I still don't own anything – so without further ado…

From this dark room

Chapter 14

The moment Dean was out again, Sam slumped as if the strings that had held the wooden limbs of a marionette had been cut.

Bobby sympathized, but in order to spare the kid he had to hold himself up a little longer, take some of that burden off him.

He snatched the cloths out of Sam's hand and rewet them, wiping Dean's sweat covered torso down once more before pulling the cover back up his body, lifting his head to place the pillow back under it. Through it all, Sam sat motionless, one hand on Dean's arm, the other on his forehead as if still holding him down, thumb running soothing circles between his brother's brows and the pulse-point of his wrist, through layers of gauze. The motion probably meant to sooth his own frayed nerves as much as Dean's, Bobby guessed - not that he didn't know where it was coming from.

The shaking of Dean's body finally ceased and he once more dropped into that unmoving paralysis that Sam and Bobby had come to both hate and crave over the past three days.

At first, they'd hated it, had wanted Dean to do anything besides just laying there as if dead, had wanted him to move, move, please move again. For hours after the exorcism Dean hadn't even twitched one finger, so movement of any kind had seemed like the most desirable thing in the world to both Sam and Bobby.

Once the convulsions had started, the wish for movement had been relinquished so fast, they had doubted that it had ever been there in the first place. Dean's body, rid of that thing inside him was still not done fighting as his locked up muscles had started seizing, screaming for oxygen, for release, sending his body into some sick dance he couldn't control himself - that they couldn't control anymore.

It had been a mirror performance of the seizure that had torn through Dean during the ritual, as they'd drawn the demon out of him, had banished it, never to come back again. They hadn't known if the exorcism had worked, at first, no black smoke coming out of Dean's mouth, no way to check with the help of holy water or a devils trap or nicking him with a silver blade. They'd just needed to hope and wait.

The cramps had not really helped them believe that it was indeed over, even though Bobby had tried to stay strong and confident, for Sam's sake and maybe a little bit for his own, too.

Bobby knew, of course, knew that the way Dean had been tensed beyond belief for days, the way he'd been sore and bruised from his various fights and escapades, the way he had to be bound so he wouldn't do them in, wouldn't do himself any more harm, had to catch up on him eventually. Those hours of the exorcism, the hours before, when he'd pretty much been sprung like the drawn sinew of a bow, muscles pulled taut to the verge of almost snapping, his shoulder popped out of it's socket and his body held in a position that just had to be hell even on a healthy person… The reaction should have been expected, the seizures just a way of fighting off the tension, the pain when he finally was plummeted into unconsciousness, finally letting go.

Still they hadn't been prepared, hadn't expected it to look so bad, to feel so shattering. Dean had been absolutely still for so long, that the sight of him suddenly cramping, shaking, his teeth clenched so tight they both thought they would crack had felt like a bolt of lightening, a crash of thunder in a peaceful summer's night.

They'd finally untied him, not caring anymore if that thing was still in him, praying that it wasn't. They'd held him, much like they'd held him just now, when panic and hyperventilation had triggered another attack much like the other ones, though much less violent. They'd held him and cooled him, Sam talking to him, touching him, massaging his cramping limbs until the attack had eased again.

It had happened a few of times, about five or six all in all and each one had left the two men standing on the verge of collapse, Dean the only one granted oblivion after, Sam and Bobby were left to deal with the aftermath alone. It tore Bobby to pieces and there was no way he could even come close to imagining what Sam felt like. The look in his eyes, always giving away too much as it was, outright killing Bobby now.

And yet the kid hung on, barely so, but he did. For his brother.

The extent to which those two were willing to go for each other was something Bobby couldn't quite contemplate. But he knew that, as long as Dean was fighting, Sam would do the same. Apparently, the trademark Winchester stubbornness had been inherited to both of them. And then enhanced and tuned up a notch.

But they'd made it…they'd made it, against so many freaking odds, Bobby hardly believed it. He had told Sam that there was a chance of the host not surviving the exorcism. Which hadn't been a lie, unfortunately. What he hadn't told him, though, was the fact that the chances of survival were slim to none. Sam would have never gone along with it if he'd known the whole truth, hell, Bobby almost hadn't been able to square it with his own conscience. The only reason he had done it in the end was the knowledge that they had to stop this and that there was no way Dean would ever survive it, anyway, if he'd somehow managed to hurt another human being, let alone his own brother.

Still, Bobby would not have taken the chance, no matter how bad the odds, if he hadn't seen a tiny sliver of hope, a teeny chance that it would work. His source had been pretty clear about this…the stronger the person infected was, the larger the chances of survival.

But he'd also said that the longer he'd been subjected to the madness of the Ragazara eating him from the inside out, scraping away his sanity, the stronger the love, the bigger the determination, the smaller the chances. Well, the man had apparently never heard of Dean Mr. Fight The Odds Winchester, even if said odds were stacked sky-scraper-high against him.

True, his love and devotion for his brother had scooted him towards the edge faster, his dead-set-one-headed mind of love and protection for Sam his sure downfall on one hand, but Bobby knew, without a doubt, that somehow, Dean had still managed to hold back. Otherwise he would have snapped long before he actually had. Because once in motion, stopping Dean was close to impossible. So he had managed to stop himself, kind of, even if just for a second or two, giving his brother the window he'd needed to protect himself, to take Dean down.

Trusting Sam to find a way out of this, one way or the other.

And here they were, not quite out yet, but on the road to getting there, no doubt. A long one, maybe, a painful one, too, but a road nonetheless. And roads the Winchesters knew how to deal with, had dealt with all their lives. Bobby was sure of it.

Bobby sighed heavily and grabbed a glass of water, drowned it in one big gulp before he refilled the glass and went over to Sam's side. He handed it to the kid, who still sat, mumbling and soothing even though he looked like he was gonna keel over himself any second.

Bobby carefully detached Sam's hand from Dean's face, wrapped the kid's long fingers around the glass, practically leading it to his lips until he was sure Sam got it and with one long look of thankfulness, eyes suspiciously glassy but dry, drank a couple of tentative sips before finally gulping it down greedily.

"Thanks, Bobby."

His eyes conveyed everything he wanted to say thanks for right there, starting with a simple glass of water, over coming to their aide, no questions asked, to saving his brother's life. Among other things.

"No problem, Sam."

As simple as that.

He'd do anything for those boys.

Simple as that.

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

Three days.

For three days straight Sam had sat by his brother's bed, had held his hand and watched him breathe, too afraid that if he'd even dared to close his eyes for a mere second, he'd lose Dean, that his big brother wouldn't be there anymore when Sam woke up again.

Of course, he hadn't prevailed, in the end, had to give in to his body's demand for sleep eventually, but he'd fought it with all he'd had. It was what Dean would have done, if their roles had been reversed, or rather, a fragment of what Dean would have done. His brother so much stronger, so much more selfless when it came to Sam…Sam felt ashamed when he'd woken up after sitting by Dean's side for more than 50 hours, after a mere three hours of sleep that had done nothing but fuel his need for more, had given him a taste of what his body craved more than anything else right now.

Those three days had taken everything, every last ounce of strength and determination out of Sam, so much more than he'd ever thought he'd be able to give. His fear for Dean amplified a million times with each minute passing by without his brother waking up, cracking a joke, smiling that million-watt smile of his.

When the convulsions had started Sam had already reached his breaking point a hundred times over and still he couldn't give in to the urge to just get up and walk the hell away from this room that still held his brother captive, that still refused to let him go.

Sam's heart was breaking, chipping off tiny pieces with each passing minute that he wasn't able to look into those vibrant, expressive green eyes that had been looking out for him all his life. Even when they'd been apart, even when Sam had been away at college, he'd still felt those eyes on him on occasion, had thought he'd gone completely insane when, in the middle of a lecture, or while sitting in the library, while barbequing with friends, he'd suddenly felt this overwhelming urge to turn around and check his back, to see if Dean was watching him from a hiding point somehow.

To this day he still suspected that, at least some of those times, he'd been right. That Dean had been there, lurking in the shadows, watching him, keeping an eye on him. And somehow, it had made him feel better, had made him feel safe.

With Dean out like this, completely helpless and so fucking vulnerable and dependant on Sam's help, Sam felt like a piece of himself was missing. A vital piece, so big, it was hard to imagine being able to live without.

He was eternally grateful that Bobby had been there with him during those three never-ending days of despair and pain and fear. Without Bobby, he didn't think he'd have made it through. The responsibility of having to take care of his brother, almost too much, almost wearing him down. He didn't know how Dean did it, how he'd done it all those years, how he'd been able to keep himself together and moving on regardless of the pressure bearing down on him.

Maybe that was the difference between them, right there and up for Sam to finally understand. But he couldn't, try as he might, figure it out.

Dean had been four years old when his life had been turned upside down. When he'd been given the responsibility of caring for his little brother, his father, too, on more occasions that he could remember. He had to have been hurting, had to have been scared. Unbelievably so. So much more than Sam could ever fathom. But he'd done it. Somehow, he'd done it and not only that, but he managed to be the perfect son, the perfect soldier, the perfect brother and father all in one.

Those walls, the one so carefully built and kept erect were there for a reason. They were there to keep Dean safe from the only thing he hadn't managed to be perfect for. Himself.

Sam hadn't managed to let go, not once, not breaking contact with his brother for even one minute, not even when asleep. He'd held on and kept up hope, despite Dean wasting away in front of his eyes, getting weaker and weaker as the hours ticked by painfully slow.

Sam had held on to his brother through the seizures that seemed to tear him apart, had held him through the aftermath when Dean's body was so weak it was hard to associate the crumbling shell with his larger than life big brother, his fortress, his shield in the line of fire.

And then, when he'd thought that there was nothing left to do, that there was no way out, not this time, that Dean had fought but lost, no deal, no sacrifice to make, no soul to trade, the next seizure being too much and killing his brother, Dean had woken up.

Not with a spectacular, bone jarring blow, no drum-beat accompanying his return to the living. He'd woken up, had simply been there all of a sudden, had come back. Just like he always had. Back to his brother, the way he'd always done, the only way he knew, to stand by Sam side, to simply be Dean again. A little worse for wear, maybe - Ok, a lot worse for wear. A long, long way from being alright, Sam knew that. But back.

That was all that mattered.

He had to be in pain, excruciating pain, even though Sam knew that it would take a lot of work to get Dean to admit that. The absence of serious physical injuries only serving to make Dean fight harder to make them believe that he was alright. Despite the fact that there was no way for him to hide the agony he was in. Both mentally and physically. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew that Bobby hadn't told him the whole truth about this. He knew himself, too, knew that he probably wouldn't have gone along with him.

But he'd done his share of research, had always been good to read between the lines, between the words said or written. He knew that the Ragazara took everything it could take, that it was the inner demon each and every person inhabited, only amplified a million-fold. He also knew that in getting rid of the thing, you didn't get rid of the emotions, the pain the thing had triggered. And the Ragazara didn't leave a host's body willingly. It took with it whatever it could hook its claws into. And left destruction in its wake.

Sam knew all that and still he couldn't get himself to care, not right now at least, even knowing that it would most likely come to bite him in the ass sooner than he liked. But right now all that mattered was that Dean was back. Not completely Dean yet, but on his way there. Sam would make sure of that.

And he had help. At least he had a little support in the form of Bobby who, next to him, cared more about his brother than anybody else. Together they'd get Dean back.

Sam was sure of it.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

His throat felt like it was on fire. Raw and lined with rows and rows of thorns or spikes, digging into his flesh whenever he tried to swallow. He thought he'd never been so thirsty in his whole life. The need to drink, to lubricate his throat so strong, it almost brought tears to his eyes. Almost.

He tried to assemble some saliva, but where the hell was that supposed to come from, dried up and parched as he was? Instead, the attempt made him gag, cough, and he felt ripples of pain chase through his chest and stomach at the movement, ripping at his muscles like they wanted to tear him to pieces.

He didn't get it, didn't understand how he could feel so…spent, every single muscle in his body strained as if he'd been digging up a whole graveyard, salting and burning nonstop for days on end all by himself. Even then, he thought he ought to feel better than he did right now. His father had taught him a long time ago that the best way to get rid of sore and stiff muscles was movement, but he highly doubted that he'd be able to as much as get up now, let alone run a couple of laps around the block, like his dad would have had him do in situations like this.

His muscles didn't just feel stiff and sore, they felt torn and bruised, among other things. So he'd settle for not moving right now. It wasn't as if his dad was there to chastise him for it…

He tried to wet his lips again, gulping painfully onto thin air, coughing roughly.

The dip of the mattress once again startled him and he thought he might have twitched, or at least he felt like he had, only there was no way to be sure with the way his body didn't really move, at all, in reaction.

Screw this.

Only Sammy…Sam, still here, still with him.

He thought he might have sighed with relief. From the look in his little brother's eyes, he just might have made some actual noise this time.

"You thirsty?"

A quick nod, against the splitting headache, too eager to appear nonchalant.

"Good, you need to drink some more…here, let me help."

Sam reached behind Dean's back, sneaking his shoulder behind his neck, supporting his chest with a strong arm and lifting him upright just a little bit. He was having way too little trouble doing this, Dean realized, like, he was experienced or something, like he'd done that about a hundred times in the past three days.

And, considering the way Dean felt, Sam probably had had no choice.

"Coffee?" he ground out, more out of habit than real desire for the hot beverage. He really didn't think that his stomach would be able to handle it at the moment.

Sure enough, it made Sam smile, if just a little.

"Gatorade, the red one. Get over it!"

Sam smirked and Dean forced a pretty decent eye-roll, or so he thought. Even though it felt like that little act split his head in two, but hey, the things he did to see his little brother smile…those dimples giving him back at least a tiny bit of his youthful look.

Dean gulped down the sweet liquid greedily, too greedily maybe, choking on the last sip, coughing painfully, cramping with the jolts of lightening the movement sent through his tortured body.

When he was aware enough again, he heard Sam talking to him, with that soothing, nurse Betty voice he always used when tending to his injured big brother, mumbling words of reassurance and comfort that made absolutely no sense. But they didn't need to, Dean had realized that a lot sooner than today, because it was the voice that mattered, the cadence, the mere knowledge that Sam was there and watching out for him. That was all that mattered, always had and always would matter. Hell, he could have chanted a damn backstreet boys song, or say, Britney Spears – whatever Sam's preference - for all Dean cared, as long as he was simply there.

When he was done, settled more or less comfortably against his brother's chest, deciding to ignore the humiliating position in favour of the reassurance it actually brought him, Sam nudged him gently once more, getting him to focus back on him.

"Hey…better now? You need to slow down, take small, slow sips, alright? Just a little more, so you don't shrivel up on me here and then we're done, I promise."

Dean groaned, despite himself. The thirst was still pretty much on top of his agenda, true, but the pain and discomfort drinking brought with it not so much. But Sam had a point there, most likely. Still he couldn't keep himself from bitching…one, for old times sake and two, because he knew that, despite everything his little brother would say, it would make Sam feel better. Nothing beats familiarity, right? Dean definitely knew what he was talking about.

"God, look at you. You seem…to draw far too much fun…out of force feeding me…"

Another cough, a little less violent this time.

"Yeah, right, 'cause that's such a freaking party, Dean."

"You do enjoy making me puke…sick bastard…"

"Been there, done that, dude. Time to move on now…"

The way he said it, with that crooked little smirk that sometimes made it hard to discern if he was serious or not, made Dean wonder. But one look into those deep, hazel eyes and he knew, without any doubt, that it went way beyond the metaphor, way beyond all the numerous occasions in their sorry past that Sam had stood by, helplessly, when Dean pretty much puked his guts out.

In those eyes he could see that Sam had most likely spent numerous times in the past three days that he himself spent in sweet oblivion, fearing for his brother's life, tending to his ailing body, his failing body. Sam had been forced to watch pretty much helplessly as Dean shut off continuously, not being able to do anything about it despite trying to force-feed his own brother so his strength wouldn't give out, so he wouldn't die of malnutrition and dehydration, pouring fluids down his throat only to be forced to clean most of it up again mere minutes later, no doubt, when Dean's stomach had not been able to hold them in.

But Sam was anything if not stubborn, something like this wouldn't have made him give up.

Hell yeah, he looked like he'd had a hell of a lot of fun right there.

Sam's eyes were bloodshot and heavy bags adorned his pale face, at least bringing some color to it, even though deep, purplish gray probably wasn't the stylish way to go this season. He looked about as spent and beaten as Dean felt. And then some.

So maybe he really hadn't had all that much fun, lately…

"Sorry Sammy…didn't mean it…" he whispered hoarsely, not managing to look his little brother in the eyes much longer. He'd seen more than he thought he could deal with.

He could feel Sam shift behind him, adjust his weight a little, letting Dean's head roll against his strong shoulder so he could hold him up more easily while leading the damn glass to his lips again. And even though he felt like smashing it out of Sam's hand our of sheer frustration, because he really should be able to hold on to a darn glass by himself, he let Sam help, took two, three more tentative sips before allowing Sam to settle him back down when he had enough. Even though he felt like he could lap up a whole lake right now, his throat was so parched.

"That's enough for now…no too much at first. Your stomach needs to readjust itself to fluids and food again… It'll probably start cramping again pretty soon but just try to hold it in if possible. It will get easier soon, I promise."

He again sounded strong and calm and reassuring, as if he Sam was an expert on the field, which, after three days of getting acquainted with the odds and possibilities, he most likely was. It was a sad testimony of their lives that they were able to sound so much on top of everything when clearly all they wanted to do was cry and hide away from the world.

Dean nodded, trusting his brother on this, like he did with pretty much anything else these days - and always had, as he settled back into the mattress that still felt way too soft, yet he wasn't even able to move his own body enough to find a more comfortable position to rest in. If there even was one. He somehow highly doubted it right now.

He felt the familiar pull on his eyelids, heavy and demanding but fought to keep them open, suddenly panicked that, when closing them he'd lose what right now could very well be just a dream, like some last electrical currents of a dying brain that made you see what you wished for most before you die. Almost like a fish gulping for water, when he'd already been sliced open and degutted and still the nerves in it's body told it to keep on fighting, giving it hope where there really was none left.

"Sam…"

Dean didn't even care how weak his own voice sounded, he just needed to make sure that Sam was still there, not a dream, not a sick illusion of a dying brain.

"Yeah, right here, Dean."

The mattress dipped to the side and when he turned his head, bleary eyes searching fruitlessly for a second there were two huge, soft hands on his cheeks, turning his head the other way, helping him focus on Sam's face, right in front of him, only inches away from his own.

"Good…thought… Where did you go?"

"I didn't go nowhere, man. Been right here the whole time. You dipped off for a minute, got disoriented when you woke up again. You should really go to sleep now, Dean, relax a bit. You're muscles are all bunched up as it is."

"Don't wanna go to sleep…been asleep for too long… Don't…wanna leave again…so soon…"

Dean knew he sounded like a petulant four-year-old, but he really, honestly felt like he didn't want to leave, didn't want to leave Sam. Everything was so fuzzy, the pain coursing through his body so real, so strong… he felt like he could only get through this with Sam right there with him, no matter if that was stubborn or selfish or simply scared. He needed Sam to stay with him, see him through this.

He just wished, feverishly so, that Sam didn't leave, didn't take what Dean had said and done those past days… that he didn't take that to heart and up and leave like he had every fucking right to do, if Dean was even just a little honest with himself.

Sam would have every right to abandon his big brother, turn his back and walk out, out that door that always was there, always had been there to start with. Somewhere a little off to the side, hidden in the background it seemed, coming into better focus every once in a while, moving away again at times. The door through which his brother would leave him again, one day…

Dean started at Sam's voice, blinked him into focus again.

"Well, Dean, you've been unconscious, that's not quite the same. You need rest now. True, actual, healing rest - sleep. I'll stay right here, wake you in a little bit, give you some more to drink, alright? Bobby will be back soon, too. He's gone to get supplies, find you something for the pain. He'll probably dance a jig when he sees that you're doing better... He's been quite worried about your sorry ass, I can tell you…"

Sam smiled sadly - and were that tears in his eyes again? Hell, Sammy was such a girl. And a bad liar. Always had been, even when he was little, trying to convince Dean that he hadn't smashed his favourite Metallica tape, having tried unsuccessfully to rewind the tangled up band but only bunching it up worse in the process.

Sure, Bobby had been worried, he better had. But it wasn't hard to see that Dean hadn't been the only one he'd had to worry about those last days. He'd probably been forced to face the destruction of not only one, but two Winchesters right in front of his eyes.

It looked like Dean had been the lucky one, after all. At least he hadn't been forced to watch this. What was a little physical pain compared to being doomed to watch? He wasn't sure he'd have been able to pull through like his brother had.

Sam had been the strong one in their family all along. He just had always been too stubborn to see it.

Maybe Sam wasn't leaving, just yet, maybe he'd stay a little longer, give him another chance, regardless of whether Dean deserved it or not.

Sleep was there, spreading its welcoming arms, ready to pull Dean down with it within the blink of an eye, but he wasn't ready to go out without getting the last word in – just for the sake of it. Just to make sure Sam didn't worry about him too much. Because if Sam saw him at least trying to be funny and annoying, he'd believe that things were going back to normal for them again.

"Call Bobby…tell him, I need M&Ms, the yellow ones… Gotta built up some strength."

Dean gave the most wicked smile he was capable of, fending off his insecurities the only way he'd ever known – in overplaying them.

But Sammy smirked – hell, he was good. Even feeling like shit, he still managed to make the kid smile.

"I don't think chocolate and peanuts are going to help you get stronger – they're only gonna make you fatten up, dude." Sam chuckled good naturedly.

"Aw, Sammy…you're just jealous…of my awesome bone-structure"

That made Sam snort.

"Yeah, right…if it helps you get through the day..."

And if Dean had felt just a tad stronger, his eyes not slipping shut on him continuously, he'd have given a smart remark, a witty retort – or at least kept up the act a bit longer.

But he didn't feel strong or witty or much of anything right now, so he just decided to let it go for the time being and give in to the ever demanding exhaustion that kept threatening to topple him over the edge as it was. Once he woke up again, he'd be better, stronger, ready to move on.

It sounded like a good enough plan, one that would work, it simply had to. Because once they got out of here, Dean might be able to put it all behind him.

Because he really needed, needed to find a way to put this behind him, behind them.

Even though, right now, he had absolutely no idea how he was ever going to accomplish that.

XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

tbc

AN:

Once again I need to thank you for all the wonderful reviews and PMs. I realize that I'm extremely fortunate to have found this kind of support in people I don't even know…so thank you, really. I hope I answered all your wonderful messages. I believe I did, but if I forgot someone, I'm sorry, it was no bad intention at all.

Other than that…I'm going to go on a short trip to London next Saturday (yay…), but I hope to get the next chapter done in time for OcherMe to still beta it so I can upload it before I leave, I'll do my best!

Oh – almost forgot…I watched "on the head of a pin" last night…and Oh my god…I don't even know what to say. I'm devastated. I know I'm weird, but it physically hurt to watch this episode – all the pain and heartache… and I want the brothers to be together again. I almost can't stand seeing them like this – even though I think the season is great, and them being so…apart from each other only serves to make this whole show even more interesting and intense…but it still hurts. I'm trusting the writers to make it all better again, at some point – don't know if it still happens in this season – I'll have to wait for the DVD to come out, which is still some time in the future, unfortunately. I envy you guys in the States and Australia for already having seen season 4 entirely – but I'll resign myself to patiently wait and write my own stories till I can watch it too…

Alright, sorry for rambling, I just had to get it off my chest.

So, as usual, I cherish every single review – so please tell me what you think, if you want.

Thanks again and take care!