A/N: WHEEE! Guess what? After a work day tomorrow, I am DONE for the summer! I am in a state of giddiness! But, right, the story, which is why I write author's notes...I love that some of you are speculating! I can't say anything, though, but sitting here holding my tongue is really hard! Things should pick up a bit now. Thanks to those who review and make me all giddy and to Gem for being so wonderfully optimistic and awesome and so brilliant at making Sam LIMP. So without any further ado, the next chapter...

Chapter Nine

The rest of the day passed in tense silence. Dean refused to leave Sam alone, but Sam refused to sleep. He laid down on the bed, turned his body away from Dean, but wouldn't close his eyes, and Dean had to restrain himself from taking to desperate measures. Exhaustion would catch up with Sam, he figured, and if he kept his brother locked up in the motel room, he wouldn't have many other options but to sleep eventually.

They didn't speak and hardly met each other's eyes, each afraid of what they might find there.

That had been their policy with most things: ignore and hope everything uncomfortable went away. Dean had never been a touchy-feely kind of guy, and emotions were things he felt but rarely gave voice to. Whenever he tried, he found there were never any words, that his throat seemed too tight, and Sam knew it all anyway. So it didn't seem entirely necessary to sit down and talk it out, especially when denial seemed to get them so far.

Besides, what would they say this time? Neither knew what to be sorry for or exactly why they were upset. The conflict had not exactly exploded to a full-blown fight. In fact, neither of them really knew at all what was going on, just that they had a problem that definitely needed to go away.

Dean figured most of the battle was getting Sam's body to succumb to its sleepiness and that Sam wouldn't have that look in his eyes when he woke up again. He could wait out Sam's stubbornness until then.

Sleep had a cleansing effect for them. Sleep had erased Sam's actions at the asylum. Sleep had dampened their fury against each other when Sam left for California instead of Indiana as their father had instructed. Sleep had made watching their father disappear after Chicago less of a heartbreak.

Neither brother was foolish enough to believe that sleep actually healed anything, but both relied on it enough as their means of escape, their way of starting over. Sleep let the pain of the day become a memory, fuzzy and distant, sometimes lingering, but never with clarity. Right now, sleep was the only solution.

Still, Sam dreaded sleep more than he did his brother's admonitions, and he resisted unconsciousness with all he had in him.

It was still early when Dean made a point of readying himself for bed. "Time to turn in for the night," he said as he laid himself into the bed.

Sam said nothing.

Dean sighed. "Sammy, things will be better in the morning. Trust me, okay?"

Sam didn't move, didn't acknowledge his brother at all.

Giving up, Dean turned off the light, hoping the darkness would lull his brother into sleep,

OOOOOOO

He couldn't breathe.

As he flailed for air, he looked up, searching desperately for his answer.

And he saw his brother's face.

"You abandoned me."

Sam tried to shake his head, tried to deny, but nothing got out his throat.

"Betrayer."

Dean's hands were around his throat, squeezing, tightening, and Dean's body pinned his own. His struggles were futile.

Dean leaned in, pulled his face close to Sam so his fading eyes could see. "You are the betrayer."

Everything buzzed, everything hurt, and then everything was black.

Sam blinked wildly, taking a gasping breath, then another, a hand to his throat and he realized he could breathe.

He blinked again. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.

He let out a relieved sob, letting himself relax into the pillow.

Betrayer.

Sam stiffened, trying to convince himself he imagined it.

Betrayer. You cannot run.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to be another dream.

Betrayer.

Sam trembled as he pushed himself off the bed. The darkness was suddenly disconcerting and he groped desperately for the bathroom. Once inside, he closed the door and turned on the light, willing the voice to vanish with the darkness.

For a moment, he considered waking Dean, trying to explain the voice to him.

Then he laughed a short nervous laugh. Dean already thought he was unhinged; telling him he was hearing voices would not help matters.

Betrayer.

Sam jumped, turning to find the source of the voice, but seeing nothing but generic stained tile.

Betrayer.

He spun again, finding himself back toward the mirror, alone in the empty bathroom. He was panting now, his breath coming in tight gasps. "Who's there?" he finally ventured.

A host of whispers began to rise, filling the bathroom.

Betrayer.

"No…" he protested, backing up. But there was nowhere to go. His eyes searched frantically, hoping to find the source, hoping to figure out what was after him. Coldness began to seep into his body.

Sam's eyes darted to the mirror and he opened his mouth to scream when he saw the dark figure poised behind him.

But the whispers stole his breath and robbed his ability to think and he felt himself falling before he could stop it.

OOOOOOO

A light breeze fluttered over him, rippling coolly over his face and arms. Slightly roused, Dean shifted to his side, curling back up in the refuge of sleep.

The faint sound of a whisper tickled his mind, and he almost attributed it to sleep, to the beckoning of a dream, but it lilted with the breeze.

He came awake when he remembered that he never slept with the windows open.

His eyes pierced the darkness. He studied the walls, the cheap motel room art, the rickety furniture.

Nothing.

He let his gaze fall to Sam's bed and his heart caught in his throat. The sheets were rumpled, half flung off. The bed was empty.

He was out of bed instantly, flicking on the light. "Sammy?"

Hurriedly, he searched the floor, finding no signs of his little brother.

There was a small hissing, an unintelligible muttering from behind the bathroom door, which was slighlty ajar. He edged closer.

"Sam?"

His hesitance to invade Sam's privacy abruptly ended when he was a flash of movement and heard a loud thump.

He maneuvered the door open, with care that belied his haste, squeezing in and kneeling beside Sam's fallen form.

It took his stunned brain a moment to realize that Sam was convulsing, tremors ripping through Sam's body, jerking it roughly against the contents of the cramped room. His head twitched sideways, hitting against the tub repetitively.

"Sammy…." Dean's voice was no more than a breath as he hovered over his brother, trying to figure out what to do.

His panic paralyzed him for a only a moment before he sprang to life. He pulled at the towels on the towel rack, rolling them up and placing them near Sam—not close enough to constrict him but enough to protect his body from the walls, the tub, the toilet. He grabbed his cell and dialed the three numbers with shaking fingers.

"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

"My brother. He's having a seizure." His own voice sounded foreign and saying the words aloud made his own chest hitch with fear.

He gave the rest of the required information, still kneeling by Sam's side. His own shakinesss increased as Sam spasmed uncontrollably.

The operator was talking, asking question, offering vague reassurance, but Dean couldn't hear her, couldn't hear anything over the sound of Sam's body against the tile.

He had just hung up when Sam finally stilled. He placed a hand at Sam's neck, frantically searching for a pulse. It was faint, so faint, but it was there. He had to put his ear almost on top of his brother's nose, but he was rewarded with the shallow pull of Sam's breaths.

"Come on, Sammy," he muttered and placed an unsteady hand on his brother's cheek. Time seemed to stretch so slowly and Sam's complexion seemed to gray considerably with each passing minute before he heard the wail of the approaching ambulance siren.