A/N: This is really the first (oops, I mean second) chapter where you're missing important details of the story by just reading my side of it. I can't wait for you to get to read MissAntique's part!

And just FYI, all the dialogue has remained unaltered from our original RP sessions, so I apologize if it sometimes reads roughly. We've done our best.

Also, you should know that any and all of Cameron's dialogue and actions were written by the fabulous Miss Antique herself, and not me. :) I don't want to take credit that doesn't belong to me here!

Sam, Dean, Cas, and any other character appearance from Supernatural is written by the crazy, eccentric, vaguely psychopathic writer(that's me by the way, hello).

SCENE 11

I head to the kitchen, leaving Dean to figure out where to put Cameron for the night.

I can't focus.

All I can think about right now is ice….frosty, pure, stick-to-your-fingers, ice. Dripping, melting, overflowing out of buckets, covering ponds, clinking in glasses, sinking the Titanic.

I go to the kitchen and fill a huge plastic bag with the beautiful stuff. Then I strip off my shirt, and hold the ice to my burning chest, exhaling sharply at the sudden coldness.

Where's Jessica?

The thought falls out of the sky, hits me on the head out of nowhere. Icy water trickles down my torso.

Think.

When was the last time I saw her? The hotel? The car? Where is she?

Her haunting is disconcerting, disturbing, and painful. That doesn't mean that I can live without it, or that I have the desire to go through my life without hearing her voice ever again.

I keep the ice pressed to me, gripping the countertop with my newly mended hand to keep from screaming.

This...the sickness, the fever, the pain, it can't continue. I won't make it.

I can't make it.

I will.

I have to.

I hear Cas come in behind me. "You're not doing well, are you."

It's not a question. He just knows.

"Now that you have your grace back..." I begin.

Cas shakes his head. "You know that the trials did things to you that even I cannot fix, Sam."

I know.

I pull my shirt back on just as Cameron and Dean walk into the kitchen.

Dean sees the ice packs on the counter top and shoots me the look.

I've seen it so many times. Right after he brought me back after Jake killed me, and I could barely walk from the pain in my back.

The look he gave me after "Adam" and the thing's sister sliced my arms open.

The look he'd give me all through the trials.

My brother wants to know how badly I'm hurting.

I shake my head. No change.

Behind Dean, sitting at the table, Cameron only looks slightly shaken up.

Dean must have given her some sort of warning about not...I don't know...eating me, or something.

Eating.

Cameron must be starving.

I rake through the cupboards and find a granola bar and some dried fruit for her, warn Dean not to tease her to death, and then head for my bedroom.

My head hits the pillow, the impact louder than a cannon hit. Everything is too loud. I curl in on myself, exhausted.

"You have to eat, Sam." Dean says from the doorway.

"I'm not hungry." I argue. It's true. Who would want to eat anything when their insides were on fire?

Dean sighs, still fidgeting awkwardly at the door.

"Come in." I'm not sure if I'm inviting or pleading.

I still have managed to hold back my millions of questions; I'm not sure where I stand with him right now.

How did Cas get his grace back? What has he been doing while I've been gone? What did he do with Kevin's body?

Maybe these questions, and their answers, will just come out; one at a time, as my relationship with him heals.

After another moment of fumbling, Dean steps through the door and begins to pace the length of my room.

"Look. You've only been gone a week, but I swear you've dropped twenty pounds. And you weren't the chunky kind of soup to begin with." Dean says, his eyebrows doing the worried downward dog-thing.

"I'm fine, Dean." I protest half-heartedly.

"No, you're not. And I should have been here for you."

So this is where we are.

Then, for some unknown reason, maybe because I don't want him to feel bad, or because I'm so out of it that this is the only conversation piece I have, I say,

"I have Cameron."

"What do you mean you 'have' Cameron?" Dean asks. He stops pacing. "I thought she just got stuck with you."

"I did too. At first." At this point I'm not sure if I'm being honest or if I'm just trying to cover so my brother quits worrying about me being sick. "She's...not a normal girl. I don't know...she reminds me of Jess."

Dean moans. "I'm not exactly one to give relationship advice, Sam, but you can't be with her because she reminds you of Jess. Jess is gone, man. If this is going to work out with this girl, you have to love her for her."

"You're right. It's not fair to her." I admit.

It's not fair….

It's not fair...I have no idea how we got here. Love is not a factor, but maybe Jessica's name made both myself and Dean jump to that awful, emotional conclusion.

There is nothing to 'work out' with Cameron. I must be sicker than I thought.

Ridiculous.

"Man, just get better, okay?" Dean sighs. "And get some sleep."

He comes over to the side of the bed, picks up the Steelers cup on the table, and looks in it. It's full with water. And ice. He grunts in satisfaction and leaves the room.

"Wake up sleepy head!" Dean brays.

He shakes me, and I take a swing at him, the fevery, sleepy haze keeping me from recognizing him.

"Good grief, kid. Stop it. It's me." Dean growls, pinning down my arms.

He hisses, jerking back his hands, then putting the back of his hand to my forehead and cheek. "You're burning up. We have to get ice on you, pronto."