Chapter 13

"Sam, I'm sure the doctor's right. Everything will be fine, you'll see. They'll pump him full of pain killers and antibiotics, and he'll be good as new in no time. They probably do this kind of thing a dozen times a day, so I'm sure it's pretty routine. Come on, let's just head up there to wait. We can't do anything else right now anyway."

She grabbed Sam by the hand, her voice soothing to his ears, knowing he needed to hear the small comfort he seemed to be receiving as she spoke to him. The reassurance she offered sounded so promising, but Sam somehow didn't think the same way, he couldn't think the same way, because things never really went that way, not for them. Oh no, Sam had the feeling in the pit of his stomach that everything was not going to be fine. Sam was sure that things were just getting started.

His brother had almost died right before his eyes, would have died in fact, if Jay hadn't saved him. The doctor had all but told him so herself. He would have suffocated, and there would have been nothing Sam could have done about it. She also told him that none of this would have happened if Dean hadn't been so broken and abused to begin with, and that, Sam knew, was his fault. If he'd just had Dean's back, like Dean would have had his, none of this would have happened. He should have known that guy at the bar would wait for Dean and finish what he'd tried to start, because guys like that could never let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how tired they were. He'd abandoned Dean, and now, he was beaten and weak and sick, all because of him.

He couldn't get the vision of his brother gasping for air from his mind, the sheer look of horror spread across his face like a thick layer of fog over the English countryside, waiting for the werewolves to start their prowl. Every time Sam closed his eyes he saw Dean's staring back at him, the fear and helplessness totally foreign emotions to his brother, but relayed with perfect clarity once they had appeared. He'd never seen Dean like that before, his mask totally worn away, revealing most of his tortured soul in just a few brief moments.

Then there were the nightmares. Dean hadn't wanted to talk about it, what happened at Roosevelt, said he wasn't in the sharing and caring kind of mood. Sam knew what that meant. It meant don't bring it up again, ever. But how bad had Sam's words cut into Dean that he was having such fear inducing, painful nightmares? The horrible things he'd said combined with the shotgun blast he'd dished out had effected Dean so much more then he let on, the images they created buried deep inside, needing to be released, Dean's mind unable to push them down anymore while he slept as they crept out with a vengeance. Sam needed to know more, needed to know what was happening in those nightmares, what his brother thought he was doing to him in those nightmares. Sam had to stop those nightmares.

Sam had been so deep in his thought, he hadn't realized that Jay had led him to the elevators, walked him on, taken him up to the third floor, and guided him to the waiting area, until she was trying to make him sit down. He shook himself back to reality, taking in his surroundings. The crappy ER waiting room replaced with yet another crappy waiting room, but at least this one had semi-comfortable looking furniture. The ER clientele rented their rooms by the hour, but if you were waiting up here, that meant there was a room with your name on it and were probably on at least the three day two night trip, so they may as well keep the guests happy. Sam wondered just how long Dean would be a 'guest' here. A few days, the doctor had said, if he responds to antibiotics. If. He really hated the word IF. It was the most negative word Sam could think of, always making you see the dark side of every silver lining.

All this thinking was starting to make Sam's head swim, as the last few days all finally caught up with him at one time, his vision starting to cloud at the edges. Suddenly feeling him unsteady on his feet, Jay guided him to a couch, sitting and pulling him down with her, resting his head in her awaiting lap. She gently stroked is hair, running her finger along his ear, or cheek, telling him to relax, reminding him that everything would work out for the best. He was starting to drift, his mind and body both about to overload, but he didn't want sleep to find him just yet. He had something to say first.

"Thank-you Jay. Thank-you saving my brother's life. I don't know what I'd do without him, and I right now, I don't know what I'd do without you either."

"I would do anything for you Sam, remember that," she told him, as she continued stroking his hair, until he was fast asleep against her.

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Sam was so out of this world, he never heard the footsteps approach, and he barely felt the hand on his shoulder. He did hear his name though, the familiar sound of it bringing him rudely back to the waking world. He'd forgotten momentarily where he was, staring at the slightly familiar face in front of him. Where had he seen that face before? Taking a harder look, it all started flooding back. Hospital. Surgery. Dean. Duh.

"Sam, you with me?"

Picking his head up from Jay's lap and forcing his eyes open, he rubbed them fervently, trying to bring his mind back to full comprehension. Looking up at Jay as she sat there peacefully sleeping next to him, he finally focused on the doctor standing in front of him, as he gathered his thoughts and put them into the nutshell they just couldn't seem to stay in.

"Dr. Matthews? How's Dean?"

"He's going to be fine Sam. Drained his tonsil out quite nicely, put a couple stitches in is throat, and put him on some heavy antibiotics. His fever's down a little, but it's still pretty high. I expect that to change once those antibiotics start working. He's been in and out for the last hour or so. He asked for you, if you want to see him. It won't be long before he's out for the night, once the pain meds kick in. Frankly, I have no idea how he came out of the anesthesia as quickly as he did, or how he's even awake right now."

"I do. That's just Dean."

"Well, If you want to see him, you better make it quick. I'll have them wait a little while longer before giving him anything for pain, but not too long. He is going to need something, at least tonight. If you want to follow me, I'll show you to recovery."

"Sam, what's going on?"

Jay's voice was thick with sleep as her eyes started to flutter open, her gaze finally clearing and fixing on Sam. She saw the unmistakable look of relief that had washed over him, and hadn't needed to hear what the doctor had said to know what the outcome had been.

"Everything's alright?"

"Everything's fine. I'm gonna go see Dean. You want to come, or do you want to stay here?"

"I'll come, lead the way."

They all headed down a long hall, turning left, then right, then through some doors, finally ending up at the foot of the bed that had someone laying in it. Sam had to look twice, the momentary smile he'd had at the good news wiped clean off his face at the sight before him. He barely recognized his brother, and had to force away a cringe. His eyes were sunken in, the left one bloodshot, the entire right one a dark shade of red. His face was still flushed with fever as the sweat glistened off his forehead in the overhead light, the rest of him covered in hospital gown and blankets. He watched Sam come towards him, closing his eyes as if to hide himself away, even though he needed to see Sam more then anything right now.

"Sam, please don't let him try to talk much. He won't really be able to do more then whisper, but keep it to one or two words at a time, please. And don't worry about that eye, the bleeding into it's just a ruptured blood vessel. That will clear up on it's own, but it will look bad until then. They'll be coming to take him up to his room pretty soon, so if you don't have any questions, I'll leave you alone."

"No, thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll be down to check on you later," she was gone in a few short steps, leaving the brother's almost alone.

"Dean, how do you feel?"

"Tired," the answer more mouthed then spoken, it coming out in barely a whisper.

"Did you know you were that sick Dean? Honestly?"

"No Sam," he honestly answered for once in his life, too tired not to, each word causing a grimace of pain across his face that Sam could obviously see.

"You feel any better?"

"Feel alive. That's better."

"I guess, listen Dean, I'm sorry, for everything."

"S'ok Sam. I'm tired, you should go. Back to the motel. Come back tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"No, go. I'm gonna sleep."

"I'll be back first thing in the morning, count in it."

"Yeah. Where's your friend?"

"Who? Jay?"

"Yeah, thank her, for me," Dean's eyes drifted closed, as he headed off to sleep, having finished saying what he wanted Sam to know.

Jay stepped out from the corner she'd taken up residence in, softly kissing Dean's hot forehead, and whispering to him before they left.

"Your welcome Dean, and good night."

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The room was dark by the time they'd returned, night having fallen hours before. Sam was exhausted. He didn't want to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep well into morning. Turning on the light, the memory of the days carnage flooded back to him, the sight of his brother's empty bed, the bloody towel, and the sweat stained pillows all reminding him why Dean wasn't here. He could almost see him laying there, dying. But he didn't, because Jay had saved him.

Jay entered right behind him, sensing Sam's emotional distress, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight against her. She could feel his heart beating through his chest, like it was trying to jump out and hide somewhere until it was safe to be in the real world again. She turned her head up to face him, his eyes locking onto hers like he was drowning and they were his lifeline. He gently cupped her face in his hands, as his lips drifted to hers, their kiss long and hard.

She slid Sam's jacket off him, throwing it to the floor and started on the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until they were wide open, and it, too, lay on the floor, next to the jacket. Slipping her own shirt over her head, she tossed it mindlessly onto the floor, creating her own pile. They did this dance together, until they were both totally bare, falling against Sam's bed in an intertwinement of flesh and limbs. Sam couldn't believe how good she felt as all the memories of the day vanished from his memory. All he could concentrate on right now was her, and her alone. He needed to feel her, more then anything, and she knew it.

"Sam, I'm sorry, but you need to hold that thought for just a minute," she whispered into his ear, quickly rising from the bed, picking up something off the floor, and slipping into the bathroom, leaving him momentarily stunned.

Jay quickly flipped open Sam's phone, hitting the hot key on the side and watching the display on the volume control drop one by one, until it passed over 'vibrate', as she settled the action bar on 'silence'. She flipped it closed again, tossing it back into the heap of clothes on the floor, before making her way back into Sam's arms, smiling to herself every step of the way, mumbling to herself as stepped, knowing Sam hadn't noticed a thing.

"You are all mine tonight Sam, nothing is going to interrupt us this time."

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Dean looked around, slightly disoriented, trying to figure out where he was. He thought he recognized the filthy walls around him, was pretty sure he'd been here before, but couldn't quite place when. He walked down the dirty hall, passing doors on his left and right, but seemed to be going nowhere. This was familiar, too familiar. Hearing a faint, distant calling, he stopped, glancing at the door on his left, then the one on his right. He thought he'd heard a distinct 'help me' asked from somewhere.

Stepping to his left and peering inside the dirty room, he saw a little boy sitting on the floor, knees curled up to his chest, rocking himself. The dark, curly hair and sad eyes surprised him, their familiarity striking a chord in his head. He knocked, trying to get the child's attention, only to be ignored. Turning the doorknob, he found it locked. He was going to try forcing his way in, sensing that child needed something, anything, when something behind him caught his attention.

Turning to face the door at his back, he saw a very familiar set of eyes through the tiny window. Moving towards it, he was eye to eye with Sam, his face begging for some kind of help. Dean tried that door, swinging it open easily, stepping through as a blinding light assaulted his eyes. He didn't care, Sam needed him, needed his help. He'd deal with whatever was in there when the time came.

The room was not at all what he expected. He stood in the center of two sets of church pews, each side with only three rows each. The walls were just as grimy as the ones in the hall, the floor covered in filth and torn out pages from the books that had been strewn everywhere. This was definitely a chapel, but it hadn't seen worshippers in years, that was obvious. Directly in front of him was a short aisle, ending at a large, simple wooden cross, and two alters with half burnt candles laying everywhere, dried wax attaching some permanently to the top. He slowly walked up the aisle to the steps leading up to the cross, stopping half way to examine one of the books he'd seen discarded on one of the pews. 'Holy Bible' was on the cover in large, gold letters, printed against the black background. In much smaller print on the bottom, Dean's body went numb when he saw what was written there. 'Property of Roosevelt Chapel'.

Like someone had paralyzed him, his body went limp, falling to the floor in a mass of flesh and bone, the only movement he could seemingly make was the darting of his eyes throughout the room. From his position on his side, he saw feet fast approaching him, as a hard and heavy foot connected with his chest, forcing him onto his back. Looking straight up, he felt a hand against his throat, as long fingers wrapped themselves around it and lifted him off the floor, bringing them face to face. He didn't need to look to know who he was face to face with.

"Dean, always willing to come to my rescue, always needing to be the savior, the martyr. So much self sacrifice, how can you stand it? How can you stand yourself? I'm so tired of you thinking you need to save me Dean, do you know that. I don't need saving, not from you, not from anyone. When are you going to let me live my own life, when are you going to let me be my own man? God, you are so pathetic."

"Sam, why are you doing this?"

"Why? Because I'm tired of being under your thumb, that's why. You and Dad both, always trying to protect me from the evils of the world, always trying to save me from myself. You know, if you really want to be my savior, I can make that happen. You know what they do to saviors, don't you?"

"Sam, you wouldn't?" The look of terror crossed Dean's face, knowing exactly what Sam meant.

"Oh yes, I would, and I am."

Sam dragged Dean's limp body up the aisle like he was a feather, his weight nothing to him, and tossed him at the base of the cross like a rag doll. His body landed hard against the wood, his lack of control rendering him helpless to stop himself. Sam ripped off Dean's shirt, leaving his chest bare, tossing it to the side next to the items laid out on the floor in front of him. He saw three large iron spikes and a hammer, and internally shuddered at what those could possibly be for. Sam picked the hammer up and started pounding long nails down the length and across the wooden cross. Satisfied he'd placed enough, he grabbed Dean by the throat again, lifting him up off the floor, his feet suspended inches from the ground, and slammed his back and shoulders against the nails he'd just pounded in, driving them deep into his skin and muscle, hanging him up like an old coat on a hook. The pain was intense, as gravity took hold of his dead weight, his flesh tearing as his body started sinking, heat pouring through him in waves.

Blood soaking his back, Dean cried out in pain as he watched Sam pick up one of the iron spikes. Turning to face Dean again, Sam took hold of his right arm, pinning it against the wood, pressing the spike into the palm of his hand, smiling maniacally at him as he did it. He tried to pull his hand away, tried to resist, but it was no use. His body would not do anything he told it to. He was trapped.

"You know what they do to savior's Dean, they crucify them," he sneered, hammer coming down hard against the spike over and over again, driving it through soft flesh and into the wood, until it forced it's way out the back, blood streaming down his arms and staining the floor.

Dean's first scream had been nothing compared to the second, and the third, each strike of the hammer releasing one cry after another. Horror mixed with agony, anger mixed with tears, as he hung there trembling, limp and helpless, at the mercy of the most important person in the world to him, the person who was now torturing him. Trying to catch his breath, he watched Sam pick up the second spike. Turning to face him again, he reached for the left hand, looking at him mockingly, and slammed it hard against the cross, driving the spike through with little effort.

"Somehow Dean, I'm doubting anyone is going to martyr you after this, you just aren't that worthy, are you?"

"Sam, please, just kill me."

"What? And ruin all this fun, no, I don't think so. No, death is too good for you, and I think I've got one more spike left. You think you know what I'm gonna do with that?"

"Oh god Sam, please……."

"No god here Dean, just you and me"

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The first scream caught the attention of the nurses at the station, two of them running into the room it had come from with Dr. Matthews right behind. It had been enough to make their blood run cold through their veins, all three of them. They watched as their patient jerked and twitched on his bed, trying to fight some unseen enemy. He was kicking and flailing, blood streaming in all different directions as the IV tubing hung unattached at the side of it's pole. Grabbing an arm each, the nurses tried holding him still, his strength coming from somewhere they just couldn't figure out. His body burned hot against theirs, as he continued his fight, continued to scream, the occasional hushed word escaping his lips in-between.

Dr. Matthews ran from the room, returning with two make orderlies and another nurse, ordering the orderlies to hold him down as she swabbed the upper part of his thigh, shooting him up with god knew what. Slowly, his body started to calm, until it want totally limp, as everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief.

"Reconnect that IV and start another to run light sedation through all night. I don't care what he's dreaming about, he can not be screaming like that. I want him watched around the clock, after you put him in restraints, and schedule a psych eval in the morning. And someone better go call his brother."