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Chapter 14:

Dean did not understand what was going on.

They had followed the directions Bobby had given them, he and John and Bobby himself. They had come hiking deep into the heart of this cold, dark Maine forest. For over a day they had found nothing, then, about midday of the next one, they had heard screaming, crashing-the heralds of a fight-and had instantly made their way towards the source of the noise as fast as possible. Maybe somewhere Dean had realised that it must be something to do with Sam-this had just in no way lessened his amazement and almost dizzying relief when he had actually found his brother there. Certainly he had found him pinned underneath a werewolf and bleeding from numerous wounds, but he had found him.

Now he knelt there with Sam's unconscious body in his arms, watching as his father and Bobby coolly shot two more of the werewolves-the others of the pack turned tail then, and ran back into the trees, no doubt to report to their master. The ten kids remaining got unsteadily to their feet, many cradling injuries of their own, and one, a pretty, dark-haired girl of about Sam's age, stepped to the front. "Who are you?" she demanded, her hand tightening on the hilt of the sword in her bloody hand. "Answer me!"

"Are you with Sam?" Dean returned. The girl's face tightened as she focused on Sam's motionless, battered body in Dean's arms, and she nodded stiffly. "You escaped with him?" Again, she nodded. "Well, I'm his brother, Dean. My father-our friend Bobby Singer. Now let's move. You coming?"

The girl had turned to the rest of her group. For the first time Dean looked at them-there was something wrong with some of them, that was all he could say for sure. One boy hid his face from the light and two other girls would not even step forward out of the shadows. John stepped forwards, raising his gun once more. His face had darkened abruptly, and what surprised Dean still more was that Bobby was making no move to hold him back. The first gnawings of a realisation began to nuzzle his mind-

"Go," the dark-haired girl said to them simply. "I'm sorry."

And just like that, four of the teenagers still standing simply turned away into the forest and ran. John yelled and lunged forwards, but the dark girl had her sword out and was holding it up towards him, threateningly, skilfully.

"They're gone," she told him quietly. "And they won't harm you. Your son needs medical attention, can't you see that?"

John glanced over at Sam and his face changed-then he nodded and slid his pistol back into its holster. "Bobby, lead the way," he ordered, then turned to Dean. "C'mon, I'll help you," he said, bending down, but Dean staggered to his feet unaided, holding Sam close with his arms under his knees and shoulders, like a sleeping child, the seventeen-year-old's head cradled against his shoulder.

"I can do it," he said jealously, and strode after Bobby without a backwards glance. The dark-haired girl ushered the remaining kids forwards and they too joined the procession-John came at the very end of the line, lost in thought and confusion.

What had Sam been through? Who were his companions? Could they really have been what he had feared? And how-how could they even be sure that this time he would recover?

They ended up piling in two separate groups into the two vehicles available, Bobby taking most of the kids in his truck, while John got into the driver's seat of the Impala and Dean claimed the backseat, still holding onto Sam. The dark girl took the passenger seat, twisting around in her place to keep her eyes on Sam, watching as Dean tried to bind the worst of his wounds.

"Who are you, kid?' John asked her after a while. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then yielded.

"Niki Freelands," she replied. "I'm a friend of Sam's."

Dean was still talking almost incoherently to Sam, picking up vague snatches of the atmosphere in the car as he did so. "…you see, Sammy? You gotta wake up and be okay now you've actually got a hot chick waiting for you. I mean c'mon, Sammy, for you this is the chance of a lifetime, right?…"

….

John and Bobby drove fast, making it down the highway and pulling up at the nearest motel as fast as they could, which actually meant a matter of minutes. John paid for two adjoining rooms and Dean carried Sam, who was still unconscious, into one through the side door. Bobby was left to deal with the other kids, trying to work out where they all came from and how he could contact their families, since John only had eyes for his youngest son, lying motionless and covered in blood on the motel bed. He bent beside him and within minutes his face had paled shockingly-he had made his assessment.

"How…how bad?" Dean asked him tremulously, not sure he really wanted to know the answer. He had found his little brother-he could not lose him again. And yet he had not often seen such an extensive collection of injuries on one body before, even for the disaster-prone Sam. John looked up, keeping his eyes low, one hand gently stroking through his youngest son's sweat-matted chestnut hair.

"The bullet wound looks like it's infected. There are a lot of cuts and gashes, some are stitched but most of them he's broken open. I'd say he's got at least one cracked rib, too, from how he's breathing, and there's some worrying bruising on his shoulders. His back seems to be burned somehow. The worst is this in his shoulder-looks like something stabbed him and he's lost a lot of blood…" He shook his head slowly. "If there are any internal injuries we'll find out soon enough."

"The gash in his shoulder was caused by a scythe the Commander threw at him as we were escaping," came Niki's voice from behind. John turned to her. "Oh yes?"

"Yeah. And you should know that they hung him up against a wall for a day and a night, like he was crucified. They gave us a drug there that stopped us feeling any pain or weakness, but it'll have worn off by now. And Sam had to take a lot of it-I don't know if there'll be any after-effects." She spoke quietly, almost without emotion, eyes never leaving John's. "You should be proud of your son. Mr Winchester. He's the only reason we escaped and he's the only one who's stood up to the Commander for as long as I can remember."

John nodded curtly. "I am proud of him," he said shortly. "Dean, get the first-aid kit from the car. We need to sort out the bleeding and infection."

Dean was outraged. "We can't keep him here, he needs to go to a hospital!"

"Whoever kidnapped him-the Commander, whoever that is-is going to be looking for him," John pointed out. "In a hospital we'd have almost no control over what happens to him. Get the kit, Dean. Now."

…

Dean sat beside Sam's bed that night. John was sleeping in the other bed and Niki had finally left the room and gone over to help the other kids explain to Bobby exactly what was going on-she seemed to have fallen into the place of their leader, with Sam out of action. Sam himself had not stirred while Dean and John cleaned and stitched and re-stitched the cuts and injuries patterning his body, applying salves to the worst of the bruising, trying to force water down his swollen throat. They had laid him on his front, so that he could not aggravate the deep, horrific wound through his left shoulder, but had he been awake it was clear that the pain he would have been in would have been immense.

And yet he had not moved. Not until now-suddenly he turned his head listlessly on the pillow, and Dean was filled with an eager joy, hopeful that he was at last waking. But Sam did not wake-he mumbled something in his sleep, his breathing quickening, and then suddenly his face tightened as if in pain and he lashed out, his hand flailing weakly, to be caught by Dean, who drew closer, gently stroking his little brother's forehead to try and calm him. "Hey, Sammy, hey, easy there," he murmured swiftly, anxiously. "You're safe now, it's gonna be okay…"

"No," Sam gasped from between clenched teeth. "No, God no…no more-" Suddenly his back arched up from the bed and he gave a kind of hoarse strangled cry, one hand coming to his throat as if to claw away something obstructing his breathing. "No-Dean-"

"I'm here Sammy, it's okay-" He eased the kid's trembling body back down onto the bed; Sam was too weak to resist, racked with dry sobs of pain and fear, locked in a world of delirium from which he could not escape. "You…you can't-" His face was streaked with sweat, his untidy bangs plastered to his skin; his eyes darted behind the lids in his nightmare. He turned his head to the side of the pillow, curling around his injuries, the shivering growing more intense as he clutched the blankets closer around him. Dean touched his forehead and found it searingly hot. He bit his lip and glanced up to see that his father had been woken by Sam's scream and had come to the side of the bed, his face intent with worry.

"That's one hell of a fever," he said softly. "Kid'll be lucky to…"

"No!" Dean snapped. "No! Don't even say it!" He slid one and under the side of Sam's face, cupping his brother's cheek and stroking across it gently with one finger. "He's not gonna give up now, not after coming so far. You hear me, Sam? I'm talking about you here. You gotta prove me right, okay? That a deal?"

Sam's eyes cracked open, the pupils dilated and dead black, his vision hazy. Dean leaned closer. "Sammy? C'mon Sammy, can you hear me?"

"Dean?" Sam croaked. "Dean…"

Dean felt a kind of desperate, crazy relief well through him. "Hey, Sammy, I said you could do it, huh?"

"I said…I said I'd save them…I said…you came…you can't…go…"

Dean did not understand. He was not sure that Sam was actually fully conscious; he seemed to be rambling, his words disjointed and punctuated by his laboured, shallow breathing. His eyes were at half-mast and he had not stopped trembling. "Just take it easy," he said anxiously. "Try and sleep, 'kay? I'm gonna be right here…" John was silent, watching, hoping. He did not know what to say. "You feeling all right, kiddo?" Dean added. "Anything hurt?"

"Cold," Sam whispered, his eyes slowly closing once more, his energy exhausted. "Cold…"

"You're not cold," Dean muttered. "You're burning up…" But Sam had already drifted away once more, falling away back into his nightmares, and all Dean could do was pull the covers back off his shivering, sweating body, hypnotised by the pain and fear and misery etched into Sam's sleeping face. He had failed to protect him to such an extent as this-if Sam was sick and hurt and fevered and bleeding then it was Dean's fault. He should have spoke out before, should have called his father on his behaviour earlier, caught on faster…and then maybe Sam would not be lying here so broken before him.

John seemed to know what he was thinking, for he reached out to lay a hand on his oldest son's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "It's not your fault, Dean," he said quietly. "If anyone's it's mine."

"No," Dean contradicted him in a whisper. "No, it's my job to take care of him. You're the one told me that, Dad. Right from the beginning."

…

It was a long, terrifying night for Dean, keeping watch over his little brother's shivering, fever-racked body, trying to make him drink, to calm him when his nightmares grew too intense, unable in truth to do anything at all. Sam's injuries and the strain his body had been put under, as well as, Dean feared, some kind of withdrawal reaction to whatever drug they had all been using at the camp, had seriously weakened him, and now he fought for his life. Throughout that night he lay lost in delirium, and there was absolutely nothing that John, Dean or Niki could do to help him.

Dawn found Dean dozing off in his chair beside the bed, John in a similar position in another, and Niki curled up and fast asleep under a spare blanket on the floor beside them. When Sam opened his eyes and blinked himself awake it was this that he saw. He raised himself up on his elbows, wincing with the pain that shot through his body, fighting the nausea that made his vision swim sickeningly with every movement, trying to work out where he was and what was going on. The last thing he remembered was Richard Banner grinding him into the mud in the forest.

And now suddenly-Dean. Dad. Had they made it out? Had they escaped?

It was then that he remembered Niki, and his heart sank. They could not stay here. He had told her that he would find a way to cure her of her curse, and that was exactly what he was going to do. But he could not confide in his brother, still less his father. John at least would kill Niki the second he found out about who she really was. Which meant that Sam was going to have to leave them once again, with Niki, in secret. His heart seemed to break in two at the idea-how could he make a choice like this? His family, or her?

It was at that moment that Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head, looking about him in confusion and befuddlement. His tired gaze flashed across Sam who, if weak and exhausted, was definitely awake, and he shot to his feet.

"Sammy, thank God-"

"Hey, Dean," Sam returned, trying to smile, to seem as if everything was normal. "Uh-what happened?"

…..

It had taken several hours for Niki to find time for this conversation with Sam-Dean, John and Bobby had been far too relieved and guilty to let him out of their sight for even minutes at first. Now however, at last, they had retreated to the other room to, she suspected, decide what they were going to do next, leaving her alone with Sam.

"We have to leave," he said immediately. She was not surprised that he had said it, but she could not allow it.

"No, Sam. I'm not letting you give up all this for me. They love you-so much."

"Dad doesn't," he said, very quietly. He looked thin and white and lost sitting there knees drawn up, the pains and troubles of the long fight etched into his face, maybe never to fully fade. They both knew, though neither would say it out loud, that this day was but a brief interlude in his sickness, that the road ahead would be still harder. Sam just knew that he had to seize this short respite while he could.

"He does," she said firmly. "Even I can see that. But you can't leave them for me."

Sam shook his head in frustration. Niki was beginning to wonder if she had chosen the wrong time to do this-he looked shattered.

"And anyway," she added. "You can't abandon them yet. We still have to go back and free the others at the camp. All the other kids."

He looked marginally happier, maybe through the idea of putting off what could only be a truly horrible decision to make. "Yeah. But Niki-you know some of them are going to get out only to go on a killing spree-then that'll be our fault."

"So what would you rather do, then?" she challenged. "Leave all the innocents in there just in case the less innocent don't do as you want them to?"

"They're loyal to the Commander," Sam said miserably. "His own private army, like he said. I just don't know how-" He broke off with a wince, his hand going to his shoulder. Instantly she felt guilty-he was sick and hurting and he really should not have to think about this kind of thing right now. They were not even yet sure that he would survive.

"Hey," she said swiftly. "We'll find a way." She rose and shot him a reassuring smile that was a tribute to her acting skills. "For now you need to rest and get your strength back."

A young woman stood in a dark room facing a hooded, cloaked man-nothing could be seen of him beneath the concealing cowl. And this time Sam found himself able to hear-she was pleading with him.

"Please, Christopher. Just take it off for a moment so I can see your face…"

"I can never take it off," he returned, softly. "I'm sorry, Moira. But everything is perfect now-they will never find me and we can be together for always!"

She blinked. "Who will never find you?" Her voice was slightly annoyed now. "For months now you've been looking over your shoulder, screaming in your sleep, saying something was following you. And now suddenly you show up wearing a hood you say you can never take off and expect me to just fall in with your bizarre plans? Well, I won't. Either you tell me what's going on or I leave." She folded her arms, tilting her chin, unmovable.

Christopher stared at her-the glint of his eyes beneath the shadows obscuring his face seemed angry. "So," he breathed. "You're in league with them, are you? A spy right by my side?"

She took a step back, frightened. "Chris-no-what are you talking about-"

"I will not fail now," he hissed, shoving close to her-she was backed against the wall now, her face panicked, his body pressing in on her. "I have just found the only way out of the deal and I will not be taken now-least of all by some pathetic human traitor like you!" And there was the glint of a blade and Moira gave a gasping cry and sagged against him-he caught her bleeding body in his arms and held her close for a second, the knife still protruding from her heart, then let her go. Her corpse fell to the floor with a thud and her lifeless, twisted face was bared to the light-

And deep within the shadows of the hood, Christopher wept.

Sam jerked awake, gasping and sweating. Dean, at his side, was instantly there, gripping his shoulders, calling his name. "Hey. Sam. Sammy! It's just a dream! You're okay-"

Sam stared up at his brother in the darkness, bewildered and stunned by the first flowering of an idea. "Yeah," he said a little dazedly. "Yeah, just a dream…"

Okay, I'm not completely happy with this chapter, it seems a bit off in places but I've worked on it quite a lot and can't seem to sort it out, so…here it is.

I also wanted to say that I've been feeling that this story might not be working so well, and I think it's because I sort of changed plot in the middle. Originally John was not going to be hypnotised-it was going to be his natural reaction, being so cruel to Sam, which would make the ending very different to how it's now turning out, but I felt really guilty about that halfway and thought I was being too unfair to him, so I changed it and I think that may have messed things in here up a bit.

Anyway, looking back I'm thinking I may have made the wrong decision there, for the way the rest of the plot is turning out. I may go back and rewrite that part of the story, I may not, but I'd appreciate knowing what you think of all that. And of course maybe I'm just imagining that it's not working and it seems fine to you all? If not I apologise and I'll try and sort it out…but I guess we'll see, right? Thanks for reading and I'll have the next chapter up soon!