It was the night of the second day when Dean groggily opened his eyes. The room was unfamiliar. He didn't remember how he got here. IN contrast, the recognition of pain was immediate. Flaring up and charging forth without restraint. He barely bit it off before it galloped between his lips in the form of a moan: that is when his fevered eyes landed on his littler brother.

Sam didn't look good. His shoulders were hunched. There were dark bags under his eyes. Like a dog who had been beat one too many times, his aura screamed flight-risk. Every muscle laced with tension.

"Sm'y?…"

Sam had yet to leave his brother's side, except for the bathroom, a single shower. The visions hadn't stopped. Their timing was terrible too, striking when Sam least expected it. Taking him to his knees and catapulting him into a living nightmare. Bobby had attempted to rouse him a few times but apparently such efforts are futile. Sam is trapped in the alternate reality until it decides to release him. Like falling dreams, Sam will come-to right before he hits rock bottom. Which for him would be succumbing to the overwhelming guilt slowly scrambling his brain and soul into a babbling omelet of no return.

Sam's head snapped up at the sound of his brother's voice so fast his neck nearly kinked. It was the best gargled-gravel sound Sam had ever heard.

"You're awake!" Dean snorted. Sam could hear his thoughts "Nice observation genius". But instead of friendly backfire Dean just closed his eyes.

"Hey, Dean. No, no, not yet bro. Please." Sam's chord of desperation was not missed. Dean looked into his brother's slightly red, swollen eyes.

"Wh't happn'd?"

"You kicked that bitch's ass…" A smirk pulled at Sam's lips as he grabbed a wet wash cloth from the side table.

"To you?..." Sam gulped the question away.

"How are you feeling?"

"… Peachy Sammy…"

"Now that you are awake, I would appreciate you drinking something."

"Bar... won't help…"

"I was thinking water first, actually." Sam put the small glass in Dean's slack fingers. They were covered in scabs, every other digit swollen. Sam tried not to notice as his mind slapped him broadside with flashes of his brother beaten to near death lying in the grass alongside the Impala.

"B'bby?"

"Hey there kiddo."

Sam could feel Dean's question hanging in the air. Somehow, 'I am having visions of beating you to death, so I freaked out and called Bobby…' didn't seem like the right response. Nor did 'Dean you look more zombie then human and I don't know what is wrong…' So, when in doubt, lie. That is what Sam always says or at least started saying 3 days ago.

"He was in the area."

Bobby clicked his tongue in disapproval but it wasn't the right time. Bobby understood that. Dean had just woken and somehow looked nearly worse than he did on the frantic Impala drive to this shit motel.

"H'lp me'up... Sammy."

"Nah, Dean. Take it easy." Dean ignored Sam's words and the hand on his chest, forcing his elbows into the bed. Sam grabbed extra pillows to support his brother's effort. Sam wanted Dean to rest but he wanted him better too, seeing Dean awake and fighting gave Sam strength. Dulled the sharp edge cutting his last few strings of sanity whereas the thought of his brother going back to unconsciousness frayed them all instantly.

"Damn bitch- she hits like- a'truck."

"Yeah, fists of stone can do that to ya. Ya idjit. What were you thinking boy going fist-a-cuffs with a Pythonissam?" Dean looked up at Bobby with a half-smile.

"No girl- is a match- for y'rs- truly." Sam scoffed.

"That was no girl boy. You're lucky…" Dean closed his eyes. Bobby's tone dropped, all business. "What did she say to you?"

Dean merely blinked in response, glancing at Sam.

"Ya hungry?" Sam chirped. It wasn't time dammit! It wasn't time for that kind of talk. Besides, Sam remembered crystal clear the Latin phrase his brother mumbled half dead on the side of the road. Sam figured he would never forget the words. He knew Bobby's intentions were good but it wasn't time. It just freaking wasn't time yet.

The rest of the afternoon continued mostly uneventful. Sam didn't have a vision. Dean's face still swollen, scabbed, and bruised lost the ghostly dead tinge he had been sporting. His eyes bright: which on the surface seemed good, but Sam knew was credited partly to fever. Something else to worry over.

By the end of the day, Dean was able to walk to the bathroom under his own power albeit wobbly. A dousing of sweat coating his skin as reward. He had a lot to catch up on. No more time could be wasted lying about. He needed to figure out what was up with Sammy, why the hell Bobby was actually here, and kick the oppressive, crushing weight of doom resting on his shoulders to the curb. It felt like a python was coiling around his spine. Tightening slowly. Something was wrong, Bobby and Sammy knew it too.

When Dean exited the bathroom, which was still foggy from a ridiculously hot shower, he noticed Sam and Bobby were damn near squaring off in the kitchen. Sammy was in distress. Dean could hear it, feel it. The fear, the frustration. The pairs' words were hushed, harsh whispers likely in an effort to keep him out of the loop. Dean soundlessly dropped his towel on the floor and advanced closer, about to announce his presence when...

"No… No… Bobby.. What?!" Sam bit out.

"I know kid. I… I don't…" But Sam cut him off.

"NO!" Sam forgot stealth mode at that point. Denial simultaneously shooting down his arms, flinging them wide and sending him turning on his heels.

"Oof."

"Dean! No. No. Dean. Are you alright?" Sam kneeled next to his brother; the back of his hand having caught him square in the jaw.

Dean would have been hard pressed to avoid his giraffe brother's long arm even if his reflexes were operating at one hundred. It was a solid hit sending him to the floor. But what really caught the hunter off guard was how he felt… No worse…. What the fuck? Perhaps just another few seconds and the rifle of pain he was expecting would fire deadly. Dean's been in more tussles then he wished to remember with health subpar. It magnified the pain tenfold. Striking already bruised flesh was a torture employed by demons that should hold no place outside of hell. Dean still had his shields firmly in place, waiting for the hit but it wasn't the pain that eventually broke through his resistance, it was his brother.

"Sam?"

"Dean, what the hell! Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm- I'm am fine."

"You came out… I didn't hear ya… I didn't mean it. I didn't. Trust me." Dean was looking at Sam. Saw how important it was, for some reason, that his little brother make him understand it wasn't intentional. Dean patted his arm absentmindedly. This was too much. The pain of injuries he was hiding. The secret he wasn't privy too. Sam being weird. Bobby tight lipping it, looking at Sam for rescue anytime Dean directed questions at him. The absence of pain from that backhand?...

"What's goin' on Sam?"

"Don't worry about it now. Let's get you up. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am fine. I feel… I don't know. I feel… not worse actually." Sam and Bobby froze. The world stopped spinning. The annoying buzz of the shitty HVAC unit cut out. Not even the fly repeatedly pounding the glass in a fruitless attempt to escape disturbed the merciless silence.

"What the fuck is going on? Huh? Someone better start talking or I'm gonna be the one throwing punches."

"Dean."

"Sam." There was no room for discussion in Dean's tone.

"How 'bout a seat eh?" Bobby scooted out one of the moss green chains from the table. Dean evaluated the man, the chair, then Bobby again. Sam finished helping his brother up. The improved human'esk hue of Dean's skin did not go unnoticed. His initial loss of death's touch only vacated earlier after I accidentally….. No. No, no. This can't be true.

"Start talking. Enough with the secrets. Ya guys suck by the way." Sam worked his jaw. Dean continued glancing back and forth between the two of them.

"It's only a theory at this point."

"What? What were you two arguing about?"

"Ya remember what the witch said to you just before she died?" Sam questioned, his words meek and hesitant. Dean thought for a moment, summing up his lack of an answer with a shoulder shrug.

"On our way here, when you were…" Sam blanched, "You mumbled the phrase 'beat eum ut vita'. According to Bobby, Pythonissam typically curse whoever is trying to kill them right before they die."

"Poof. I remember that. Fricken' fugly tasted as bad as she looked." Dean shivered in disgust.

"Yeah, well… The phrase literally translates to 'beat him to live'…."

"That sounds… bad…" Dean was trying not to get frustrated, expressions dancing across his face undeterred.

"Dean. I…" But Sam was breaking down. Dean saw it. The kid looked like he was about to tear at the seams.

"Sam. Come on. I'm gonna die? I'm gonna grow a tail? Boobs?" Dean wagged his eyebrows. Sam turned almost green.

"Sam has to... uh. As legend has it... beat you ta' death." Bobby's words were soft with shame and regret. The all consuming silence from earlier paled to nonexistence in comparison to the echo chamber that had become the nasty motel room #5 at that moment. Sam's gaze was downcast. He couldn't bring himself to look in Dean's eyes. Dean was stunned. First staring holes into the wall, then desperately looking back and forth between his two companions.

"What? Hah. That can't be right..." Dean's exuded with hopeful denial. But it was as if death himself was standing among them. The room could not have been more somber.

"Guys!"

"Dean..." But Sammy's eyes were swimming with unshed tears that stopped him cold. So Dean turned awestruck to Bobby.

"Bobby?..." he muttered softly.

"... So sorry kiddo."

"There uh. There has to be more to it. A loop hole. An option. Something. For example, just not... doing that."

"If not... Dammit Dean! This ain't easy to talk about! This ain't something Sam and I want to entertain!" Bobby was quivering, subtle but present. An out of character display for him Dean noted in a distant recess of his mind. Dean had to glance down to ensure the cold metal steak being driven through his chest was truly imagined.

"We've gotten through worse." Dean tried placidly.

"NO... NO!" Sammy's tears started to fall. Dean looked like he had already gone 20 rounds with The Undertaker. I just got him back... Sam looked down at his hands concerned about what they would do in the coming days. Bobby cleared his throat. He wrangled back some control, plowing forward with the facts. That is how they always did it. It was better that way. Throw all the dice on the table, see how they fall.

"Otherwise... you will fade slowly and painfully over the course of the next week. No medicine can help ya. If the deed isn't done within seven days of the curse, you'll be a brutal mess for 48hrs until you just..." Sam's knees gave out, grabbing the table in a desperate effort to not meet the floor. Hearing it. Blunt. To the point. A vision rammed him full wack-a-mole. The last part of reality Sam registered was his brother calling out startled and concerned.