A/N Once again, a huge thank you to everyone who is reading/reviewing! I greatly appreciate all of you!

Also...there's like a 10% chance that I might not have time to post next week, but if I plan everything correctly I should be able to. So look for an update, but if there is not one know that life got in the way and I'm not avoiding you guys :)

Chapter Seven

Sam swallowed thickly, feeling his dry throat click and he shifted, coughing harshly into his shoulder. He tried to drift back into the fitful doze that he had been in, but his whole body had stiffened up and was loudly voicing its complaints.

Dean's eyes were on him, and the worry that they held was palpable.

Sam hated it.

"I'm alright," he murmured, but Dean did not dignify that with a response.

Holding his breath, Sam began to incrementally move his body. He still couldn't turn his head to the left without pain bad enough to flood his eyes with tears, and he had to shift his whole body around so that he was facing Dean. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment to recover.

"How long was I asleep?"

"About two hours."

Dean's voice was tense, and he was gripping the wheel hard enough that his knuckles had gone white. Sam couldn't see the speedometer, but from the noises that the engine was making, he would guess that they were going at a speed that the van had never seen before.

Dean was getting in his head, worrying far too much about things that he had no control over.

"So, what happened with Amelia?" Sam asked in form of a distraction while half-heartedly wishing for water. If they had any, Dean would have offered some, so there was no point in asking.

Dean shot him a glance that said that he saw right through him, but answered anyway. "She's dead. Conrad too, although I think that was Jesse's doing."

Sam hummed in confirmation, blinking tiredly.

"You know," Dean continued, risking another glance in Sam's direction, "I was talking to Bobby about an hour ago. Kept asking me what happened and I realized that I know almost squat about what happened on your end, so…?"

Sam smiled sardonically "You're not gonna like it most of it. You're gonna start yelling."

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly feeling charitable. What did Jesse want? A new roommate?" Dean switched lanes, quickly outstripping an older vehicle as it chugged down the highway.

"No." Sam frowned, a chill settling low in his stomach. "Jesse knows Kate—Kate, the vampire, the one that we face down with Dad to get the Colt. He was going to sell us to her for a spot in her nest."

"Should we be concerned about her showing up?" he asked tersely as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, leaving it sticking up in odd places

"No, I don't think so. Jesse was supposed to meet her, but clearly, that plan when a little array. I also don't think that she'll be able to find us that easily. But if someone is in the area, they should probably try and look into it. Who knows the next time that we are going to have a location on her."

"Right, I'll put Bobby on it when he calls again." Dean glanced over at Sam, before returning his attention to the road, for which Sam was grateful. Dean was simply going too fast to be looking at anything but what was right in front of him. "How'd you guys end up off the side of the road?"

"This is the part that you aren't gonna like," Sam said, his lips twitching upwards in a smile.

"Well, you'd better give it to me while I'm feeling sorry for you."

"I got a hand free," Sam began, "and he was talking about Kate and about you, and their plans to kill you…I dunno. I knew that I had to stop it. So, I grabbed the wheel."

Dean brought his head around in disbelief. "Sam! You guys were on a freakin' incline! You probably only survived that because you were wearing your freakin' seatbelt!"

"Told you that you wouldn't like it. And for your information, I was blindfolded. Couldn't exactly see where I was going. At least I pulled right instead of left."

Dean shook his head tightly. "You're a moron. At least you went right…" he mocked, shaking his head as he leaned forward, staring fervently at the road.

"You doing okay?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"As soon as we hit the next town, we're stopping for a minute. We need gas, but I'll also get you some food and water," Dean promised, easily side-stepping Sam's question.

Frowning, he repeated it.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get a coffee, but I'm good." He flashed Sam a grin.

That hadn't been Sam's question, and he watched Dean mournfully, noting the harsh lines on his face and the tense set of his shoulders.

It was less than a half-hour later when an exit sign declaring food, gas, and lodging appeared. Dean took it, pulling over at the first gas station they came across.

"You want anything specific? I'm only stopping for three minutes, so speak now or forever hold your peace!" Dean called through the window as he began to fill up the tank. He swore as he dropped his wallet, ducking to recover it. He looked around, before darting into the store.

Reaching up, Sam grabbed the safety rail to gently pull himself upright. His vision swam for a moment, and he bowed his head, breathing through his mouth slowly until the dizziness had passed. His whole body throbbed like one massive bruise, but all in all, he was feeling better than he had right after the crash.

The gas pump clicked, signifying that the tank was full, and Sam reached for the door handle. It felt like he was trying to move a mountain as he pushed it open, and his whole body screamed in protest as he swung his legs out.

"What are you doing? Get back into the car, we don't have time for you to hobble around." Dean was back and thrusting open the side door to shove a couple of grocery sacks in and a pack of water into the back.

"Gas's done," Sam shrugged, swinging his legs back in.

"Got it!" Dean was a flurry of movement and Sam just had time to shut his door before they were pulling out with a squeal of tires.

"I got you a muffin—a blueberry muffin, in fact." Dean was rummaging one-handed in the bags until he found the said muffin, which he tossed over into Sam's lap. It was followed much more gently by a pre-loosened water bottle.

Sam opted first for the water—partly because he was parched and partly because he did not know if his stomach could handle food—and took several deep swallows. He slumped back into his seat, sighing in relief.

"You need to eat as well," Dean ordered, and Sam made a face…but Dean was looking like one more thing to worry about would crush him. He began to pick at the wrapper with his good hand, before staring for a long while at the muffin itself.

Breaking it apart, he began to roll them into tiny balls, popping one in occasionally when Dean was looking at him.

The silence was becoming unbearable, the tension palpable. Dean must have been feeling it too because he spoke as they got back on the interstate, heading north.

"You look better."

"I feel better for the moment," Sam agreed.

"Good." Dean was speeding, pushing the van to give everything that it had plus some.

Sam gave Dean another long look out of the corner of his eye.

If they did not pull something out of their asses then his time was limited, probably by hours, and he still had so much to say and do… but that wasn't important right now. He had thought long and hard while he had been trapped in the truck, and he didn't want to panic or make Dean freak out, he just wanted to say some things.

"Dean," he began delicately, rolling the mostly empty water bottle in his hands.

"What?" Dean all but growled.

"I was just…Dean, you know that Dad's death wasn't your fault, right?"

Dean whipped his head to the side so fast that Sam was afraid he was going to give himself whiplash. He gave Sam a long searching look, before turning back to the front.

"Eat your muffin."

"And I don't blame you for it, at all. I never did. And—"

"Sam, so help me if this is your topic of conversation then I will knock you out myself."

"Just listen to me, won't you?" Sam chucked a muffin ball at Dean, but he swatted it away with frustration. He was not in the mood to have this sort of conversation, but Sam didn't think that they had much of a choice.

"I know that things haven't been easy, but I know how you feel, at least a little bit, okay? Jess died because of me—because of the demon—," he added quickly when Dean opened his mouth. He gave Dean a pointed look, trying to get his point across. "But you kept telling me that it wasn't my fault. So now I am telling you the same thing."

If Dean gripped the steering wheel any harder, then he was going to break it. "Look, Sam, I hear you. Kind of. I just…not right now, we have bigger things to worry about."

"Yeah, but if I don't—"

"Then we aren't having some sort of last conversation. That's not happening." Dean shook his head.

"Dean, we both had things left unsaid with Dad. I don't want that to be us."

"Well it's not going to be us because you're going to be fine, or you will be if you just drop that attitude. Sheesh, it's like you're planning your own funeral or something."

Sam snapped his mouth shut, frustration boiling just under the surface. "Dean—"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Dean risked a glance at him and Sam shook his head doggedly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You always talked too much, even as a kid," he said grudgingly, but there was something Sam couldn't exactly read in his eyes when he looked over at him. "Look," he shifted uncomfortably and Sam stayed silent, giving his brother the time that he needed to work through what he wanted to say.

"I know, okay? I know the big stuff—the stuff that really matters—and I hope you do too, so can we drop it?" He gave Sam a desperate look.

Sam stared at his brother, both frustrated and relieved. Dean kept pushing him away at every turn… but at the same time, they truly had said everything that they needed to. He knew that he was loved, and Dean knew that he loved him.

"Jerk," he said fondly, reaching across the divide and squeezing Dean's shoulder.

"Bitch."

Smiling, Sam sank back into his seat. Dean closed his eyes for just a second, taking a deep breath to reorientate himself, and when he opened them, he seemed a little less tense than before.

It wasn't much after that that Dean reached down, fumbling through the bags in between them.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Sam asked, reaching out to grab the wheel to keep them straight and instantly regretting it as his whole body screamed in protest. Dean yanked out his prize—a map—and knocked Sam's arm away.

"Check and see how far away Longmont is from the interstate. If it's within…ten miles, we're pulling over and getting the Impala. We'll make better time that way. This van is a piece of junk."

Sam nodded, working at unfolding it one-handedly and squinting down. It took him far longer than normal to decipher the small roads and even smaller words before he finally nodded

"It's right off the interstate. Not even ten miles…and we should be there in about an hour and a half?"

"Well, I suppose if that's the one thing that goes right tonight, might as well be that." Dean shifted in his seat, reaching down for a second bottle of water and Sam noticed that he had no coffee. An unexpected warmth filled his soul. Coffee would have taken another minute at most, but Dean hadn't even stopped for that, only getting what Sam needed.

Sam fell into an uneasy doze about twenty minutes before they reached Longmont, and he woke up to Dean's hand on his arm and his jacket over his shoulders as a makeshift blanket.

"I'll be right back," Dean was saying hurriedly, and Sam blinked up at his blurry features.

"Sam…?" Dean must have said something else because he looked like he was waiting for a response and Sam frowned.

"Sorry, what?"

Dean's lips thinned, his eyes darkening as he cupped the side of Sam's face. "Stay with me, dude. Focus, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm with you, sorry," Sam forced himself to sit up straighter, using the handle above him to do so and looking Dean straight in the eyes.

"I'm going to get the Impala, but I've parked a block away so that we don't attract attention. I won't be more than five minutes. You're cellphone—"

"Dean, stop hovering and go get the car before I do," Sam reprimanded and Dean made a disgruntled face, before shutting his door.

Sam rolled his eyes. Believe it or not, he was old enough to sit in the car by himself for a couple of minutes, thank you very much. He had been doing so since before he could remember and in much more dangerous circumstances.

The familiar and comforting sound of the Impala echoed into the night and Sam sat up straighter, watching as Dean pulled in to park directly behind the van.

He almost hit Dean with the door when he pushed it open, but his brother just ducked around it.

"Careful—" Dean caught him as he slid out of the van and staggered to the side and Sam let him hold him up as he wavered. Once he found his balance, he pushed him away.

"I've got it," he said, bracing a hand against the side of the van as he limped towards the Impala. He had to lean on it more heavily than he would have liked, and the small gap between the van and the hood of the Impala gave him pause. Dean grabbed his elbow firmly, easily ignoring Sam's attempts to free himself as he steered him forward.

Sam let out a long sigh as he sank into the achingly familiar bench seat and let his head fall back. Dean snorted above him.

"Careful, dude, I might start to think you like the Impala," he said teasingly, but he was gone before Sam could reply. He could hear him rummaging around through the trunk before he was sliding into the driver's seat.

"Here," Dean pulled out onto the street while sorting through the pile of belongings that he had brought in from the trunk with one hand. He shoved their first-aid kit and a fresh flannel into Sam's lap. "Clean up. You're still covered in blood and those cuts should have been taken care of hours ago. An infection is the last thing that you need."

Sam nodded in understanding as he popped the lid, digging through the contents and pulling out the peroxide and a wad of cotton. "How far away is Bobby?"

Soaking it, he took a deep breath, before beginning to press it against the lacerations on his face. Hissing softly, he continued to dab at the wounds, blinking back the automatic tears that were filling his eyes.

"I dunno," Dean answered, the Impala revving hungrily under his hands. "He hasn't called in a couple of hours." His thumb was starting an anxious beat against the wheel.

"Oh, okay…" Sam said distractedly. His right arm and hand were scrapped up badly, and he was trying to figure out a way to clean them up without using his bad arm. Finally, he took the plunge and eased his arm away from his chest. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Sam tried to grab ahold of the bottle, but the muscles had locked up again.

Moving his arm was like thrusting a red-hot poker through his shoulder.

Leaning his head back, Sam closed his eyes to combat the sudden lightheadedness that swamped him.

"Woah, easy, that was a bad idea, sorry," Dean said, and the bottle was being fumbled free from his grasp and a hand came to rest against the nape of his neck. "Put your head down…" Exerting a gentle pressure, Dean pushed his head down towards his knees.

Even with his eyes closed, Sam could feel the world spinning around him and his stomach lurched, threatening to expel the muffin across the floor of the Impala.

Dean probably would not appreciate it, and Sam risked opening his eyes.

"Here, hold on. Deep breaths, breathe slowly, Sam." He could hear Dean moving around and felt the car jerk and a horn blare. And then Dean was laying one of their chemical icepacks against his neck and holding it in place with one hand.

Dean shouldn't have been playing nurse while driving, but Sam didn't rebuke him because the icepack was heavenly. Slowly, everything stopped spinning quite so much and his stomach calmed. Still, he stayed there with his head on his knees and Dean's hand on his neck as soft rock played over the radio.

He was just starting to drift off when Dean's hand left, taking the icepack with it. He made a soft noise of protest, but then a blanket, heavy and warm where the icepack had been cold, was being draped over him.

Sam tried to say thanks, but Dean just hushed him, before he began to prod and pull him into a more comfortable position against the door. Sam simply closed his eyes again, feeling the strain of the last few days.

They only had a couple of hours to go before all hell was going to break loose. And for Dean's sake, he needed to sleep, reenergize, to fight whatever was coming.

#

Dean resisted the urge to start chewing on his nails as he glanced over at Sam, who was sleeping fitfully. He could see the beads of sweat starting to bead on his face, and he checked his watch again.

6:35 pm.

Sam was due for another dose…in about ten minutes, and yet here they were, still breaking every possible speed limit with no clear plan in mind.

It was making Dean sweat a little himself.

The ringing of the phone felt like a Godsend and Dean flipped it open.

"Bobby," he answered desperately, glancing back over at Sam. "Please, tell me that you got something."

"Where are you at?" Bobby asked without preamble.

"Uh…" Dean squinted at the upcoming sign, before rattling off a town. Bobby hummed in response.

"I'm about four hours from you. How's Sam looking?"

"Not good, we're going to need that antidote sooner rather than later," Dean replied truthfully.

"I know, I know." Bobby paused, and Dean waited impatiently. "Look, pull over and find a motel. I'll talk you through making the antidote but, Dean, this isn't going to be pretty."

"What other choice do we have?" Dean snapped, making Sam flinch. "It's either that or roll over and be done. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Stop taking my head off, Dean, I know that, I was just warning you. Just keep Sam hanging on until I get there."

"I will. Just… hurry."

Dean snapped the phone shut, pressing the plastic against his lips for a moment as he tried to control the fear that was running rampant through his brain. Sam was going to be okay, Bobby had a plan, even if it had more holes in it than Swiss cheese.

Sam moaned softly, his head twisting to the side.

Dean was going at an unsafe speed to only have one hand on the wheel, but he did so anyway, reaching across to lay the back of his hand against Sam's cheek. It was hot to the touch, the fever rising again.

He pulled over at the first motel he saw—The Roadside Inn, creative—and got them a room.

Sam was awake by the time he returned to the car, his face flushed and the imprint of the blanket on his cheek.

"Why are we stopping?" Sam asked as Dean began to search for room 213.

"Bobby is gonna meet us here in a couple of hours."

"Is that going to be enough time?" Sam asked, vague surprise coloring his voice and Dean made a face as he pulled into the parking spot adjacent to 213.

"We're gonna make it be enough."

Sam didn't say anything, and Dean took that for what it was as he hurried around the car, grabbing Sam's door and pulling it open.

"C'mon," he said impatiently, ducking down to grab his good arm.

Dean got him up and helped him into the room and towards the bed, which Sam sank gratefully down onto, laying back against the pillows.

Dean ran back out to the Impala, gathering up anything that he might need. He called Bobby as he began to lay everything out onto the rickety table. Putting the phone on speaker, he placed it next to the herbs.

Bobby talked him through making the antidote, apparently reading from a paper even as he drove. He heard a horn blare once in the background but stayed silent, focused on measuring out the proper amount of some sort of grey powder before he dumped it into a bowl.

Dean finished mixing ingredients and stared for a moment at the powder that he had created. It was not the same color nor the same amount that Amelia had been giving out.

"Bobby, it's not the same," he said, pulling out the small amount of the original that they had left just to be sure. His mixture was far darker looking and he could not help but notice that some of the herbs were now almost depleted. "It doesn't even look similar."

"That's alright. Just give it to Sam, and start treating symptoms. And Dean…"

"Yeah?"

"I've been assured by my friend that this shouldn't kill him—"

"Well, if that's not just the whip cream on top of the pumpkin pie. At least we won't be the ones to kill him—" Dean snapped out sarcastically, earning himself a tired

"Dean—" from Sam.

Bobby just ignored him. "This is going to be fighting fire with fire, don't be shocked if Sam starts to get new symptoms or seems worse than before."

"That's just what I wanted to hear. Look, drive fast."

He ended the call, and then stared with mistrust at the powder, before dumping it into a mug and filling it with water from the sink. Grabbing a spoon, he stirred it until the powder had dissolved.

Sam was watching him with heavy eyes from where he was lying on his side, still wrapped up in the blanket from the car.

"Here we go," he said as he reached over to tilt Sam's head up for him, but Sam shook his head.

"I'm not dead yet," he said as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He had to pause, bowing his head as his hand diverted to clench in the sleeve of Dean's shirt.

"Room's spinning" he mumbled, and Dean hummed in agreement,

"Just like a shot of whiskey," he said, pressing the mug into Sam's hand once he seemed to have recovered. He tilted it back, gulping it down, and made a face of disgust as Dean lowered him back down onto the pillows.

"There we go, that wasn't so bad, was it? Just like eating your vegetables, except you like those, freak." Dean stood, patting Sam's shoulder as his brother made a face at him, one that said that he saw right through him and told him to cut the act.

Was he going to? Unlikely. It was as much for him as it was for his brother, after all.

Sam was still running a high fever, and Dean moved to the bathroom to gather up some towels. He was running one under cold water when Sam called out for him, his voice pained.

Darting back into the room while holding a sopping wet cloth, Dean found Sam curled up into the fetal position, his arms wrapped around his stomach and his face creased with pain.

"Dean!" he called again, his face screwing up as his voice broke.

"What? What is it? Dean asked, dropping the wet cloth on the floor as he sank down to be at Sam's level. He hovered over his brother, not quite sure how to help.

"Dean, my stomach—hurts—" Sam gasped out, blinking wildly and Dean pried his arm free, palpating along Sam's stomach. Sam groaned again, rolling over and arching his back.

"Okay, okay, it's alright," Dean's own stomach was plummeting. Sam wasn't bleeding internally, so that was a positive. It just meant that the new antidote was starting to work…which was relieving, but Sam's pain was distressing. "It's okay, it's gonna be okay," He began to work Sam up into a sitting position, but Sam only cried out, the sound coming from between gritted teeth.

"Hey, it's okay. You're good, it's not gonna last forever," Dean promised, ducking down to grab the towel and plastering it against Sam's forehead. Sam ground his head into the ball of Dean's shoulder, gasping raggedly and Dean closed his eyes.

He continued to talk as he tilted his head to the side to rest against his brother's, offering comfort in the only way that he knew how. Sam continued to shake, increasing desperate sounds escaping his throat. Sweat from a rapidly falling fever glistened across his face and chest, and Dean attempted to blot it off, trying to ease Sam's anguish any way he could.

It seemed like a lifetime had gone by when Sam finally took a shuddering breath and went limp.

"Sam?" Dean pulled back, his heart pounding hard enough for both of them as he felt for a pulse.

It was there and much to his surprise it was lower than it had been before. So the antidote was working, good to know.

"Sam, you with me?" he asked again as there was no movement. Sam drew in a shaky breath, giving him a weak okay sign.

"Pain's…pain's going away," he mumbled, wiping uncoordinatedly at his face.

"Well that's good, right?" Dean continued to blot at Sam's face, not particularly reassured when Sam didn't try to stop him or do it himself.

"How long till the next dose?" Was Sam's next question and this time Dean could only shrug.

"Bobby just said that I should give you some when you start showing the original symptoms again. He's coming, should be here sooner rather than later."

Sam nodded once, dragging his good arm up to cover his face as he pulled in a shaky breath.

Dean stared helplessly down at his brother. his own heart sick.

#

The medication that Dean had given him was weak in comparison with the poison. It didn't feel like long before Sam could feel the fever starting back up again as his already tired heart worked harder to keep him alive.

Dean, who had been observing his condition closely, took immediate action in preparing a second dose. He pressed the concoction onto Sam, who took it willing enough, even as he prepared himself for the pian.

It came roaring back with a ferocity that made him breathless. The sharp, pulsating, pain was bad enough that Sam didn't even shy away from the fact that he was crying. Dean just kept murmuring soft words, his hand combing through Sam's hair or rubbing circles on his back.

Sam just wanted it to be over as he breathed sharply in through his nose. Hell, he would be grateful for death at this point. There was no point dragging it out like this…

"Just a little bit longer, hold on, you hear me? It'll stop soon, I swear," Dean was saying firmly, his arms warm around Sam and reminding him painfully of the weeks after Jess's death, when he could hardly get out of bed or when the nightmares would tear him apart.

Dean had been so patient with him then. He had always been that way, though, when Sam needed him to be.

"Dean…"

Sam floundered his hand back and Dean took it, squeezing gently.

"Right here, dude. Not going anywhere."

The pain was starting to diminish slowly, just as it had before, and Dean was running a cold cloth across his face, ridding it of sweat and tears.

Sam let him, feeling too ill, and tried to even care about how weak he must appear. "When's…When's Bobby gonna get here?" he asked again and even he could hear how paper-thin his voice had gotten.

There was a rustle of fabric as Dean checked his watch. "Soon, I promise. Just a little bit more than an hour, I think…"

Sam nodded, letting Dean fuss over him as he was laid back down onto the bed. A pillow was shoved under his head, and a blanket pulled over his shoulders.

"Hey," he called out softly after a minute of listening to Dean anxiously pace, which was only interrupted when he stopped to check Sam's temperature or his pulse.

"What do you need?" Dean was instantly right there, a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Water? Another blanket?"

"No, no…just…sit with me a minute," Sam tugged on Dean's arm and Dean instantly dropped down onto the bed.

"Sam, this better not be some sort of death bed confession thing, cause that's not gonna happen," Dean said tiredly, and his hand was heavy on the crown of his head. Sam managed to pry his eyelids open.

"Already tried that. Didn't work," he said, forcing a smile, but Dean didn't look amused. Hard lines had been carved into his face, and his shoulders were bowed like he was carrying the weight of the whole world. Knowing Dean, he was probably trying too. "No, I just…I don't want to be alone," he finally admitted and Dean's face crumpled a little.

"You're not alone," he said fiercely, his eyes oddly bright.

"I know," Sam said simply, smiling up at his brother before he had to squeeze his eyes shut, a sharp pain coming from somewhere deep inside of him. Dean was blotting his face again when he managed to pry his eyes open.

He coughed feebly and tasted iron. His stomach dropped and he pressed his lips together tightly to hide the evidence, but Dean was wiping at them with the rag, his face white.

"Sammy, I don't—" Dean shook his head, refolding the rag to hide the small spots of blood, and pressing it firmly against Sam's brow. "I don't want to be alone, either. So just…fight this, please, just fight this."

Dean had never pleaded, not with anyone but Sam.

"I'm not giving up," Sam reassured Dean, coughing again into his fist.

"Yeah, because you're too bullheaded for that." Dean smiled a little, but he sounded worried, almost like he was asking for confirmation rather than telling. Reaching out, Sam squeezed Dean's arm.

He wasn't giving up, not yet.

But as Sam laid there with his brother's hand on his arm and the familiarity of his breathing next to him, he realized something with a stab of both regret and contentment. Even if Bobby wasn't able to do anything and it was his time, this wouldn't be such a bad way to die.