Chapter 4.

Dean's Dream.

In the fire place the flames crackled, outside the cabin the wind howled and swept around its four corners, and whistled down the chimney. Sam sits with his back against the side of the fireplace, knees bent over Dean's legs so they rest on the floor just on the other side of him. From here he gets some more warmth and can watch his brother's face for signs of worsening pain, can guard his leg from his ever questing fingers trying to itch at the white bandage.

He checks his watch, it's about eight-thirty p.m., Sam's stomach growls so he snacks on some nabs, the peanut butter kind. He doesn't know why, but Dean hates the things so bad, his brother will only eat the cheese ones. He thinks he should probably force feed Dean some for all the cheeseburgers he's forced on Sam. If Dean wakes and gets hungry Sam decides he'll try, but his brother ALWAYS knows exactly what's under his nose, especially if it's going into his mouth.

He watches Dean stir as he chomps down on his last cracker and nudges Dean's hand away from his bandage with the toe of his boot. Dean huffs in his sleep looking adorably offended and brings the hand up to rub under his nose instead. Sam chuckles, laughing over Dean's scrunched up nose, creating the crease in his forehead.

His brother shifts, sleep lifting slowly. A groan escapes his mouth as he tries to turn over, Sam leans forward pressing a gentle hand to his chest pushing him back until he's flat on his back again.

"It's alright Dean," he says to calm him, "You got hurt remember? Just lay still for me." Dean stops moving and complies immediately after hearing Sam's voice. His green eyes take their time making an appearance, blinking sleepily, peering up at Sam from under heavy lids. Sam smiles down at him once he's sure Dean is, in fact, conscious. He'd honestly been expecting him to sleep a lot longer.

Dean is shifty, wanting to move around, but stops for Sam whenever he urges him to be still. It only lasts about thirty seconds before Dean's shifting restless on the sleeping bag and grimacing with each movement. Sam can't help but wonder if it hurts why he doesn't just stop.

"Dean, sit still," he urges more forcefully. "Seriously, you're hurting yourself. I'm trying to help you, BE STILL."

Dean looks at him and Sam is all the sudden struck with the bright, glossiness of his eyes and the way his cheeks are flushed. He leans forward and presses his hand to Dean's cheek and then turns it over to place the back of it on his brother's forehead. Hot. Hotter than it was supposed to be, lying before a fire or not.

Dean tries to wriggle away from his hand, whining deep in his throat as the wind howls outside particularly loud.

"It's just the wind, Dean," Sam mumbles, distracted with feeling the heat coming off his brother in waves. The way his pupils haven't gone back to normal, the way he's so restless and nervous. All signs Dean Winchester is well on his way to a high fever. Sam places his hand over the bandages and feels the heat leaking through them as well. God, why them?

Seriously, how was the wound getting infected so quickly? Just their luck, he'd used holy water and everything. Granted it had been a short dose of the water, but still, Sam had never heard of holy water not doing its job.

"H'rts S'm," Dean objects to Sam's hand on his leg, shifting again, trying to escape him. "H'rting me..." He slurs out.

Sam frowns, Dean didn't usually throw around accusations like that, he must be feeling really bad. He removes his hand and rubs it down Dean's chest soothingly, he decides to try and get some liquid into his brother before unwrapping the wounds and taking a look at them.

He unscrews the bottle and gets up, steps over Dean and kneels by him. He slides a hand under his shoulders and holds the bottle to his mouth. Dean lifts a shaking hand to it but seems to know he wouldn't have much luck holding the bottle and let's Sam support it and him.

Sam lets him gulp down as much of the water as he wants. Mid drink the wind whips around the cabin and something bangs loudly against the wall outside. The wind howls down the chimney next and Sam fancies he could feel the cold blast. Dean jumps and chokes on the water and splutters as it bubbles from his mouth and down his chin. Sam uses the edge of the blanket to catch it.

Dean's eyes skip nervously around. Seemingly finding comfort in the shut door, which he stares at. Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows and eyes jump from the door to Sam. Sam feels the tremors starting to rock through his brother. It's either too cold in this room for his wounded body or Dean's temperature has risen again. He fumbles through the first aide kit for a thermometer as Dean hiccups, recovering from choking on the water.

"Some'ins' outside, S'm," Dean whispers, his voice grating over his vocal chords.

"It's okay big brother, it's only the wind and the snow."

"For," hiccup, "real, S'mmy." He heaves in a shaky breath, "The 'nother wolf. There was 'nother one. I'm," hiccup, "sure."

"Okay," Sam soothes, his hand finally resurfacing from their supplies with a thermometer. "It's gonna be okay, Dean, I gotcha." He assures, and makes sure Dean sees the metal stick before he presses it against his lips where Dean accepts it from him. Sam listens to his brother's teeth clatter against it with his shivers until the little stick beeps.

Sam grabs it out of his mouth, leaving Dean pouting he hadn't been fast enough and he had wanted to be the one to see. Sam smirks at him, tilting the thermometer towards the fire so it's screen catches the light. 102.4. Not good, though it could be a lot worse, believe Sam, a lot worse.

"It's not that bad," he says out loud, putting the thermometer away before Dean decided he wanted to take his own reading. Dean just glares at him and then jumps as the wind sweeps around the corners whistling, banging that rogue shutter against the cabin walls. His brother is honest to goodness afraid, and it breaks Sam's heart when Dean's body turns against him, and betrays some of his feelings.

"Tol' you somethin's out there," he says huskily, and then turns back to the fire efficiently shutting Sam out.

Sam sighs and purses his lips, he shifts down Dean's body so he's facing his leg, and places his palm over the bandaged sight again. Heat is still wafting from his brother's body but his wounded leg is especially hot. As gently as he can he unwraps the white strips of bandages and bites his lips as he gingerly peels the gauze pads away.

The wound is still ugly. Just raw, angry red flesh. Blood leaving a rusty tint to the skin around, dark, dried and crusty on the perimeter. It can't hide the inflamed skin beneath though. Sam knows from experience that the angry redness of the skin surrounding the wounds is infection. Knows he has to kill it, drive that poison out of Dean's veins.

He can already see the swelling under his skin, puffing up around the wounds, the liquids rising soon would be oozing. This was moving fast. Way too fast, unnaturally fast. Sam grits his teeth know what he's going to have to do, even as Dean whimpers with his slightest touch to his skin. He's worried about his brother, knows the torture he's about to but him through may be too much for his fevered brain,

"Wha s'it, Sam?" He asks, Dean has been watching his face carefully as Sam inspected his leg. "S'it bad?"

"Nah," Sam shakes his head smiling, "You're good, gonna have to stay off that leg for while though." His fingers are trembling around the iron flask that holds the holy water.

"Gotta get outta here," Dean mumbles, squirming again, rising to his elbows and looking at the before mentioned leg. "S'm, le's go, le's go..." He drags himself the rest of the way up by Sam's jacket and bends his legs like he's about to rise. Sam grabs him by both shoulders shaking him a little to snap Dean's wavering eyesight and attention back on him.

"Dean, we're not going anywhere, you're hurt, and the weather's too bad to be driving down a mountain. You need to calm down. Try to go to sleep or something, let me take care of it, okay? It'll be okay." He presses his brother back towards the floor. Dean is regarding him with big, fever-glassed eyes, he can nearly see his pulse pounding away in his neck. Is it just Sam or is Dean heating the cabin up with his temperature?

"No, no," Dean mumbles even as he lets Sam guide him to the pillows. "We need to leave, S'mmy, we need to go, not s'fe."

Sam runs his fingers through Dean's sweaty hair, "Shsh, Dean. It's alright, I'm here, it's gonna be fine, just be still for me, okay?" He nods to himself, shushing Dean soothingly, running his hands down his arms, patting him on the chest. Dean's sweat shiny face is swollen especially around his eyes, the wear and tear showing in his quick heavy breaths. Sam's heart is breaking, and he's afraid. Afraid for his brother, for his leg...really, really, really, not looking forward to dousing the wound in holy water again.

Dean is calmer when Sam is touching him and near, so he obliges his big brother and his fears. Whether Dean is afraid for himself or for Sam and wanting him to stay close, Sam doesn't know, but he does know he wants his brother as close and as comfortable as possible too, so he plays along. Plus, Sam can't say no to his sparkling green eyes and the twisted grimace/pout of pain.

Sam decides to wait a few minutes before treating the infection, give his brother some time to relax and calm down. If he did it now, Sam is sure Dean would hyperventilate and pass out, which might be the best thing for him, but, Sam is a selfish bastard and wants Dean awake and conscious so he's not left alone with the gnawing fear that Dean is floating farther away from him.

So the night lengthens on, Sam adds wood to the fire, it's still growing colder, Dean is still awake, jumping at every sound. His eyes skittish under his swollen lids, trembling hands relaxing and forming into fists unconsciously. Sam watches, quietly talking to him, trying to find some sensitive way to tell a delirious Dean Winchester that his little brother is about to put him through some agonizing torture.

Dean solves the problem for him though.

...

Dean's fingers have been itching to scratch over the gouge in his leg, but Sam has been keeping him from doing it. Now he feels the heat and amplified pain, can feel his heart beat all the way down in his calf feeling as if all his blood is draining out. The sweat dripping down his body, even under his layers of clothing is sending chills all over his skin, nothing is warming him. Not even Sam's thumbs rubbing over the back of his hand comfortingly.

He can't really form many thoughts, he knows it hurts, he knows Sam's there, he knows the other wolf is out there, is probably stalking them...Sam's in danger.

It had been the millisecond before the wolf had thrown him into the tree trunk and he had felt the warm breath on his neck AS he listened to the wolf approach that he'd realized there had to be two wolves. One, which was breathing down his neck, and the other approaching. But he was too late. He saw the bark of the tree trunk coming towards him and that was his last intelligent thought.

After that all he knew was pain, burning, icy, dull, sharp...throbbing and ever present. Dean can't explain just how terrible the hurt that wraps itself around him is. Then the true iciness settles in his very core, his sweat wraps him in more chills and agony. Dean knows vaguely that he's in trouble. He tries to tell Sam about the wolf but his brother is assuring and comforting, he soothes back his fevered worries with gentle touches and soothing words.

Dean's confused mind takes Sam's comfort and allows it to wash over him in calming waves. Sam is there, he said he would handle it, Dean trusts him too...beside he feels like shit warmed over, and so cold...so cold. But then something changes. White, sharp pain in his leg, stealing his breath and making his heart beat spike. Breaths are a laughing matter and he writhes on the sleeping bag on the cabin floor. At least he knows that's where he was.

Through blurring eyes he sees Sam above him his face pinched with worry, but eyes blown wide with panic. He knows he's scaring Sam but he can't help it, he can't stop...he needs...he needs help. Something is wrong.

He tries to tell Sam, tries to hang onto the lapels of his jacket as Sam struggles with something in his hands. He's panting and with his loss of breath comes a loss of vision and what little coherency he had. Sam pushes something in his mouth between his teeth, and Dean gasps sobs around it, finding burning tears flooding down his hot cheeks as Sam straightens his leg and the burning white, hot pain tears through him magnified.

Then unimaginable fire spreads over him. Dean wonders before everything goes black if Sam had decided to cauterize the wound. Breath is gone from him, he doesn't realize he used it to give a blood-curdling scream, now his chest is just an empty hollow cavern. He feels his brain lose everything other than one thought; it hurts.

Please, he tries to plead of Sam. Make it stop, it was the last thought he had...

Sammy please.

...

Sam sees the change come over his brother. His breaths become shallower and faster, his pupils dilate larger, if possible. Worse, he watches a look of pure desperation come over Dean's face, watches as brutal shivers pass through him. His presence is barely acknowledged anymore as Dean writhes with a silent moan on his parted lips, Sam tries to ground his brother with his touch and voice like before, but he finds he may have officially lost Dean to the pain. Sometimes the pain was just too much, sometimes you just have to escape it, or simply give into it. Sometimes it is so much that the brain knows nothing else, it wipes its self clean of everything else other than the agony.

With Dean's distant but still brightly feverish eyes skidding around the room, his teeth chattering together as he jerks with his shivers, Sam decides things have escalated far enough. He glances back to his brother's leg to find it leaking a creamy, white and reddish liquid. With every beat of Dean's heart more red bubbles out. Sam closes his eyes against the wave of nausea that washes over him, he looks away for a moment, breathing through his nose and centers himself.

Then Dean's hands are grasping at him feverishly, fingers wrapping shakily in his coat, stuttered words escaping his mouth that shakes with the rest of him. His eyes are wide with fear and pain and something Sam's so unfamiliar with, but definitely recognizes as Dean reaching the end of his rope. A hopelessness, drowning in the pain in his eyes that brings tears to Sam's.

"S, somethin's wrong, S'm," he gasps out, "Somthin's wrong, this isn't how it s'possed to be, feelsssss..." his s draws out as he gasps with the movement to his leg as he shifts. "Feels wrong," Sam feels his heart jump as he watches Dean grit his teeth and grind his forehead into Sam's side, holding onto him for dear life.

"Neeeeeeed," he whispers out, falling back towards the dirty pillows. "Need." Sam knows what his brother means, he needs help, something needs to be done. Dean lets himself fall lax back on the thin pillows. Sam watches the breaths last shallowly in his chest, and then exhale out much too quickly. He knows that look in his brother's eyes, the way they grab onto his, he knows he's Dean's last and only hope, knows Dean is pleading with him to make it better, even though he can't form the words right now.

Sam shoves one of his own t-shirts into Dean's mouth between his teeth and at the same moment pours all of the remaining holy water out onto the open, raw wound. The scream that comes from behind his t-shirt is the most horrible thing he's ever heard. Don't ask him how but Sam can tell the drops of sweat from the tears washing down Dean's flushed cheeks. The salty drops leak from Dean's swollen and blood shot eyes are wringing some from Sam too.

He tries to hold them back tries to be strong for Dean. The holy water gives a searing sound and steam rises from the wound. Dean grounds out another subdued, desperate scream behind the shirt. Sam grabs his hand and holds it close to his side, the strength with which Dean grasps back tells Sam how severe the pain is.

"It's over, Dean," he comforts. Voice shaking as a few of his own frustrated, scared tears run down to his chin. "It's over, that's all. It's done."

His brother is still grounding his teeth together through the t-shirt, Sam thinks he can't listen to anymore of the moaned out cries, as his brother's body is finally giving out on him. Sam knows Dean is about to go under.

"Okay, okay," he says softly and soothingly. "Alright we're good, it's all good." His hand presses onto Dean's chest and rubs soothingly, trying to get those breaths back and even.

But the leg wound doesn't calm down as soon as Sam expected. Dean is left writhing as wisps of steam and that same frothy creamy substance leaks from the wound. The whole time Dean tries to ground out his agonized screams by gritting his teeth around the shirt. Sam knows there's no way to stop what he started, no way to take away this hurt until the holy water works out all the infection.

So he tries to calm Dean, tries to get him to take bigger, deeper, more efficient breaths. Dean's eyes manage to catch Sam's for a moment. They're wild, Sam's not even sure Dean can see him, but he gives him a loving smile and whispers an apology, sosorrydean,didn'tmeantohurtyouthoughtitwouldhelp,havetogettheinfecitonout.

He's losing him. Dean's about to lose consciousness AGAIN.

I'm losing him, Sam thinks frantically.

"Dean," he calls sharply, "Stay with me big brother, we'll make it right, just don't give up." Dean's still streaming eyes jerk back to him, his body shaking through the pain and the fever chills.

"Plzzzz," he wheezes out, through sobbing breaths. "S'mmy, plz," he whispers.

"I'm doing my best," Sam soothes, "I'm working on it, Dean. Had to clean it again, had to be done, buddy. I'm here," he whispers, hand coasting over sweat soaked hair, fingers letting the wet threads of hair smooth through them, "I'm here for you, not going anywhere."

Sam watches Dean's awareness leave his eyes, watches the swollen lids cover his still watering eyes. His body is still awake, still fitfully spasming, but Dean is away from it now, and away from Sam. Sam feels strangely alone and wraps his arms around himself in the dark silent room. The last pleaded words echoing through the empty wooden structure.

"Plz, make it st'p, S'mmy."

Sam slips the shirt from Dean's mouth and drenches it in water from one of the water bottles and places it over Dean's insanely hot forehead. He gently begins to wipe away the bloody, whitish substance from Dean's leg and the sleeping bag under him. He cleans it the best he can but immediately covers the spot with another one of their blankets wanting to keep the infection far away from the newly cleansed wound.

He presses another gauze pad to the wound and watches the shiver run up his brother's body, the soft moan that escapes him in his sleep. Light as a feather his fingers wrap the wounds in white strips again. Hides the ugly wounds from the uglier world, and the air that is full of germs and infections.

He feels so much calmer with the wounds wrapped and the problem covered up. He thinks, (hopefully he doesn't jinx himself and Dean) that the worst is over. He's never seen such a severe reaction to holy water except from demons. If all the infection wasn't out, his brother needed a doctor and he thinks with a racing mind how he can get Dean down the mountain if such a case should arise.

God, if he had a way he'd leave now, brave the weather and the mountain and Dean's wrath if he wrecked his baby in the iciness. He wants to take Dean to the hospital, where there are antibiotics and sterilized EVERYTHING. And safety from the cold, wise doctors and nurses who knew nothing of his brother other than that he was hurt and they WANTED to help him.

He feels utterly miserable sitting Indian style beside Dean, his limp, hot, dry hand grasped in both of his. Both thumbs pressed to his wrist feeling that lovely life racing through him. Here he can see and feel how fragile it is, the thing that is life. He knows if he doesn't do right by Dean and this wound, his brother will die. What risk was too great for his brother's life? The worst is over now, he thinks.

But what if it's not? What if Dean gets worse? If he gets worse and their still up here, it will be too late. Too late.

Sam's breath is lodged in his throat alongside his heart at that thought. They need to get out of here, they need to get down this mountain and back to civilization where he can get help for Dean. He's up in the blink of an eye, throwing everything into their duffles and the weapons bag. He stuffs his research into his bag alongside his useless laptop, and grabs the keys where he left them on the table.

He's done tidier packing jobs, but definitely never such a fast one. He scans the now even more bare room and is satisfied he's left nothing behind. After he loads their stuff he'll come for his brother. He knows it won't be easy transporting Dean even the short distance to the car, but he's used to hauling Dean's wounded ass around by now.

He opens the door, and the gust of wind that meets him literally holds him back for a moment. He lifts an arm in front of his face and stumbles out of the cabin and down the few steps, reaching to wrench the door closed behind him. Dean had parked the impala only a few yards from the cabin but from here Sam can't even see it with his flash light through the swirling snow. With his hand reached out he soon finds her familiar firm shape amidst the cold snow. He follows his hands down her sleek side to the trunk which he unlocks and wrenches it open through the ice.

He throws the duffles and his bag in and shuts the trunk firmly. He unlocks the back door closest the cabin next and works it open through the ice. Making sure it will be easy to open, he pushes it shut. Next he clears the windshield with his arm and hand, sweeping the snow down onto her hood, imagining the way Dean would whine if he saw all the snow on his Baby, making her 'rusty'.

It's then a particularly bitter gust of wind whips around the corners of the cabin and into him, cutting through his clothes and sending shivers and chills and goosebumps all over his body.

The chillingly realistic howl that follows is definitely NOT THE WIND.

No way it was. The wind and the howl had been nearly the same time, but not quite.

Sam freezes.

The snow and wind are sweeping around him in a brutal dance, he can hardly see a thing. Sam jerks away from the impala and raises his head trying to catch the eery sound again. The flashlight lighting only a few feet ahead of him and then nothing but swirling, sparkling snow. It would have been beautiful if Sam hadn't been so desperate. It's then that his flash light illuminates the one thing he doesn't expect to see. A foot print.

A wolf's print.

Another follows after it, another...and then another. The tracks lead off towards the back of the cabin, Sam can already guess they lead around, and around again. They've been being circled this whole time.

Dean was right, there was another wolf. And he'd been right; it had been howling, been blatantly challenging them. No doubt infuriated by the death if it's mate, partner, friend or...brother, Sam thinks sickeningly.

Sam realizes this must have the wolf they'd been listening to approaching when the other attacked Dean. He doesn't understand though, why it hadn't attacked them when they had attacked the other wolf? Werewolf's were loyalists, had packs...were all about family and blood. Really Sam and Dean should understand them.

Revenge.

That's what the stalking around outside and howling from the distance had been about, they weren't being attacked, they were being cunningly hunted. That's when Sam jerks around and starts running for the cabin. The light of the warm fire reflects on the snow through the open door that Sam himself had closed.

Dean.

tbc...

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