Happy Holidays to everyone ! This will be my last update for December, so I apologise in advance for such a horrible place that the story will stop (you'll see why :o)), but I need some time to write some new chapters and of course get rid of my growing pile of essays.

As always thanks to everyone who reviewed off Chapter 11, a special thank you to Mariazinha for such a lovely PM, it was a total surprise to me, so thank you very much.

As to everyone else, I wish every one reading a wonderful and safe Christmas and a fabulous New Year. Thanks to everyone who has supported me through my stories on here and those who have reviewed.

Now on with 'Remember Me', the last instalment for 2006 !!

Chapter 12- Remember Me

Dr Andrew Wallis paced around Clearwater Memorial hospital, his impatience was beginning to show on his face as well as in his erratic pacing and nervous twisting of his hands.

Jefferson City Community hospital was nothing but a distant memory for the doctor now.

They should have been here by now.

They both should have been here by now.

The man with the red eyes had promised him that his prize cattle would have been here by now.

Dr Wallis shook his head in annoyance as he continued to pace the Emergency Room of the local hospital. He'd been into every ward, on every floor, exploring every patient registered with a fine tooth comb.

Sam Turner and his elder brother Dean had to be in here.

The man with the red eyes had told him they were here.

As long as he did what he was told, as long as he continued to do what he was asked to do; he'd stay alive.

Well it beat the heck out of being dead; and if the man with the red eyes had not have been as kind as to help him, then he would have been dead.

All the medications that the younger Turner must have ingested in the last fortnight must have him knocking at the gates of death.

Dr Wallis made a face...Unless he was already dead...

He hadn't even considered that possibility, but maybe it was worth considering now. After all, somebody in Sam's condition, well there was only so much you could take.

Dr Wallis knew what the two bottles of tablets would do; they would make Samuel very ill. But the third bottle, the third prescription that he'd been ordered by the man with the red eyes to add to the list; that still puzzled the doctor.

He'd searched every single listing he could find, every journal article he could get his hand on; and yet that name hadn't appeared on anything.

It was like it had appeared out of thin air.

Like magic.

Still, Dr Wallis had been promised that he would be rewarded with more wealth and fame than a man could ever want for.

All he had to was wait for his prize cattle to show up...

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Dean Winchester exhaustedly looked up from the kitchen table, his head automatically glancing at his brother who was sleeping soundly on the sofa.

Dean's hazel green eyes fell to the clock for what felt like the millionth time, it was just after 11pm.

The elder brother had spent hours on the laptop searching in vain for two things, a reason behind this mess and finally a solution to the mess.

In the hours he'd spent doing so, he'd so far arrived to the conclusion that for starters he couldn't find any trace of this red eyed demon thing that Sam had described and no cure for Sam's fever that was beginning to burrow out of control.

Dean yawned out loud, and for a few minutes allowed his head to tilt back as his heavy sleep filled eyes shut for a brief second.

God he needed sleep.

In fact he didn't need sleep, he craved it.

Just the idea of being able to curl up in his bed and place his head on a pillow and allow the horror of the last twenty four hours to be nothing but a distant memory ached his shattered mind.

Screw the last twenty four hours, Dean wouldn't mind the last three weeks being nothing but a distant memory. He hadn't slept through the night once, his senses heightened, his heart set on panic mode as soon as night set in. He could keep an eye on Sam during the day, but at night, when they pushed their bedroom doors in, never closing them, what was Dean to do then..?

Each night his disturbed sleep would be filled with even more disturbing nightmares involving hunts that didn't exist and scenarios that had never taken place; yet they all ended the same way, Dean watching Sam die and doing nothing to prevent it.

Each night he woke up the same way, his body stiff and rigid and filled with fear, each night waking up to check to see if his baby brother's blood was actually on his hands.

And then that little evil voice that was known as Dean's conscience would set to work.

That evil little voice that would remind Dean that this whole situation, that Sam's slow painful recovery was because he chose to take him out of the hospital, that he'd been the one to lie to Sam, that he'd been the one to decide what would happen to them both.

Dean had made that choice, he'd made the choice that Sam had not been well enough to be able to comprehend what had actually taken place; I mean coming back from the dead wasn't exactly standard practice.

It had scared the hell out of Dean, yet left the elder brother in awe; so he could only imagine what the two doctors who had been dealing with the Turner two would have felt.

Yet all along Dean Winchester had known deep in his mind that something evil had sent his brother back to him. Something with immense power had summoned his little brother and sent him back.

He'd known all along that evil had given the Winchester family a helping hand.

And yet he'd ignored it.

All the signs, all the little signs, all the times that Sam asked for him to believe him, all the times that Sam had begged for his help in the last couple of days.

And he'd ignored him.

Dean's hands went to his face covering his exhausted features with his hands. He'd been cruel enough this morning to think that Sam was mad; he'd had the audacity to accuse Sam of losing his mind.

Dean shook his head at the situation he'd created; Sam was now ill because of him.

" Now his blood will be on your hands..."

Dean rubbed his eyes and shook his head as he tried to shake the voice from his head. As quietly as he could, Dean slipped out of the kitchen chair and walked over to the sofa, the dimly lit living room offering him little assistance.

Dean stared down at Sam's peaceful expression. His eyes closed, hiding those hazel eyes that had ways of seeing straight into your soul.

That peaceful look.

It still scared the hell out of Dean.

Shuddering, Dean knelt down next to Sam and it was then that the elder brother could see that Sam's body was still shaking from the fever, the blankets wrapped around the youngster obviously offered him no warmth at all; yet as Dean let his finger tips touch his brother's forehead, the fire from his skin felt like he'd just caught a freshly fired rod iron bullet with his bare hands.

Dean looked at Sam's soaked hair, the sweat of the fever having matted it back, yet through everything, Sam still stirred at the slightest of touches.

It was pretty obvious that Sam had never been asleep, just in an odd sense of rest, the fever dragging him back and forth between consciousnesses.

" Hey..." Sam managed to say, his voice was still shaky, but the lull in the conversation for a few hours had caused him to calm down, compose himself, fight the fever and most importantly, encourage Dean and give him hope that he could fix this.

After all, Dean was all Sam had, and considering Dean's flaky state of mind for the last week or so, especially the last few days, Sam was clinging onto every bit of hope he had.

Considering the direness of the situation, that hope was pretty slim. Yet this was Dean, his Dean and Sam would never give up hope on his brother, not until he'd allowed his dying breath to leave his body.

Sam saw the gentle look in Dean's eyes, although his face wore its usual trade mark smile.

" How you holding it together little man..?" Dean asked him with a grin, " Cause you know, drifting off to the land of nod while I'm being forced to stay awake, dude, that's just plain cruel..!"

Sam managed a smile, " You always were one for humour..."

Dean patted his hand playfully, " Well, what else am I gonna do..? Get all melodramatic and start crying..?"

Sam laughed, which quickly grew into a dry coughing fit. Dean felt the panic quickly grow as he eased a glass of water to Sam's lips.

Sam eventually slumped back against the sofa cushions and in the dim light; his hazel eyes caught the worry on Dean's face.

He could feel it inside. Slow, deliberate and evil.

Whatever was taking over his body was moving faster than Dean was in finding a cure for him. Sam sighed quietly and closed his eyes, allowing his finger tips to brush the top of Dean's hand. Dean simply squeezed it purposely and went to stand to leave. Sam however grabbed his finger in his hand and held onto it.

" Stay...please..." Sam said his voice growing considerably more tired. He forced his eyes open to look at Dean's face. It was littered with concern.

" Oh...man..." Sam said with a weak smile as he watched as Dean lowered himself back onto the floor, his legs scooping to the side. " Don't...give...me...that...look..."

Dean managed a smile as well, " What look, I'm not giving you any type of look..."

Sam closed his eyes and swallowed the dry lump that was itching his throat, his hand never let go of Dean's finger.

His head turned to his left and looked at Dean, a wistful smile appearing on his face. Dean spotted and gave him a suspicious look.

" What's with the goofy look..?" Dean teased, " Cause you genuinely look mad.."

Sam grinned and slowly opened his eyes, and stared into Dean's hazel green eyes.

" Do...you...re...remember..." Sam said slowly trying to compose himself, the shaking and shivering making an unwelcome return. "Dad...wo...would...not...let...me...co...come...out...and...pl...play...with...you..."

" Hey you should be resting..." Dean said with a playful scolding tone in his voice, " No more long conversations, just nod or something..."

" We...were...in...Chicago..." Sam said with a smile, as he looked at Dean desperate for him to remember the memory, " You...went...to...play...ball..."

" Baseball..." Dean said with a nod, " Yeah, Sammy, I remember. But what's...-"

" Dad...was...so...mad...at...me..." Sam said with a peaceful look on his face, " I...was...mo..mouthing...off...so...he...told...me...I...could...not...go...with...you..." Sam stammered out, his voice now shaking violently from the fever.

" Sam, come on..." Dean said his worrying growing now into a panic. Dean was also growing agitated that Sam wouldn't give him back his finger.

" I...must...been...thirteen..." Sam stammered as he looked at Dean through tired, weak hazel eyes. " I...climbed out...the...win...dow..."

" Yes you did..." Dean said with a nod, as he looked over at the book that still sat at the kitchen table. Here he was sitting on the floor reminiscing about old times when he could have been looking for a cure. " Man, when dad found out that you'd snuck out, he was gonna kill you..."

A smile flickered on Sam's paling face as he studied the look on Dean's face.

" It's…a…go..good thing….I did….." Sam said with a smile, " Those…..guys……were…tr…trying…to….b…beat…the…heck….out…..of…..you…"

Dean scowled at Sam's last comment, " Yeah, right, I could have taken them, all of them…"

" There were…like…..ten…of….them…" Sam said the smile still on his face, " I'm gl…glad…I…took…your….bat…."

" The guy who's knee cap you smashed in, I bet he weren't glad you had that bat on you…" Dean said with a chuckle, " Oh man, when you took that guy out by the knees, I wanted to kill you…"

" Wh…what…was…I…to…do,…let…you…get…..killed…?" Sam whispered his voice growing raspy, rattling around as he spoke in a hoarse tone.

" I grabbed your arm and we ran like mad…" Dean said laughing at the memory, " Urgh, we ended up hiding behind that dumpster for over an hour…"

Sam nodded slowly, " I…don't….think…I'll….ever…for…get…that…smell…"

" It's engraved in my brain…" Dean said with a mocking shudder. His hazel green eyes looked over Sam's weakening state.

" I know what you're doing Sam, trying to get me thinking about the good old days, while you think you can get away with slipping off to another world and leaving me by myself.." Dean said with a dry chuckle, " Ain't gonna work this time little man, you'll be just fine…."

Sam stared at Dean's face.

He had to let him know, he had to tell him the truth. It was probably the last time he was ever gonna talk to Dean while he had some sense in his head; lord knows what this fever was going to make him do.

" I'm…….dying…..Dean…" Sam chocked out as he shakily reached for his brother's hand and placed it against his chest.

Dean stared dumbfounded at Sam.

" You'll be fine…" Dean said in a stiff voice as he tried to pull his hand back. The elder Winchester refused to allow himself to get sucked in.

" No…no…" Sam stammered as he held Dean's hand against his chest, as if in some metaphoric, touchy feely crappy kind of way, would make Dean understand.

" I can feel it Dean…" Sam whispered as he looked at his big brother, " I can feel it inside…"

Dean yanked his hand away in annoyance.

" You're not giving up…" Dean snapped as he stood up angrily and marched back towards the book and snatched it up from the table.

Dean refused to accept that the large book was shaking in his hands, if he did, it would mean having to accept that he was shaking.

" I can't keep this up…" Sam admitted, his voice sounding defeated, like he was ready to cut his losses and move onto whatever the heck it was that life had in store for him next.

Sam was just fed up of fighting.

Dean dropped the book nosily onto the table, his hands were shaking violently.

He was stuck.

Trapped.

He didn't have a clue what to do next.

The fever was devouring his little brother and he had no cure, no antidote, no clue, no idea to what he could do next.

…Hospital….Dean thought, his brain agonising over the suggestion….Take the chance and get him there…

No, he couldn't.

Of course he couldn't, that crazy ass doctor was waiting for him and his brother.

Wallis was waiting for his Sam.

Dean shook his head trying to get his brain to make sense.

…But he's in Jefferson City, you left him in Jefferson City….Dean argued with himself as he paced the floor.

Dean paused, stuck with what to do. He couldn't take Sam to the hospital, could he..?

" Take him there Dean it's the only way to save him…"

Dean nodded glad that the decision had been made.

The elder Winchester brother hurried over to Sam and removed the blanket off the sweaty youngster, who looked at him confused.

" What are you doing..?" Sam whispered, exhaustion fast creeping into his voice, " Dean please, I don't..-"

" We're gonna get help Sammy…" Dean said in a rushed tone as he looped his brother's skinny arms around his shoulders and hoisted him into a standing position. It took all of Dean's energy to keep Sam upright.

" Where..?" Sam gasped out as he looked back at the sofa, which seemed very far away now, as Dean half walked half dragged him towards the door.

" Hospital…" Dean muttered between clenched teeth.

Sam stared at the side of Dean's head. No way had he heard his big brother right.

" Dean…?" Sam whispered, " Why..?"

" Wow, that fever has got you all psycho, you're ill little man, or have you forgotten..?" Dean muttered, stretching out a hand and ripping open the front door. It banged loudly on its hinges, causing Sam to wince at the noise.

Dean continued to hurry his brother, as best as he could without physically dragging Sam behind him like a rag doll.

Arriving under the house, Dean placed Sam against the car as the elder Winchester forced the passenger door open and promptly dumped a shattered Sam in the passenger seat.

Sam lay with his head against the side of the door as he heard Dean scramble in beside him.

Within seconds, the Winchester's were roaring down the street.

" You just hang in there Sammy, you just hang in there..." Dean said, his face set in determination as he hunched his tired form over the wheel of the Impala. Dean refused to look at his dying brother beside him.

Sam Winchester's hazel eyes never left Dean. The younger brother studied his big brother, his hero's profile that was illuminated every so often as they drove under the street lamps.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to slip away sitting in the passenger seat in his brother's car. He'd wanted to stay on the sofa and talk about the good times with his big brother. He wanted Dean to give their father a message, he wanted Dean to know so many things.

Yet here he was.

Slumped in the passenger seat of his brother's Impala. The family car that had been around them as long as could remember. It was Dean's pride and joy.

Maybe it was be a fitting ending. He'd shared so many adventures with Dean in this car. Sitting in his famous shot gun seat, arguing about Dean's out dated classic rock hits while he recited research and facts about the next hunt or case they were taking up.

Those had been good days.

Sure they were hunting and in the beginning they'd been forced to be reunited with the death of Jessica and their father going missing; but one huge plus point had been born out of that night.

Sam had re-discovered his big brother.

Sam would be grateful to Dean for the rest of his life. Sure his big brother could be a wise cracking, annoying, older brother; try and find one that wasn't. But Sam loved Dean more than he'd ever been able to tell him, or show him, or more importantly, make Dean Winchester believe.

And now here they were.

Together again in the car, heading off again on another adventure.

The only difference was, this time Sam knew the ending.

He was going to die in this passenger seat staring at the side of his brother's head, heading back to the place where Dean had originally taken him from.

The whole situation didn't make an ounce of sense to Sam Winchester.

Sam just prayed that he'd make some sense of it before he died...

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