A/N: All notes and disclaimers from Chapter 1 are still in force. If you're reading this story, thank you. If you left me a review, that goes double.

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Flesh Wound

Chapter 2: The Bad...

Getting Sam into the motel room proved to be a replay of getting him into the Impala. Dean tugged his brother's slack limbs out of the passenger seat and pulled him out into the stifling air. Sam couldn't even hold his head up so it came as no surprise when Dean had to do the heavy lifting again.

It was like helping an extremely drunk person with no control move from the car to the motel room. There was lots of weaving and bobbing and tripping of legs but Dean finally managed to get Sam inside and deposited on a bed.

Sam was just holding on to consciousness, his eyes open mere slits, as he watched Dean dart around the small room. Dean was heartened by this but it didn't mean his brother was out of the woods yet. He hadn't spoken or moved since Dean had let him drop awkwardly onto the bed. Not good.

Dean threw a towel in to soak under the coldest water the tap could produce while clumsily stripping Sam out of his shirt. Make that shirts. The kid took layering to the next level.

He also took lethargy to the next level; his arms and head flopped around as Dean maneuvered his clothes off.

Dean wrung the towel out a bit before taking it back to his brother. Pulling Sam forward he wrapped the cool, wet towel around his brother's torso, making sure it was under his armpits and behind his neck.

Next he grabbed a bottle of barely cool water out of the sad excuse for a refrigerator that stood in the tiny kitchenette. Uncapping it with unsteady fingers he supported Sam's head with one hand while dribbling water into his mouth. Sam's eyes fluttered shut while he convulsively swallowed.

Not wanting to make his brother sick, Dean withdrew the bottle from his lips and settled his head back onto the bed. Reaching out, he pushed Sam's bangs to the side and got a good look at the bruise marring the center of his forehead.

"Sammy, you with me?" He knew the heat had sucked the energy out of his brother but now he worried there was a head injury in play as well.

Sam's eyes blinked opened and he groggily focused on Dean's face. His right hand jerked up and latched onto Dean's arm, squeezing it once before letting it flop down.

Dean took this as a sign of improvement. "Listen, I'm going down to the office to get some ice. Just lay there, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother in acknowledgement. Apparently Sam realized he didn't have the energy to go anywhere under his own steam. But then again, Sam had managed to do some stunningly stupid things in his time. Like vanishing into thin air at the hands of the hillbilly Benders.

Grabbing the plastic ice bucket provided by the cheap motel as well as a plastic trash bag purloined from the bathroom, Dean barreled out of the room, intent on bringing back ice. The moist, sweltering air hit him like a hammer and he staggered sideways, throwing a hand out to steady himself against the wall. He shook his head to clear it and forced himself down the sidewalk toward the office. He would just have to suck it up. Sam needed him.

Enduring the nasty looks from the clerk, Dean practically cleaned out the ice machine. Next he plugged money into the vending machine and selected sports drink after sports drink. Collecting the goods in his arms, he threw a half hearted salute at the clerk and staggered back to Sam.

His brother hadn't moved.

Dean stowed the drinks in the rickety refrigerator and the ice in the sink. Next he started drawing cool water in the tub. He needed to get Sam's temperature down before his brain and other organs sizzled.

Dean grabbed the open water bottle and chugged it down, perching on the edge of Sam's bed. He was seeing spots in front of his eyes and he couldn't afford to pass out now. He had to get Sam into the tub.

After a moment the light headedness passed and he stood up to tug his brother's jeans off of him. Sam lay passively on the bed, neither helping nor hindering the process. At last Dean had him down to his boxers.

He was ready to get Sam to the tub but he had a problem. He didn't know if he had the strength. The concussion and heat were making his head spin and he felt sick to his stomach.

Grasping Sam's jaw in one hand he lightly tapped his cheek. "Sam, I need a little help here." He could feel the heat coming off his brother's face in waves as he tried to rouse him. He relaxed a little when Sam's eyelashes fluttered open and he was staring into a pair of very confused, bloodshot eyes.

Sam swallowed and then looked around the room before his glance settled on Dean's frowning face. "Wha…" he coughed a little and then tried again. "What do you need me to do?"

Dean didn't think Sam even knew what zip code he was in at the moment but he had responded to Dean's request for help. Way to go, Sammy.

Dean put an arm around Sam's back and lifted him into a sitting position. He could feel his brother slump against his shoulder. "Come on, Sam. I need your help." It wasn't hard to inject a tone of pleading into his voice. He really needed to cool Sam off. Now.

Sam straightened a little and picked up his head. Slipping an arm around Sam's waist he hoisted him back to his feet, throwing an arm over his shoulder in the process.

This time Sam was able to stand under his own power and Dean quickly propelled him into the small bathroom and perched him on the edge of the chipped and stained tub. Before Sam could protest, Dean swiveled his brother's feet into the tub and slid him into the cool water.

Sam immediately tried to pull himself up. "No…" It bothered Dean to physically restrain Sam but he didn't have a choice. His brother was combative, striking out in confusion or discomfort. He firmly pressed down on his brother's shoulders until he quit struggling.

After propping Sam against the back of the tub, Dean turned to the sink and retrieved a bucket full of ice, dropping it into the water. He hoped the temperature wouldn't be too much of a shock to Sam's system but he could still feel the fever raging in his brother's body.

As the ice hit the water, Sam began to struggle again. "No," he cried weakly again, twisting his head from side to side.

Dean sat on the edge of the tub and, dipping a washcloth into the cool water, began to bathe his brother's face. "Shhh, Sam, it's okay," he soothed.

Sam's lower lip was jutting out, even quivering a little, and his eyes were full of tears. Now didn't this just take Dean back to their childhood? Bathing a reluctant, teary, Sam.

It was funny how when Sam was little he hated the combination of soap and water but as an adult he gave new meaning to the term clean freak. Sometimes he couldn't get Sam out of the shower to save his life.

He shook the musings from his head as he took stock of his brother. Sam was no longer thrashing around, trying to avoid the cloth. Dean took advantage of the moment to sluice water over Sam's head and back, further cleaning and cooling him.

Next Dean soaped up the cloth and began to clean the various scrapes and abrasions dotting Sam's arms and legs. He still wasn't sure how Sam had ended up inside of the mausoleum but it looked like he'd had quite a time of it if his assorted bruises and marks were anything to go by.

Certain that Sam was cool, clean and disinfected, he closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to climb into a nice, cooling shower. Then he wanted ice water. Lastly he wanted to fall into bed and sleep as long as his body would allow. His head ached and he was exhausted. But all of this would have to wait. First he needed to re-hydrate his brother.

Using the edge of the tub, he pulled himself up before slowly making his way toward the tiny refrigerator. He pulled out a couple of the urine colored sports drinks and returned to Sam.

Dean sat back down on the edge of the tub and stared at Sam's face. His brother looked peaceful. His dark, wet, spiky lashes lay against pale cheeks. His breathing was deep and even. Dean hated to disturb him but what Sam needed most at the moment was to take in fluids.

Reaching forward, Dean pushed Sam's hair out of his face. "Hey, Sam, time for more liquid," Dean said.

Without opening his eyes, Sam shivered lightly before answering. "I've got enough liquid here, thanks." He skimmed his hand across the surface of the water, managing to catch Dean in the face with spray.

A smile broke across Dean's face as he wiped his face across an arm to blot the water. His brother's voice was cracked and hoarse but there was no mistaking his dry sense of humor and timing. Sam was back amongst the living.

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Their body temperatures returned to normal allowing the brothers to doze off. Their bodies needed the sleep to recuperate from their time in the brutally hot elements.

It was going on 10:00 p.m. when Dean was awakened out of a sound sleep. He lay completely still as he scanned the room for trouble. He relaxed as he realized what had disrupted his shuteye.

Sam was dreaming again. Actually, it was more like a nightmare and it sounded like a whopper.

Gazing uncertainly at his brother, Dean knew he needed to get up and head back to the cemetery. They couldn't leave the ghoul to wander the area, picking off defenseless, lost people or digging up the bodies of the newly buried. The ghoul had to be put down and Sam was in no condition for the job so he would have to do it himself.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he clicked on the lamp sitting on his bedside table. He stood up and stretched, pleased that the dizziness and headache had faded. He could finish the ghoul on his own but he really didn't want to leave Sam alone in the room. He didn't want to let Sam out of his sight.

It was a response he'd been having more and more lately. Ever since Sam had collapsed and died in his arms.

He turned and watched his brother as he mewled in distress.

Sam was back at the cemetery. He zig zagged through the monuments, ricocheting off of them as he turned his head to gage the distance between himself and the ghoul.

No matter how hard he ran, how fast he sprinted, he couldn't escape the long arms and sinewy legs of the ghoul. It was pounding behind him.

Every time he turned around he saw its bulging eyes set against its thick, fibrous blue-gray skin. A dull clacking sound filled the air as its razor sharp teeth snapped together, growing ever closer to Sam.

Sam knew Dean was right around the corner. Dean would save him. He just needed to get to his older brother. To his sanctuary.

Right as he sped around the corner, sharp, claw-like hands dug into his left hand and he found himself sailing through the air. He cried out as he landed on his back, winded, cradling his hand to his chest.

He'd been scratched by the ghoul. His fate was sealed. He groaned as he realized Dean's deal had been for naught. He wouldn't live out the week. He…

He was shaken roughly. "Come on, Sam. Snap out of it! It's just a dream." Dean's calming presence infiltrated his dream as Sam struggled to open his eyes.

Sam located his brother standing next to his bed as he shaded his eyes, trying to screen out the bright light blazing across the room.

"Dean?" His voice was muzzy and he hated it, but he couldn't seem to pull himself together.

Dean patted him on the shoulder before moving across the room. "That was some dream you were having. You okay?"

Sam hated being vulnerable. But the dregs of his nightmare seeped back into his consciousness and he shuddered violently, betraying his current state.

His left hand throbbed where the ghoul had scratched him.

But, wait. The ghoul hadn't scratched him. That was a dream.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and watched as Dean tugged on a pair of jeans. "What are you doing?" he asked, bewildered as he noticed the time.

Dean pulled his boots on and started rifling through his gear. "I need to finish this hunt. And you need to get some rest."

Sam stumbled to his feet. He knew the ghoul needed to be dealt with but there was no way he was letting Dean return to the cemetery by himself. "I'm coming with you."

Dean snorted while he transferred some weapons into a backpack. "Sam, please. You can barely stand up. Hell, two hours ago I thought you still needed a hospital. There's no way in hell I'm letting anything happen to you."

And therein lay the problem. Dean was determined to protect Sam at all costs. But there were some things that defied even the love and determination of an older brother.

Shaking his head, Sam gingerly made his way over to a discarded pair of jeans on the floor. Drawing them on slowly, disgusted at the grime and dirt caked on the denim, he got himself ready.

He probably couldn't do much to help with the actual hunt but he could act as lookout. Or decoy. But there was no way Dean was going back to the cemetery without him. "Dean, please. I'm going with you. It's not negotiable." He crossed his arms with finality and willed Dean to give in.

Dean threw his hands up in resignation. Sam had won this battle but the war was looming up ahead.

-----

Sam dozed in the moonlight. He had been sitting on the hood of the Impala but his eyes had grown heavy and he'd leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position. He'd promised his brother he wouldn't move from this spot.

One moment he was thinking about the comfortable bed in the motel room and the next he was thrust back into his nightmare world of dodging the ghoul.

He heard gunshot and the panicked voice of Dean. "Sammy, move your ass!"

That was new. Last time he dreamed about the ghoul he'd been trying to get to Dean but this time Dean was right in the thick of things.

Or was he dreaming? His eyes snapped open and darted around wildly. He heard a commotion to his left and saw the ghoul, disjointed and lumbering, headed straight for the Impala. Straight for him.

He rolled to his right and dropped off the hood of the car. He heard Dean give a Comanche style scream and then something whistled through the air. A soft squish and dull thud followed.

The decapitated head of the ghoul rolled across the uneven ground, stopping in front of Sam who was crouched down beside the Impala. Its dulled eyes stared unblinkingly at him, its mouth pulled back in a rictus that mocked him, teeth gleaming dully in the moonlight.

Dean suddenly filled his vision. "Sammy?!" Strong arms hauled him upright and back away from the ghoul's head. "Hey, are you okay?"

Sam nodded mutely, leaning forward into Dean's arms for a moment before stepping away from his brother. He couldn't lean on Dean forever.

His gaze was drawn back to the ghoul's head, locking onto the eyes of the dead ghoul. He rubbed his throbbing left hand before leaning against the car as dizziness caught up to him.

Dean was back in his personal space, shining a light in his face. "Jesus, you scared the crap out of me. It ran right for you. Almost like you were a homing beacon or something. Weird."

The ghoul had run to him as though they had some sort of connection. Sam's hand itched and ached. Was there a connection?

He couldn't sort it all out. His head hurt and he was having trouble breathing in the humid air again. "Come on, let's get you into the car. I knew I shouldn't have let you come along." Dean's strong, competent hands settled him inside the Impala.

Dean's voice faded to muttering as Sam relaxed in the passenger seat. He watched though drooping eyes as Dean first salted and then burned the body and head of the ghoul.

A light flared behind Dean and he sat up straight and started to call out a warning. The outline of a young boy became visible, hand waving goodbye, before it faded from his vision. Another spirit laid to rest.

Was this the spirit who had helped save him and Dean from the ghoul? He didn't know and he didn't have the energy to figure it out.

If the ghoul was gone, why did he feel so unsettled about it? He drifted off to sleep, confused and uncomfortable.

-----

It has been a few days since he'd decapitated the ghoul and Dean was getting itchy for some action.

He was flirting with taking a job in East Tennessee. He'd done the research himself and thought the trip, although out of their way, was worth it.

From the sounds of it, a small community was being terrorized by a Wampus cat. According to legend, a Cherokee woman had disguised herself in the skin of a mountain lion to spy on the men of the tribe but when the woman was discovered, the tribe's medicine man had turned her into a half-woman, half-cat. The description of a six legged cat roaming the hills around the town matched the information surrounding the Wampus cat folklore.

It should have been an easy decision. Go in, consecrate the grounds and reverse the transformation, and get out. No one gets hurt, the poor Cherokee woman would be put to rest and the community would be grateful.

Except for one fly in the ointment. Sam. He just wasn't rebounding from his bout of heat exhaustion, in Dean's opinion. He was going to let Sam take it easy today and then see how he was doing.

In the meantime the brothers were relaxing in a little bed and breakfast. They'd gotten in yesterday evening and were going to stay at least another night before heading off to their next gig.

It was the off season so the brothers could cheaply afford to stay en suite. Dean thought en suite was French for pretentious but it meant the brothers each had their own bedroom with a shared bath.

And what a bedroom it was...a king sized brass bed with a lace canopy was the focal point with a set of brightly flowered wing backed chairs stationed next to a massive stone fireplace. Matching floral curtains completed the effect of girlish romance. Sam's room wasn't much different although plaid was the theme instead of flowers.

Despite the overblown accomodations, Dean normally would have been ecstatic about this turn of events – a little privacy now and then was welcome -- but it meant he couldn't keep close tabs on Sam. At least not the way he wanted to. Instead he was forced to come up with reasons to do stuff just so he could keep an eye on his brother.

Last night he'd dragged Sam downstairs where they had endured a game of twenty questions from their perky hostess, Carrie. She offered them each a long necked beer, brewed locally, and Dean certainly thought he deserved one after the last forty–eight hours. He'd even relaxed enough to lightly flirt with the buxom redhead until he noticed Sam nodding off in his beer.

Sam's head had been leaning against the back of the loveseat, his eyes drooping, left leg bent with heel resting on his right knee. Dean couldn't remember the last time Sam had looked so relaxed and had let him doze.

Dean wiled away some time, chatting effortlessly with Carrie, until the hand gripping the beer had also relaxed in sync with the rest of Sam's body. The bottle, planted on his thigh, tilted further to the side with each breath Sam took, threatening to spill its contents across his body as well as the furniture and hardwood floor. That was when Dean had called it a night and dragged his exhausted brother upstairs.

Now it was 7:00 a.m. and Dean hadn't heard Sam, who usually rose with the sun, stirring yet. Dean had already showered and was debating on whether he should go down to breakfast by himself and let Sam sleep in or rouse his brother.

Something was nagging at him and he wanted to make sure his brother was okay before he left him alone. Something about being separated from him was making him antsy. Putting his ear up to the door he listened one last time for movement within before lifting his hand and knocking. "Sammy, time to rise and shine!" he called.

He waited, listening. Nothing. "Sammy?!"

Dean was ready to bust the door in but at the last moment tried the knob – it was open. He burst into the room and thanks to the light spilling in from the half opened plaid drapes he quickly located his brother.

Sam was lying on his back, his head turned to the side with his right hand nestled under his right cheek.

His brother looked young and innocent in repose. Almost angelic.

But he still wasn't stirring despite the commotion of Dean coming into his room uninvited.

There was something else that was vaguely disturbing. Sam was sleeping on his back. He was a stomach or side sleeper. He only slept on his back when he was taking a nap or sick.

His brother was a little pale but was breathing deeply and evenly. Trying to control his anxiety, he leaned over his brother and tried to wake him again. "Sam, are you okay?"

Still no response. Dean's heart picked up its pace as he sat on the edge of Sam's bed. He saw eyes frantically darting behind closed lids. Leaning over he took a bicep in each hand and gave his brother a shake. "Sammy, man, come on. You're scaring me here."

His actions were rewarded when Sam slowly blinked his eyes open. Dean waited a heartbeat so as not to startle his brother. Sam had that rumpled, sleepy look on his face – he didn't seem to be aware of where he was or even that Dean was in the room with him. More cause for concern.

Dean sat back and watched his brother bring his right fist to his eye and rub it like a toddler does when fighting sleep. Sam still looked dazed and concerned, frowning a little as he blinked his eyes some more.

Dean gently grabbed the hand that had been sluggishly rubbing the eye. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked quietly, still trying not to startle his brother but wondering what was going on with him.

Four months ago he would have been appalled at his own behavior. Holding hands like some sissy with his brother. But ever since he'd cradled a dying Sam in his arms, he'd found that his cavalier veneer had cracked in regard to his baby brother. And right now he needed something tangible to hold on to and that something was his brother's hand

Sam finally was coherent enough to string a thought together. "Dean?" His voice was soft and husky and definitely held a tone of bewilderment.

Dean cracked a smile. It was a start. "In the flesh." He waited to see if Sam would make any other connections. Maybe Sam had suffered a head injury of some kind after all.

Sam pulled his hand awkwardly away from Dean before weakly stretching his arms overhead. Perching on his forearms he squinted at Dean and then the clock at the wall. "What's going on?"

Dean looked searchingly at this brother's face. His pupils seemed too large but there was only partial light in the room.

Not wanting to be accused of smothering Sam with concern, he forced himself to relax. "It's time for breakfast but you didn't answer my knock. Late night?" He was trying to play it cool. He didn't want to freak his brother out but he wanted some answers.

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position and closed his eyes for a moment. "I was dreaming, I guess."

The little color he had was blanched away. "Dizzy?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head no, not wanting to worry his brother. The room was spinning around lazily but he knew from experience it would soon stop.

He'd had another dream. It had seemed so real and now he was having a hard time throwing off its effects. Same song, different verse.

He'd been chased by the ghoul and trapped in a corner, forced to make a last stand. If he was going down he was determined to take the ghoul out with him. He was a Winchester after all. Before he could deliver the killing thrust, the ghoul had caught him by the hand and taken a chomp out of it and…

That's when he'd become aware of Dean in his room.

He surreptitiously pulled back his long sleeved t-shirt to get a look at his left hand. There was a mark on his hand, red and startling in its rawness.

Sam squinted to get a better look but he guiltily turned his head away when Dean asked him if he was ready for breakfast.

Sam forced a facsimile of a smile across his lips. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't been hungry since he'd found out Dean had traded his soul for Sam's life. A life Sam wasn't even sure was worth saving.

He knew something fundamental had changed in him. He could trace it back to Jake's death. If he was honest, he could trace it a little farther back – to when he'd been brought back from the dead.

Periods of rage sometimes overwhelmed him but he couldn't bring himself to talk to his brother about it. Dean wasn't sorry he'd brought Sam back and not wanting to force an argument, he let the subject drop. Time was too precious to waste.

He couldn't blame Dean, not really. He even suspected he might have considered the same thing if their positions had been reversed. But that didn't stop him from worrying. What if he was going dark side? Dean's safety could be at risk.

But in nine months the hellhounds would come to collect on Dean's bargain so Sam had his work cut out for him. The clock was ticking and he needed to find a solution to his brother's problem.

Clearing his throat, Sam answered in the affirmative about breakfast. He needed to pull himself together and act normal. He was awake enough to know that Dean was concerned about him. That was a pattern he needed to break. For Dean's sake.

He winced as he put weight on his sore hand as he pushed out of bed. Maybe he should say something to his brother about the wound. He discarded the idea, not wanting to add to his brother's burden. Hadn't Dean already given up everything, including his very soul, for Sam?

TBC