Chapter 14: Unleashed

"What did you just say?" John seethed between tight lips, still not quite believing what his ears were telling him.

With a hint of nervousness, Dean replied, "Look, Dad, no disrespect intended, but I don't see what this is accomplishing. It was just some crazy-ass dream. Nothing more."

Visibly shaken by Dean's rebelliousness, John said, "Son, it is more than just a dream if it wakes the whole household and is followed by a fit of convulsions. If I'm going to help you, I have to know what's going on. Now, damn it, Dean, tell me what this is about."

Sam tore his eyes from his father's reddening face to his brother's pale features, waiting with baited breath for a response. Dean's upper lip and brow had broken out in a new layer of sweat, the flush of fever the only color left in his face as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Dad, but I can't."

Anger hardening his normally gentle eyes, John dangerously clipped, "Can't or won't?"

Meeting his father's icy gaze with determination and strength of will, Dean sadly asked, "Does it matter?"

Slamming his large fist hard on the tabletop with a loud bang, sending the whole room jumping, John bit out, "I've had just about all the nonsense I'm going to take from you, Dean." Standing to lean over the barrier between them, John narrowed his eyes and pinned Dean with a glare as he said, "I'm your father and I am telling you – no – ordering you, to tell me."

Dean jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over, the overwhelming lightheadedness making him clumsy, then took a quick step backward, pleading, "Dad, don't. I've never asked anything from you. But I'm asking now, just…please…don't."

Missouri achingly watched as John moved to stand directly in front of Dean, leaning heavily on his crutches. Sam cautiously stood and watched worriedly as things began to escalate out of control. The two bystanders wanted to intervene but were unsure of how to without making things worse, afraid that any movement might send either man over the edge.

"Dean, I'm losing my patience," John growled, then stopped, idly noticing that he had backed Dean up against a wall. "Don't disappoint me, again."

And though the words held no hidden meanings or intended hurt, Dean's heart began racing ninety to nothing, thudding loudly in his head along with blurs of something else beginning at the edges. Suddenly, the room felt too small and the air too thick. His legs were weak and his head swam dizzily, adrenaline being the only thing keeping him upright and face to face with his enraged father.

Dean felt like he was standing on the edge of a great vacant expanse threatening to swallow him whole. The floodgates holding his wounded soul inside were weakening, on the verge of splintering, making it difficult to keep it all in place. He was slipping and didn't know how to stop, was powerless to stop, no matter how he clawed at it. He was coming undone and it terrified him beyond measure. What the hell was happening to him?

Sam flinched with the revelation as it plowed through his brain. Dean was in serious trouble and Sam was paralyzed with indecision. He could feel his brother's fear and agony, but his mind was so full of Dean that he couldn't think clearly enough to act on it. He knew his brother was losing some kind of internal battle, his seams coming apart, unraveling right before them all.

"Dad," Dean breathed, his chin trembling in barely concealed emotion, "don't."

John leaned in, bringing his face inches from his son's, causing bursts from the nightmare to sear through Dean's mind, like flashes from Sam's visions, winking in and out, getting mixed up with reality.

"Don't what, Dean? What is wrong with you? I have a right to know," John practically blared, worry fueling his ire. To Dean, it was a sneer, a familiarly terrifying sneer. Images continued to flash through his mind, causing him to unknowingly bring a shaky hand up to touch his temple, eyes blinking rapidly.

Still grasping his flimsy protective shield with all his might, Dean's fevered mind continued flashing back and forth between reality and his nightmares as he yelled, "Right to know? Right to know! Since when, Dad?! Since when did you ever care about what was going on with me?!"

With rage, John slammed his fist into the wall next to Dean's head, causing his son to forcibly cringe, but the hand at Dean's temple stayed. John bellowed, "How dare you! How dare you question me or my feelings for you! Damn you, Dean!"

Sam saw the tremors shaking his brother's weakened body, noticed the way Dean's hand hovered near his head as if to ward off a gnat, eyes closed tight with his face twisted by unmatched anguish. Dean recoiled as John's forgotten crutch hit the floor with a noisy clatter, causing his dad to pause his tirade. Three long strides and Sam was there – firmly, protectively, positioning himself between Dean and their father.

"Dad, stop. Stop it. Can't you see what you're doing to him?" Sam pleaded, trying to reason with John, hands clutching his dad's shirt firmly.

Sam could feel the chills rocking Dean's inflamed body, could hear the wracking coughs jerking him violently, could 'see' glimpses of images from Dean's mind flickering in and out with reality – making it difficult to concentrate on diffusing the situation at hand. Sam knew their dad was not intentionally causing Dean any harm, but he also knew just as surely that he had to buffer the onslaught that was bombarding Dean's mind by any means necessary.

"What I'm doing to him? I just want answers." John paused, a hint of desperation shadowing his face. "And I want them now." John knew something was up. One look at Sam's frantic face told him he wasn't getting the full picture and it scared him.

Feeling his urgency and helplessness turning quickly to anger, Sam spat, "Always got to be the one in control, right, Dad? You won't be happy until you've whipped us both into obedience like your little lap dogs!" Guilt panged Sam as he saw the glimmer of hurt cross his father's face.

"What the hell, Sam? I think you both have lost it!" Then, hurt and anger making him bare and honest, John hollered, "I just want to know what is wrong with my son, what you're all hiding from me!"

Both men were gripping each other's shirts, toe to toe, nose to nose – not backing down. Tension tightened around the inhabitants in the kitchen until everyone was stretched like a thin rubber band, ready to snap at any minute.

"Let go, Sam," John enunciated pointedly, veins in his neck straining against his tightened, flushed skin.

Sam gave a stubborn shake of his stringy brown mane and resolutely whispered, "Not until you back off."

"Sam," John whispered, his voice brittle with warning. "Right, now."

Glaring back at his father, his heart breaking with the words, Sam clearly pronounced, "I said… Not. Until. You. Back. Off."

Instantly John sprang into motion, he and Sam scuffling against each other as more heated words spilled from their lips, cutting into the heart of the other, fists gripping at each other's shirts in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Instantly the heated words were stopped by the reverberating sound of a crashing bowl as it dropped from Missouri's hands, nearly blotting out the desperate keening as she screeched, "Stop it! Stop it both of you. Now!"

Shocked, their focus immediately flew to the near hysterical woman as she cradled her head between her shaking hands, eyes locked on something on the floor behind them. Following her gaze downward and behind them, they both gasped. At some point, Dean had slumped downward, knees drawn to chest, hands pressed against his ears, and head lightly banging on the wall while he weakly chanted, "Stop. Please stop. I can't…stop it, please, please."

Tears were steaming down his face, along with buckets of sweat, and he continued to rock and chant, eyes closed against the pain, the fighting, and perhaps the world. Dean was broken, his ravaged body no longer able to put up with the immeasurable stress it was under.

"God, Dean!" Sam yelped as he scrambled to the floor in front of his distraught brother, John quickly joining him.

"Dean!" John implored, "Son, what is it?"

Sam grabbed his brother's arms and tried to force them away from his head, but Dean began to fight him off, as if being attacked. John also tried to contain the wildly struggling man in front of them with little success.

"Dean, stop!" John tried again, but lost his precarious balance and went sprawling backwards.

Grabbing Dean by the face, Sam forced him to meet his eyes as he held his brother's fevered head still.

"Dean, stop it. It's Sam – look at me! Dean, look at me!" Sam cried out, panicking at the sight of his big brother crumbling in his hands like a statue made of salt.

Dean's crazed, swimming eyes locked onto Sam's and he whimpered, "Sammy?"

And then Dean latched both of his heated palms onto Sam's wrists, clamping down in a painful vice-like grip as he bared his soul with one meaningful look into his baby brother's terrified eyes.

A brilliant sea of images and emotions drowned out all other thought as Sam was pulled into the boiling, churning mind of his brother. The breath was knocked from his lungs and every nerve fiber in his being was lit up in blistering torrents of pain. He was aware of shocking cold chills vibrating through his body, searing pain in his lungs, rapidly spinning walls and a relentless pounding in his head. Breathing through the worst of it, Sam relented to the visions in Dean's head as they came to him with a startling viciousness.

(Flash): demon/John's glowing eyes. (Flash): you're no son of mine. (Flash): Layla spent and dying. (Flash): they don't need you. (Flash): Sam's anguished face as Jessica burns above. (Flash): your fault, Dean. (Flash): Shtriga over little Sammy. (Flash): more concern than he's ever shown you. (Flash): gun pointed at demon/John. (Flash): all your fault. (Flash): Sam being possessed by the demon's blackness. (Flash): you deserve to die, Dean. (Flash): Dean burning on the ceiling, screaming soundlessly as demon/Sam walks away, eyes now a glittering yellow.

Sam's mind burst open in a cacophony of sounds, colors and feelings that overwhelmed rational thought, ate at his inner being, shredding and consuming his soul until a final clap of shocking insight into Dean's soul thrust him backwards. Sam threw his hands out in surprise and caught himself before he completely lost his footing.

Tears stung his cheeks and his voice was lost for what seemed like forever, his Adam's apple bobbing with unspoken emotion. For a few agonizing moments, Sam just stared at his fading brother kneeling in front of him, Dean's eyes glazed over and dazed, arms lax beside him. Neither brother was aware of anything else in the room, only each other – the only movement being Dean's trembling, panting body.

Then Dean blinked once, sending one fat, wet tear running pitifully down his white-washed face. Hoarsely, he cried, "Sammy." Dean's lips trembled on the last syllable and then his eyes drifted closed as Dean himself shut down, falling forward.

Sam moved to grab for his brother, pulling him into his waiting arms. The elder Winchester's blazing head came to rest against Sam's much cooler neck, the heat scorching his skin. Sitting in the middle of Missouri's marble tiled kitchen floor, Sam clung to his brother's unconscious form, not knowing if the shivering was coming from Dean or himself. His head fell on top of Dean's soft hair and Sam allowed the tears to fall with slow motion sorrow, each drop echoing in his ears as the buzzing in his mind ebbed away, leaving him shaken to his core.

"Dean," he brokenly mouthed against his brother's head, not able to communicate anything more. "Dean."

Missouri, face damp, moved quickly across the room toward the heart-wrenching sight of the two brothers locked together, bodies still quaking, in the middle of her kitchen floor. John, bewildered and stunned silent, clambered to join her. Cautiously resting a hand on Sam's back, as if fearing sudden movements would frighten him, Missouri crouched beside him as she lightly called, "Sam…what just happened?"

But Sam didn't answer, he just hugged Dean to him as if he was afraid his brother might disappear altogether if he let go, as if his unleashed essence might be sucked into the void forever. Resting her free hand on Dean's cheek, Missouri's eyes went round with alarm as she exclaimed, "He's burning up, we have to get him in a bath. Now!"

John reached out as if to take hold of Dean but was brought up short when Sam's grip on his brother tightened and he snapped, "Don't you touch him. Stay away from him."

Confused and stung by Sam's reaction, John spoke softly, as if reasoning with a small child, saying, "Sammy, I won't hurt him, I'm not the enemy. Son, listen to me, we have to get his fever down – now!"

"Sam," Missouri intoned, "he's right, we need to get him into a bath immediately. Please, Sam, you know we're telling the truth."

Snapping back to the present, Sam gave his head a slight shake and looked down at Dean. Unwillingly to let anyone else touch his brother, Sam blinked a few times and said, "Okay, but I'll carry him."

"Sweetie," Missouri cautioned, "what about your knee?"

"It'll be fine," Sam answered back. "I can do it." Something in his voice and eyes told the others quite clearly to back off and let him manage.

"Okay. John, go get the bath started, I'll follow Sam and give him what support I can."

With a short nod, John struggled upright using a single crutch as a fulcrum and then rushed toward the bathroom down the hallway. Meanwhile, Missouri did her best to support Sam as he stood with Dean – the elder boy's head remaining tucked under Sam's chin and his free arm and legs dangling loosely over his younger brother's muscled hold.

Briefly, Sam reflected on how strange it felt to hold Dean's body in his arms like this – like a limp, battered rag doll. It wasn't natural, felt all wrong for Dean to feel so fragile in his arms. He knew how much Dean would hate this if he were awake. Sam also noticed how much lighter his older brother was compared to what he had expected, what he knew he should've been. More evidence of how poorly Dean's appetite had been of late.

Tenderly, Sam cradled Dean's body closer to him, and carefully, but quickly, made his way toward the bathroom, Missouri in tow. By the time he got there, the tub was already a quarter of the way full and John was sitting on the edge, testing the temperature with his fingers.

Shoving a pang of guilt aside when John's worry-lined face turned expectantly toward him, Sam began the painstaking task of balancing Dean's weight against him as he set his brother's legs down along his own and began tugging at the burgandy over-shirt and then the grey t-shirt beneath that.

"Here, let me help you," John mumbled, his remorseful voice echoing startlingly small within the confined space of the guest bathroom.

Not able to look his father in the eyes, Sam only nodded, his shaggy hair bouncing in his eyes as he and John set about stripping Dean down to his boxers. Then, with Sam's arms firmly planted under Dean's armpits and John gripping his legs, the two men lowered the young man's fevered body into the tepid water, careful not to bang his drooping head on the hard surface. Not wanting to lose contact with his sibling just yet, Sam kneeled beside the tub and protected Dean's head by placing his arm between his brother and the frigid porcelain surface.

"How long do we need to leave him in here?" Sam asked, looking up at Missouri standing behind him.

Automatically checking her watch, she answered, "I think ten to fifteen minutes will be good, but we really need for him to wake up and take his pain relievers, too. Really, he just needs to wake up."

No sooner had the words left her mouth, than Dean's head began to swivel back and forth on Sam's tiring arm, soft moans escaping between chapped lips. As Dean's eyelids began to softly flutter, his arms and legs began to buck against the chilling water. Although John had made sure the bath was lukewarm, it felt like ice to Dean's fevered body and he fought to get out of it.

"Shh, Dean. It's all right, just stay still. Try to relax for me, we need you to stay in the tub," Sam soothed his brother.

"Sam-my?" the elder boy chattered, eyes trying to fix on Sam's face.

Sam's face softened and he leaned in closer before replying, "Yeah. It's me, Dean. I've got you. Just stay in the water."

"B-b-but,'s c-c-cold," Dean complained, still pushing against Sam's restraining arms keeping him in place.

"I know and I'm sorry, but you're burning up, man. You've got to stay put. It's either that or we're taking you directly to the hospital," Sam threatened, knowing Dean would do anything to stay out of the hospital.

"N-n-n-no, h-h-hosp-pital," Dean squeezed out from between clenched teeth. After that, he wrapped his arms around his quaking body and willed himself to stay put, no matter how much his body resisted. Sam's heart ached at how miserable his brother looked sitting there trembling, shoulders pitching with strained coughs.

"That's it, just a little bit longer." Sam hoped his words would help put his brother at ease and take away that utterly forlorn expression twisting his face in a deep scowl. Sam glanced at the now silent John Winchester who was twisting the knobs into the off position. His dad hadn't said a word since getting Dean into the water and Sam wondered what was on his father's mind. He got the impression that John was afraid of scaring Dean with his presence.

At the first sign of Dean's return to consciousness, Missouri had slipped out to retrieve his medication and was just now coming back from the sink with a glass of water. Thinking better of it, she decided to fetch the thermometer as well, wanting to get a reading on his fever before giving him the water.

"Dean, open up and let me take your temp real quick," she ordered.

He twisted his head away, raggedly coughing, and then grunted, "N-no…can't s-s-stop c-coughing."

"Dean, you have to. Just cough with your mouth shut." Seeing the stubborn set to Dean's jaw, Sam changed tactics and said, "Okay, that's it. I'm taking you to the emergency room. Now." Sam moved, as if to get up and make good on his threat.

Dean grabbed his arm and pulled his little brother back down. Obediently, Dean popped his mouth open and accepted the thermometer, hanging onto it with his quivering lips and doing his best to stifle his body's cough responses.

"That's what I thought," Sam said, easing back down beside the tub, rubbing his face wearily. Seeing Dean like this was taking its toll on him and he felt much older than he actually was.

Missouri checked the time on her watch again, careful to time both the temperature reading and the amount of time Dean was in the water. Three minutes later, she took the glass instrument out and angled it toward the light, not quite sure the reading was correct.

Raising his eyebrows and nodding toward the thermometer, Sam asked, "Well, what is it?

Nervously, she raised her concerned eyes to his and pronounced, "One hundred five point four."

Sam's eyes flew to meet John's, registering the alarm on the other man's face before asking, "Dad, whatta we do? Should we take him to the emergency room?"

Upon hearing the words 'emergency room,' Dean began to fight Sam's hold again, protesting weakly, "N-n-no, S-Sam. No h-h-hosp-pital. P-prom-mise."

Blinking and licking his lips, feeling torn, John answered, "Wait…just wait. Help Missouri get those pills down him while I to go make a phone call to a friend of mine. Be right back." He rose then and went in search of Missouri's telephone in the living room, leaving the others to calm a panicky Dean.

After a few minutes of soothing words and vague promises, Dean relaxed back into the water and let his weighted eyelids slide shut. He could feel himself floating in and out of the beckoning darkness and it occurred to him that he should just let it come. He was so sick of fighting and struggling – his body resistant to all his efforts. I'm so tired. Just going to close my eyes for a second. Just a second, that's all, he found himself thinking.

The other occupants of the bathroom watched as Dean hovered between wakefulness and unconsciousness, hearts racing. Frowning with distress, Sam whispered to Missouri, "He's barely staying conscious. What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. But his fever's way too high, much higher and it could cause brain damage. Getting it down is our first priority," Missouri answered.

"Maybe I should just take him to the hospital – not wait for Dad to get back?" he ventured.

Gripping Sam's arm in a reassuring squeeze, Missouri answered, "Let's give your Dad a chance, Dean doesn't need to be upset anymore than he already has been and you've seen how he reacts if you even say the word 'hospital'. Your dad would never purposely put Dean in harm's way, Sam," Missouri tried to reason.

Reluctantly, Sam agreed, saying, "Yeah, I know. But if this 'friend' isn't legit, I'm taking him straight to the emergency room."

Accepting his words, Missouri hesitantly changed subjects, asking, "Sam, what happened in there?"

Bowing his head and massaging the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb, Sam sighed, and then deflected the question by asking, "What did you 'see'?"

Before she could answer, John came rushing back in and announced, "All right, I have a buddy who's a doctor, he lives nearby and he's agreed to come over and take a look at Dean."

Slight hitching noises suddenly garnered everyone's attention, drawing their focus to the man lying in the tub. Dean's face was crumpled by emotion as he stared up at his father, whispering, "I'm s-s-sor-ry, D-D-Dad."

"Sorry? About what, Dean?" John asked, confused by the sight of his elder son, rock of the family, shedding tears that mingled with the bath water.

Dean stuttered, "F-for g-g-get-ting S-S-ammy p-p-possessed. M-m-my f-fault."

"What the-" John stumbled, speechless for the third time that day. "No, Dean. Sam's fine, he's right here. Your brother is safe."

Sam leaned in close to Dean's face, using a hand to turn his brother's head toward him, and said, "Dean, look at me. Look at me. It's Sam, I'm here and I'm safe. You didn't do anything wrong, do you here me? Nothing. I'm fine."

The shaking man looked dazedly up at his little brother, searching his face for signs of harm. Delirium blurring the edges of reality and make-believe, Dean's lips trembled as he pleaded, "S-Sam-my?" Seeing his brother's nod, Dean whispered, "I n-n-never meant f-for Jess-ica to d-d-die. I'm sor-ry."

Sucker punched and bare, Sam's eyes welled up with unshed tears as he used his thumb to wipe away a tear from Dean's face and whispered back, "It wasn't your fault, Dean. I don't blame you. No matter what else you believe, know that it wasn't your fault and I never blamed you."

"B-but," Dean resisted, "he t-t-told me." His eyes fixed on John and he accused, "h-he said you b-b-blamed me. S-s-said it was m-my fault. Said I was a d-d-disappoint-ment and d-d-deserved to d-die."

"Son," John jumped in, aghast at his son's words, "that's ridiculous. I would never say that. I don't blame you. Not for any of this. I'm not disappointed in you and never have been."

"No. H-h-heard you. S-s-shiny yel-low eyes – said lots of th-things," Dean babbled. He was clearly becoming more and more agitated, starting to get worked up and uncooperative.

Turning quickly to John, Sam pleaded, "Dad, he's not coherent right now. You can't reason with him. Maybe it would be better if you went and watched for your friend."

Rubbing a hand through his hair, John wearily remarked, "Yeah, maybe you're right. It was my skin the demon used. Maybe I should stay with Bobby until he's better."

Hearing the despair in his father's voice, Sam caught his gaze at the same time as he caught John's shirt sleeve and said, "Don't you dare abandon him again. That would just make it worse, trust me on this. Okay? He just needs some time."

Giving Sam a short nod of trust, John rose up and said, "I'll be on the porch if you need anything."

"And, Dad?" Sam waited for John to turn back before continuing, "I'm sorry…about earlier."

John nodded and gratefully said, "Yeah. Me too, Son."

Then the older man slipped out of the bathroom and took up sentry duty on the front porch. Sitting alone on the porch swing, John Winchester let his emotions surface, scattered tears leaking from his saddened eyes. He ground them away with his palms and whispered into the still morning air, "What have I done?"

TBC

a/n: I think I managed to get back to everyone who reviewed last time, if I forgot anyone, please accept my deepest, most humble apologies. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, though I admit I was a little loopy-tired when I wrote it, so if it rambles – forgive the weary writer :)

As I have said to some of you in the past, I treasure each review as if it was a piece of chocolate coated cheesecake…and I love cheesecake and chocolate, so now you know how much I appreciate each kind word and message of support from you all. You're awesome!

Much thanks owed to Mady Bay for her vast supply of patience in beta'ing this multiple times and thanks to Claire Kennedy for helping me tweak a couple of things here and there. And thank you, God, for spell-check because I couldn't spell my way out of a paper sack this week!

Yes, Unleashed is a song by Saliva – for all you music fans out there.