his bloody hands and arms again. It was a fresh reminder.

"Dean!" Sam reached down, attempting to shake his brother. His hand passed through the shoulder without seeming to alert the older Winchester. "Oh, God." He stumbled back, looking down at himself. The blood that covered Dean had came from him.

"Ya can't go an' do somethin' stupid like ya did before, boy," he warned.

"I know," he sighed, draining his glass again. "Thing is…no demon is gonna deal like they did before. I just…wanna give Cas one more chance." He looked up, grief written clearly on his rugged face. "He can't just leave us like that. I mean, he loves Sam, too. He can't just abandon us now."

"I dunno, Dean. That angel is fillin' a tall order. There's no tellin' what he's facin' up there. Hell, there's no tellin' even where he is." He waved the bottle, waiting for Dean to place his glass back on the desk for a refill. "I didn't wanna lose Sam either, son. You boys have been like my own for years."

"I know, Bobby, I know," Dean whispered raggedly, trying to fight back his tears. "Where do I go from here? Where do we go? I…I don't wanna live this life anymore."

"When I figure that out, you'll be the first to know, son." He took a swig. "We'll need another team or three, that's for sure. You and Sam are practically an army by yourselves."

"Dean, I'm right here," Sam pleaded, kneeling beside his brother. "Please, just look at me. I'm not dead."

"Yeah," Dean finally agreed. "Should give it a day or two. I don't think I'm ready for this."

"I sure as hell ain't."

Dean drained his glass one last time and pushed himself to his feet and stumbled off to the next room. Sam heard the thud on the floor, signaling that Dean had passed out on the floor. He sighed, looking down at himself again. There had to be a mistake and there had to be a way to fix this, he just had to find it. He couldn't be dead. After all, he'd not seen a single reaper come to lead him away.

He walked slowly to the next room where Dean had found the floor and stood, looking over his brother. "Don't give up on me yet, Dean. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you."

tbc…