A/N : Woohoo! A quicker update! That's a miracle for me ehe

This is just Dean taking care of Sam, mostly. But there is a little clue as to what is going on. Here's where canon and fanon come together in a nauseating amalgamation lol

Anyways, thank you to all those who continue to support me! It means a lot!

Please continue to read and review, lovelies!

Sam couldn't breathe.

While this was not an unfamiliar feeling, albeit unwelcome, it had almost become a kind of ritual ever since Dean had gone to hell. Every thought and every moment that Sam remembered Dean would find him on his knees, fighting against sobs and heart wrenching pain as he struggled to breathe, to get up and go on.

It was actually a really familiar feeling, Sam was sad to say.

But this time, there was something missing. This time, he felt light and floaty as opposed to feeling lie the world was bearing down upon him.

Which was the moment it struck him. He couldn't breathe. Not the impending panic of a panic attack or the choking sensation of experience one. He had been able to fight those.

This was the gasping of a dying man. A desperate act of a drowning man.

Vaguely he could feel his body writhing on the bed, back arching, throat tickling but not even a trickle of oxygen made it to his lungs.

He could hear a voice, from too far away, telling him ... something. But even that was fading away. He didn't know if his eyes were closed or open or if that even mattered. He wouldn't be able to see anything past the black dots and encroaching darkness that enveloped the black dots anyway.

Wider and wider the blackness grew, creeping into the edges, the center of his vision, making his heart thunder with fear as he fought to escape it. He didn't want to drown, didn't want to die ... or maybe he did?

But Dean? Dean ... was here. He would ... save him from going under. Help him breathe. Dean would ...

With a sudden gasp, Sam drew in air, spluttering on it, coughing forth blood and spit, as a hand pounded on his back. He swayed, lightheaded, but didn't fall.

'Cause ... 'cause Dean hadn't let him. Because his big brother was supporting him, leaning Sam against his own chest, strong heartbeat sending a wave of safety and warmth throughout sam's body as he sagged. He was still coughing lightly, trying to take as much air in as possible.

"... down, Sammy. Deep ... not going ..."

Blurred words finally reached him and Sam didn't even try to understand what Dean was saying. Just took comfort in his voice as he slumped against Dean's chest and closed his eyes. Or maybe he had never opened them?

He could feel his breaths growing slower, more deeper, registered the hand still rubbing his back soothingly and with that realization came the million other aches and pains that had been held at bay by the more terrifying panic of having no air.

His chest throbbed with every beat of his heart and his face ached, blood trickling out of his nose, head tilted slightly forward, Dean's palm cradling it. Belatedly he realised that that was the reason he hadn't been able to breathe. The blood gushing down his throat and choking him.

Speaking of ... where had all that blood come from?

Sam blinked open his eyes hazily and found himself looking at a familiar leather jacket.

"De'?", he murmured, trying to catch his brother's eyes. He had questions. Too many to speak of. "Wha -", he started only to choke on his next inhale. It triggered another bout of coughing and it was a while before he could take a full breath.

"Easy, Sammy. It's okay. Sam? Sammy, you with me?", Dean asked, craning down trying to catch Sam's eyes, cradling the back of Sam's head gently.

Sam nodded slightly, hair a limp mess. He could still feel the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, at the back of his throat and he quelled the urge to throw up.

"Wha' happen'?", he asked groggily, eyes doing a little dance as he struggled to focus on his brother's worried gaze.

"Oh thank God", Dean mumbled, and Sam felt a slight pressure on his head as Dean's chin came to rest on top of his head. Sam soaked in the feeling of home, a feeling he had missed for so long. It took him back to so many times when they were younger, when Dean indulged in a chick flick moment to comfort Sam.

It had worked every time, 'cause at the end of the day, Dean was all Sam needed to feel better.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Dean pulled back, gently tilting back to see if the nosebleed had stopped. It had. And Dean hadn't even put any pressure on it.

Huh.

"Just keep breathing, huh, kiddo? We'll take care of everything else later", Dean murmured, already helping Sam to lean back against the headboard. Sam let his head fall backwards with a small thump, the room doing a small roll around him as he struggled to take in full breaths.

Belatedly, he noticed that his hands were free, wrists ringed with blood stained indentions, signs of his struggle. Against Meg.

"Dean! Meg - she was - I - where?", Sam sat up from his slump and would've tilted off the bed if Dean hadn't lunged quickly from where he was covering Sam the best he could with a blanket and caught him before he could faceplant.

"Whoa! What the hell, Sam? Sit still! You still look like you just went round 12 rounds with a brick wall!", Dean stressed the point by pushing him back against the headboard again, stuffing a pillow between his back and the wood. The frown marring his face had nothing on the gentleness with which he maneuvered Sam to a more or less comfortable position.

"Sorry, I - where -", Sam stuttered, looking around the room, eyes bugging when he spotted Bobby slumped unconscious against the wall. "Dean! Bobby - is he -"

"Hey, he's okay. He's just unconscious, Sammy. I'm - we should be more worried about you right now, dude", Dean said softly, one hand coming up to squeeze Sam's neck. He stood up as Sam's gaze swivelled to him in confusion, because Sam was pretty sure that being unconscious required more attention than a nosebleed.

"Sammy, have you looked at yourself? You could use some cleanup, little brother", Dean had returned with a first aid kit and Sam blinked blankly, wondering yet again at the magical powers of big brothers.

"I - Dean?", Sam could feel his thoughts trickling out through his grasp even as he struggled to keep ahold of them. He felt like he was coming down with an amalgamation of the flu, an adrenaline crash and a hangover from hell. Perhaps he had been roofied too, given that he could not seem to remember what happened to Meg or Bobby. Or to him, for that matter.

So, he looked up at Dean. His big brother who held all the answers. Always. Even when Sam had been too proud to ask for his help.

He wasn't proud now. He wasn't anything but glad. Glad that he had gotten Dean back.

"It's alright, Sammy. I'll explain everything later. For now, how about we get you fixed up and maybe give you a one time pass for getting a sponge bath?", Dean grinned at him, as he soaked a cloth in hydrogen peroxide. "Well, you're not really that dirty, given that you've been pruning up with cold cloths since forever. Your hair, however ... maybe I should've chopped the bird's nest when you were asleep."

Sam threw him a tired bitch face, closing his eyes before snapping them open with a pained hiss as Dean gently cleaned the cuts on his chest with the wipe.

The renewed pain sent a throbbing ache throughout his body and Sam felt tears of pain sting his eyes. Dean grimaced apologetically, methodically cleaning the cuts, while also starting up a conversation about the advantages of M&Ms over Skittles.

Sam gradually relaxed, allowing Dean to wrap a bandage around the cuts once he was certain that he had cleaned every nook and cranny of the injuries. He had assured Sam that it wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches.

Thank God for small mercies.

When the first aid was done and Dean had forced Sam to take a few sips of water, checked over Bobby once more and dragged the older hunter into a more comfortable position on the floor, then, and only then did he sit heavily on Sam's bed, sighing deeply and smiling slightly at Sam trying his best to remain awake.

"What do you remember?", Dean asked him, keeping his tone carefully neutral. But Sam could see through him. He could see the shadow of something big lurking behind Dean's words.

"Uh, there was - there was Bobby and Meg ... possessed him? I saw him - her, felt her, actually ... over me. Then - a gun? Did she - I don't - was it the Colt?", Sam paused here, seeking confirmation as to how much of the jumbled mess of words he had just poured out was actually true.

He hadn't made much sense but Dean had never had any difficulty understanding him, so he wasn't worried.

"Yeah. Uh, I found the Colt in your bag earlier, jumped for it as soon as I got out of the cuffs", Dean motioned towards the hilariously bent motel divider. He added ruefully, "Wasn't soon enough."

"Dean -", Sam interrupted, seeking to absolve his brother of guilt. Dean had always carried a load that he never should have. And to think he had just saved Sam, had always been saving him.

If anything, the guilt rightfully belonged to Sam.

Dean shook his head, silencing Sam before he even got to say the words.

"Anyways, I got the gun but she got the better of me. She was a second from shooting me and -", Sam flinched, "- you, uh, you went practically feral. Scary Sammy." Dean chuckled dryly, gaze half fond and half proud.

Sam cocked his head, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I guess it was like some leftover mojo or something. Remember at Max Miller's? When you had a vision of him killing me and you moved the cupboard with your mind?", Dean asked.

Sam gaped at him.

It couldn't be. He didn't have any powers anymore.

No.

"What?! I - that's been gone for a while now, Dean! How -", Sam startled, eyes wide with incredulity as he struggled to remember what he had done to ... done to Bobby? Where was -

Where was Meg? Dean had touched Bobby comfortably. How could he have been sure that Meg was gone?

"How are you - you sure that Bobby is just unconscious?", Sam asked slowly. He couldn't believe that he had been so slow to connect the dots. He had automatically assumed that Meg had gone when - when what? When Sam had thrown Bobby against the wall with freak powers?

Sam felt sick at the mere thought.

"Meg's gone, Sam", Dean added softly as if he knew exactly what Sam was thinking. He probably did.

"How do you know?", Sam dreaded the answer. And he didn't even know why.

"Because I saw her go up in a puff of demonic smoke. Not 'going to search for another suit' smoke either. It was legit 'going to hell' smoke." Dean said, throwing a glance back at Bobby as the man moaned, showing signs of waking up. But Dean didn't move and Sam had the vague sense that Dean was holding something back.

"Dean, what -", he started to ask.

"You exorcised her, Sammy. With your mind."

A/N : *Evil laughter* Dangle on THAT cliffie, bitches! Sorry haha but not sorry. More coming soon but only if you review! Pwease?