Chapter 11:

Dean awoke the next morning with a jolt. He wasn't sure what had awakened him but then he heard Sam's deep wracking coughs and he knew. He climbed out of bed and walked over to Sam who was huddled under his covers. Sam was shivering and sweating at the same time.

"Sammy," Dean gasped as he placed his hand on his brother's forehead. Oh shit, Sam was burning up.

"D…Dean…I don't feel…so well," Sam sputtered and immediately started coughing again.

"Sam we have to lower your fever," Dean said. "I'm going to go get you some Tylenol and run a bath of cool water."

"Just the pills," Sam said. "No bath."

"Sam," Dean started.

"Dean, please," Sam begged.

"Okay, fine, but if your fever doesn't break then I'll carry you to the tub."

Sam just nodded his head with his eyes closed.

Dean grabbed the first aid kit in the bathroom and dug through it till he found the pills. They had absolutely no cold medicine. He searched the cabinets in the bathroom hoping to find something left over from previous people but there was nothing.

He grabbed a glass of water from the bathroom and hurried back to Sam. Dean pulled Sam into a sitting position and offered the meds and water to Sam. Sam swallowed them down and dropped back onto the bed.

"Sit up," Dean ordered.

"What?"

"Sit up." Once more Dean pulled Sam up and then he placed his ear to Sam's back.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam asked.

"I'm listening to your lungs. Bro, they don't sound so good."

"It hurts to breath," Sam admitted. "My throat is on fire."

"Okay, you just stay in bed," Dean told him. "I'll go and get you some breakfast."

"Not hungry," Sam replied.

"You need to eat something," Dean told him. "You have to keep your strength up."

Sam knew he was right. "Toast…just some toast."

"Fine," Dean said.

He went downstairs and into the kitchen and pulled out the loaf of bread only to find that it was covered in mold. "Great," Dean complained. "Now what?" He remembered the rolls from yesterday's dinner. He went in the fridge and grabbed two of them and warmed them in the microwave. Then he put some butter and strawberry jam on them. The last thing he did was pour Sam a cup of coffee.

Back upstairs he found Sam the same way he had left him. Dean put the food on the table and Sam sat up. Dean positioned Sam's pillows so Sam could sit up in bed and eat.

"There was no toast but I got you the next best thing," he said.

"Thanks," Sam replied. He took the plate from Dean and the rolls looked really good even though he had no appetite at all.

Dean turned on the tv and the news was on. There stood the weatherman talking about the newly fallen twenty-six inches of snow and how this was the snowiest November in Michigan history for the top of the mitten. The weatherman recommended people stay inside since there would be below zero wind chills outside.

Dean sighed. This isn't what he wanted to hear. He needed to get out of this place, although one look at Sam and it was really evident that even if the roads were open Sam couldn't go anywhere.

Dean flipped the channel and found some Lifetime movie playing and passed the remote to Sam. Then he built up the fire in the fireplace.

"Okay, you finish your breakfast and get some rest. I'm gonna go outside and see if I can tackle the driveway."

"Dean, maybe you should stay inside. You heard the weatherman. It's too cold outside."

"I'll put on some extra clothes. The job has to get done. I really have no intentions of staying here till Easter. If another storm comes before that mess is cleaned up we really will be fucked."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "We should have left Wednesday."

Dean was tempted to agree with him but Sam looked miserable. "Well, whatever, we're here so we may as well make the best of it. On the bright side, if you had to be sick at least you're in a warm bed." Dean knew from first hand experience that being sick on the road was awful.

"Just make sure you come in and warn up when you get cold. You wouldn't want to ruin your face by getting frost bite on your nose and then have some doctor cut it off."

"Dude, that's truly gross," Dean grimaced.

"Exactly, so take lots of breaks." Sam would have sounded more authoritative if his teeth would stop chattering

Dean laughed. "Okay, I get your point. Now gets some rest. I'll be up later." He handed Sam the remote and grabbed a bunch of his clothes and headed for the bathroom to get dressed. He skipped the shower since he knew he'd be covered in sweat by the time he finished and would just need another one anyway.

Once he was dressed in so many layers of clothes he could barely put his arms down he headed outside with the snow blower. They had left it on the back porch instead of in the shed. The cold wind brought tears to his eyes as it blew across them and in a matter of seconds his nose was also running from the cold. He wrapped his scarf tighter around his face and got to work. He cleaned a path from the door to the driveway first and then proceeded to cut a path just wide enough for the car to pass through. He didn't worry about the front of the house or the sidewalk. Screw it, he figured. God he hated snow.

He was less than halfway through when he had to go inside and warm up a bit. He had a seat at the kitchen table with a large mug of coffee. Dean was worried about Sam. They had no medicine and he doubted Sam would be able to ride a snowmobile all the way to town to see a doctor as sick as he was. He would fall off of it before they were even half way there.

That meant if Sam got worse they would have to use the radio and call for emergency help. Then again, maybe he could take one of the snowmobiles and run to town to get medicine. He would just have to wait and see how Sam's condition progressed. Damn it, why did Sam have to get sick? For that matter, why did the freaking snow have to come? Why couldn't anything ever just be simple!

Finally he was warm enough to go back outside and get to work once more.

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Sam lay in bed freezing. He had been shivering for a while and actually looked forward to having the fever return for a bit just so he could feel warm. This was all his fault. If they had left on Wednesday they would be off the island and on the mainland. He would be able to get some medicine, and Dean wouldn't be out in the snow busting his ass again. All he had wanted was to celebrate a real Thanksgiving with his brother. Actually, they had had a nice dinner. Sam couldn't regret it. He just wished things hadn't taken a turn for the worse so soon after.

Sam was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard whispering.

"Dean? Is that you?"

The whispering continued but Sam couldn't make out the words at all. It was almost like a white noise. He grabbed the remote and turned off the tv. The whispering stopped. He listened intently for another minute. It must have been the tv making the noise.

He decided to leave the tv turned off and rolled over onto his side to try and get some more sleep. When the temperature dropped in the room he just assumed he was cold because he was sick.

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Dean was just about finished with the driveway. He'd been working for two and a half hours now on and off. Sam had been right about taking breaks. He was freezing his nuts off. At least now he was finished. He decided to put the snow blower back in the shed. He opened the side door and pushed it in and set it against the wall.

Dean was about to walk out when something slammed into his body like a Mack truck. He hit the wall of the shed and crumpled to the floor.

"What the?" He jumped to his feet and then screamed in pain as something forced its way into his head.

"NOOO!" he cried as more pain swelled and throbbed inside his skull. He tried to fight it but he couldn't. His eyes glowed red. A sinister smile crossed his face.

'Finally, you are mine.' The words weren't spoken out loud, but Dean could hear them inside his own head. 'I have waited a long time to take you. You are stronger than the rest. Your love and protectiveness of the other is ingrained deep in you, the same is true of your brother, but it is no matter. It is done now. He is weak, and without his help you can't fight me off by yourself. I will add both of you to my collection.'

'I won't do your bidding,' Dean was all but shouting in his head. 'I won't hurt Sam.'

'You don't have a choice.'

Dean walked to the side of the shed and grabbed the ax hanging on the wall. He stepped over to the snowmobiles and proceeded to destroy the vehicles. Dean was desperate to stop himself from doing it but the thing inside him was using his body like a puppet.

'It is pointless to fight me.'

'I managed to fight you off before and I will again.'

'Foolish mortal. You have no idea of whom or what I am. I have roamed this earth for centuries, jumping from one body to another, amusing myself and feeding off the rage of others. Did you really think your prayers and your holy water could kill me? Did you think a circle of salt stronger than I?'

'It must have done something because you haven't been back in the house for a week.'

'Oh, I have been there, but you pathetic love and happiness prevented me from having my way. Until yesterday that is. The minute you became angry at Sam you opened the door for my return. You have such a wonderful temper,' it laughed. 'Let's see just how angry you can get.'

Dean dropped the ax and headed back for the house. He entered the kitchen not bothering to close the door behind him. He entered the small office and picked up the radio. He lifted it over his head and smashed it to the floor.

Dean realized what it was doing. It was making sure they had no way to escape or call for help. He realized something else too. The only reason to take the time and destroy the radio and the snow mobiles was because it was afraid they might be able to fight it off after all. That little bit of knowledge gave Dean hope. Whatever it was that possessed his body it wasn't invincible.

Finally his body turned and headed for the stairs. He realized what was about to happen.

'NO! I won't let you hurt Sam.'

'I'm not going to hurt Sam. You are. It will be your hands that will strip the life from your beloved younger brother. He will cry and beg and you will watch as the light fades from his eyes.'

Dean tried to scream out a warning to Sam to run but the entity inside him kept his lips tightly shut. Dean reached the top of the stairs and entered the game room. He watched as his hand lifted up the black 8 ball from the pool table. He realized that Sam didn't have a nightmare that night. It had been a vision after all, a vision that would lead to Sam's death.

Dean walked into the bedroom. Sam was sleeping soundly, a slight wheezing noise coming from his mouth told that his chest was growing more infected.

Dean shoved Sam hard on the shoulder jerking him awake.

"Dean?" Sam exclaimed. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes, you're what's wrong," Dean's mouth said.

"What? I don't understand." Sam wiped the sleep from his eyes.

"Damn it Sammy, I'm sick of taking care of your ass. I swear you're useless. Four years of college and you're still as stupid as you ever were!"

The words were as sharp and painful as any knife. Sam instantly felt his emotions rise.

"It wasn't my fault," he defended. "I didn't mean for us to get stuck here again and I didn't plan on getting sick."

"It is your fault! It's always your fault! Well I'm sick of it! Do you hear me? I'm sick of it and I'm sick of you!"

Sam had a moment of déjà vu and he suddenly realized what was happening. His nightmare was about to come true.

Dean had had his arm behind his back but was now swinging it forward. The next thing Sam knew Dean had the black 8 ball in his fist and he swung it toward Sam's head. The hard object struck Sam in the temple and he fell back on the bed. The blow had been hard but not enough to knock him out, though it hurt like hell.

"No!" Sam called. He couldn't believe Dean had hurt him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He tried to move away from Dean but the injury and the illness was making his body slow and lethargic.

"Dean, fight it. You have to fight it," Sam begged as he fell out of his bed and began to crawl across the floor.

Dean raised his hand with the 8 ball once more and swung down as hard as he could towards Sam's head.

"NOOOO!" Sam cried. He managed to duck away a bit but still got grazed by the ball on the side of his head. Sam collapsed to the floor barely holding on to consciousness.

Dean dropped the 8 ball to the floor with a loud thud. Sam watched as it slowly rolled away from him. Dean then reached down and grabbed Sam and hoisted him up into his arms and tossed Sam over his shoulder.

Sam grunted from the pain as his head swung through the air. Sam hung limply over Dean's shoulder and felt rather helpless and dazed as Dean carried him down the stairs and out of the house through the back door.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "Dean, fight it."

"There's no point begging, little brother. There is no hope for you now."

Sam was so cold. Dean was still wearing all his layers of clothes. All Sam had on was sweat pants, a t-shirt, and socks. His body began to tremble and shake from the cold.

"Dean, after it kills me it will kill you too. You have to fight it," Sam said through chattering teeth. "It made Tom commit suicide."

Sam felt Dean's body jerk. "How do you know that?"

"I just do," Sam said, even though he knew he wasn't talking to Dean but the thing that was currently in control of his body.

"You have the sight," it suddenly said. "No wonder you were able to resist me for so long. However, you are weak now. You can't stop me."

Sam tried to kick and hit and squirm his way out of Dean's grasp but Dean just held him tighter. All the blood was rushing to Sam's head since he was hanging upside down and it was only making him hurt worse. It was also making it difficult for him to think.

Inside his own head Dean was trying to fight the monster in him. Sam was going to freeze to death if he didn't get him back in the house.

'Stop this you bastard,' Dean shouted.

'That's right, scream at me, beg me, get mad,' it taunted.

'I'll kill you,' Dean told it, which caused it to laugh with joy. The angrier Dean got at it the weaker he felt himself becoming.

They trudged though the snow. In some places it was thigh deep on Dean. Many times Sam's head and hands would be dragging though the snow.

Dean realized that Sam was growing quieter and quieter. The severe cold was starting to affect him. Sam was seriously going to die if he didn't find a way to fight this thing.

They cleared the trees and Dean realized they were standing on the shore. The thick layer of ice extended a few feet from land over the water. He walked onto the ice and stood at the edge of the water as it lapped against the ice.

Dean watched in horror as his own arms tossed Sam into the lake.