Disclaimer: Usual disclaimer applies. I own nothing, and odds are neither do any of you. Share my misery…

Warnings: Lots and lots of Winchester angst (just the way we like it, right?) and some swearing.

A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews and your encouragement! It helps me update as fast as I can, so keep it up! This chapter was a little harder to write than the others, cause I really have no idea what it's like to be that sick. So I hope you don't mind the shameless manipulation I've employed to help carry across Sam's angst. Its all for the good of the story, I swear! Sorry this chap is shorter than the others! Enjoy!

Part Five: Crash

-

Because you wanted more
More than I could give
More than I could handle
And a life that I can't live
You wanted more
More than I could bare
More than I could offer
And a love that isn't there

-You wanted more by Tonic

-

It had been a week since they'd left but Sam felt as if they'd just left yesterday. He hadn't heard from his father, despite Jim's assurances that he would call, and if anything that just made it seem more real. The fact that he hadn't called seemed to underline the fact that his father wasn't going to come back, and with everyday that passed his heart seemed to lose hope of ever seeing either of them again.

The tears had all been shed, and all that was left was an empty sorrow. The pain was so intense that sometimes it didn't feel real at all. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, and he was getting tired of waiting for answers that never seemed to come.

He must have done something to deserve this and it must have been something bad. Maybe he hadn't been brave enough for his father, or maybe he just wasn't what he needed. Not like Dean. Nothing ever seemed to scare Dean. He was as fearless as a lion, and just as brave. He knew what he wanted to do and that was hunting. Perhaps Sam had been holding him back. Maybe it would have been better if he never existed. Maybe then their mother would be alive, and Dean would have the family he deserved. And their father would be happy, instead of the broken and bleeding man he was.

Sam rested his head on his knees and looked out the window. Bright moonlight lit the room that he usually shared with Dean and Sam could feel the cool autumn air wafting in slowly.

He wondered what Dean was doing. Was he lying awake at 2 in the morning, and wondering what had gone wrong as he was?

Sam's throat was impossibly tight with misery, but no tears fell. There was none left to cry, and he knew that Dean wouldn't give in to his. So neither would he. He would suffer this exile in silence, and wait for the answers to come.

But if they didn't….what then?

Outside, the wind picked up gradually and Sam shivered. That old feeling was creeping back once more to join his misery. The feeling like there was something out there watching and waiting for him. Sam shivered more violently this time.

The ritual hadn't worked. He knew that now. Had known that when it had finished. He had heard it's pained screaming in his head, and had known that it had been driven away, raging uselessly and forced to bide it's time once more.

But now it was back, and it was thirsting for him again. Sam considered just giving up and letting whatever it was take him. After all, his father wasn't going to be coming back to save him this time. No matter where he was, he wouldn't be safe again.

It would wait until he was vulnerable and until he wasn't on holy ground. And then it would take him.

Sam shivered again.

-

Jim knocked on the door in the morning and waited for a reply that was not forthcoming. When he opened the door, Sam was still sitting in the middle of the bed with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head resting against them. Slowly, he rocked backwards and forwards, his eyes glazed over with fever.

"Sam? Are you feeling alright?" Jim sat on the edge of his bed and rested a hand on his shoulder. Even through his t-shirt, he could feel the abnormal heat radiating from him.

"My head hurts," came the whispered reply.

"You've got a fever too." Jim said. "I think you've got a cold Sam."

"Must have."

"You should eat something and get some rest. Best thing for colds."

"I'm not tired."

"Well, at least eat something then. Why don't you get a shower, and then park yourself in front of the television for the day?"

Sam turned to look at him then, and Jim was saddened to see the vacant eyes and the flushed face. This was something he didn't know how to deal with. He had no experience dealing with sick children. And he wasn't sure what was going on, but something about the whole situation wasn't sitting right with him.

For now though, he'd have to wing it and see where the road took him as Dean would say.

Have faith, he'd said. Well, that was all he could do at the moment.

-

Sam stared unseeingly at the TV. He felt worse than he had that morning. Hotter, weaker and almost brittle. Jim frequently checked up on him in between his daily services and made sure he drank a lot of fluids. He'd given him codeine to take, but it hadn't made any difference because Sam knew that this wasn't a cold. It was that thing out there, waiting to take him. Strangely enough though, he hadn't felt that same panic that he did back then. In fact, he almost felt...nothing.

He looked away from the TV and his eyes found his cell phone, sitting on the coffee table before him. Slowly, he picked it up and toyed with it for a moment before flipping it open and dialling a number that he knew off by heart.

Dean answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

Sam said nothing for a moment, unable to find the words that he needed to say.

"Hello?" Dean sounded confused now and a little frustrated and Sam smiled slightly. It was good to hear his voice.

"Hey Dean."

"Sammy? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

There was a long pause. "How're you doing, kiddo?"

Sam didn't reply for a moment.

"Okay. How bout you?"

"Heh. You know me. Kicking some spirit ass as usual." Dean's reply was flippant, but Sam could hear the strain clearly enough in his voice. He said nothing about it though, and just let his brother's twisted attempts at reassurance filter into his tired mind.

"You okay there, Sammy? You're kinda quiet."

"Got a cold," he replied. "Nothing serious though."

That was a lie, but he knew that Dean would believe him because he trusted that Sam would tell him if something was wrong. Sam felt a little bad for taking advantage of such faith as he did, but he knew that telling him would achieve nothing. It wasn't like he could come back to check on him. He was probably too far away by now, and Sam saw no point in worrying him.

"Well, a little bit of chicken soup should fix that right up. Pastor Jim seems like the nurturing type. You should take advantage of it as much as you can."

"Dean," Sam heard his father warn in the background, followed by the sound of a hand swatting Dean's head.

Dean just laughed and Sam smiled painfully, wishing he was there with them more than anything else.

"What are you and Dad hunting?"

"Not sure at the moment. Dad thinks its some kind of were creature, but Caleb thinks its a Wendigo," Dean answered. "What about you?"

Sam exhaled, suddenly feeling more tired than he had before. Like he just wanted to lie down and sleep for a century.

"Nothing much," he said hoarsely. "Jim's posted me in front of the television. Don't think he wants me to do much."

"Seriously, Sammy, are you okay? You sound...tired." Dean was concerned now, and Sam's heart ached, wishing that Dean was here to look after him as he had done when they were young.

"I'll be fine in a little while. Just tired."

"Look Sam. I know this is hard. But you need to take care of yourself, okay? You need to eat, and get your sleep. I mean it, Sam."

Sam smiled again. Despite the hundreds of miles between them, he was still trying to take care of him.

"Mother hen much?" he asked quietly.

"Hey, someone needs to look after your sorry ass. Just be grateful that you have such an awesome big brother." Dean replied with a laugh.

"I'll just sit here and bask in the glow of your awesomeness then shall I?"

"When did you become such a smart ass little bro?"

"Dean!" came their fathers voice again, and Sam laughed painfully, struggling to draw breath into his tight chest and around the lump in his throat.

"Take it easy, okay, Sammy?" Dean's voice was soft now. "I've gotta go. We'll talk again soon okay?"

"Yeah, okay." He paused for a moment. "I miss you."

"I know Sammy. Me too."

"Hey dean?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Love you." Sam choked out, trying to contain his pain from his older brother, knowing that it would only make his brother sad.

"Hey," Dean's voice was rough now. "No chick flick moments."

Sam gave a strained laugh again. "Right. Bye, Dean."

"See ya Sammy."

Sam hung up and tossed his phone onto the cushions beside him, blinking back his tears as he did so. Just hearing his voice had refreshed the pain of separation and he began to wish that he hadn't even made the call in the first place. He curled up on the couch and pulled his blankets over him before surrendering to the depressing thoughts that forced themselves on him.

It wasn't long until sleep came creeping up on him, and he willingly gave himself up to it if only to escape his thoughts.

-

Jim locked the doors to the church with a sigh. The evening mass was always the largest and the longest, and it always left him feeling older than he really was. Usually he would have had Sam out there, helping him prepare and then sitting in the front row and listening intently.

The boy was a contradiction of everything Winchester. While he was so much like his father, he was also very unique in the way he viewed the world and some of the ideas he had flying around that complicated head of his, well, he had no idea where they came from. Yes, Sam was special but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing in their line of work or a liability and that was perhaps the saddest thing of all. He didn't fit into the normal world because of his knowledge of the supernatural, but neither did he fit into the world of hunting as completely as the rest of his small family did.

Jim sighed as he collected up the bibles and returned them to their places. The air was colder than it had been for the past week, and Jim knew that winter was truly in it's way. While he loved Blue Earth, he hated to freezing winters. The Church was especially draughty then, with enough cold air to make a skeleton shiver.

Jim entered the house and locked the church door behind him. The house was warm (thank god for central heating) and Jim sighed as he slipped off his shoes. Not only was the house warm, it was dead silent as well. Jim frowned as he entered the living room.

The TV was muted and Sam was asleep on the couch. The blankets surrounding him were tangled and Sam was covered in sweat, his face flushed with fever. Jim's stomach dropped.

"Sam?" he was at the boys side in moments, and began shaking his shoulder gently. "Sam can you wake up a bit for me?"

His only reply was a groan. His eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, and when Jim lay his hand on his brow, he knew then that this was more than just a cold. The kid was burning up, and it wasn't looking good.

Carefully, he scooped him up into his arms, and carried him upstairs. The unnatural heat that radiated off the boy combined with the exertion of carrying a growing teenager up the stairs made him sweat. By the time he got Sam onto his bed, Jim was panting, and Sam was struggling weakly against him.

"Hush now, Sammy. You need to rest." Jim murmured, pulling a light sheet over him and adjusting his pillow.

"Dee..."

Jim swallowed when he realised that Sam thought he was Dean and he stroked a hand over the boys sweaty forehead.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Jim hurried to gather up some cold and flu tablets, a jug of water and some damp clothes before he returned to the sick boy in the bed.

It was an uphill struggle to get Sam to swallow the pills, but eventually he got them into him. He applied to cool clothes to his forehead, and pulled up a chair to wait.

-

Dean sighed, and leant back in the passenger seat of the Impala. His side was aching unpleasantly and his ribs hurt like a bitch, but the hunt was done and the ugly son of a bitch was dead, so he was satisfied.

He was half hoping that now they'd finished this particular hunt his father would take them back to the Pastors so he could see Sam. He'd heard the pain in Sam's quiet voice that he'd tried so hard to hide, and he was filled with a bone deep worry for him. Sam only ever sounded like that when something was seriously wrong. Dread was slowly filling Dean as he thought of all the things that could possibly be wrong, besides the painful separation of the Winchester family.

Dean glanced at his father, who had a shallow cut over one eyebrow that was bleeding slowly. He seemed more relaxed than he had in week. Dean didn't think he could take much more of the terse orders and answers he'd been on the receiving end of for the past week. He wanted to tell his father to pull his head out of his ass and go back to get Sam, because it was something that they both wanted.

If only his father wasn't so stubborn.

If wishes were horses though...

Dean shifted again as pain lanced through his side once more, and his dad looked at him.

"How're you doing over there Dean-o?"

"Pretty alright, all things considered. I'm just glad we wasted that sorry asshole," Dean grinned at his father, hating the way it forced itself onto his face.

John frowned. "Dean if I have to warn you one more time about your mouth, then I'll get Sammy to..."

He stopped abruptly, and Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. This was all wrong. Nothing seemed right without Sam, and Dean knew that before too long, he'd fall apart without him around. Just the thought of him all alone and lonely was enough to make him cry. He didn't though. Because that wouldn't be manly.

He felt a surge of bitterness towards his father, and he looked away lest it showed on his face.

His father cleared his throat.

"Anyway, Caleb said Bobby picked up on a possible hunt in Colorado. I was thinking we'd..." John began, but the shrill ring of his cell cut him off. "Shit. Where's my goddamn phone?"

John fumbled around in his pockets, keeping one hand on the wheel. Dean eventually dug it out of one of the duffels on the back seat and handed it to his father, who answered it abruptly.

"Hello?"

Dean looked out the window and listened on in silence.

"We're in North Dakota. Why, Jim? What's going on?"

Dean bolted upright in his seat and turned to his father, ignoring the fiery pain in his side.

"What do you mean?"

John listened in silence, his gaze narrowing.

"But that's...take care of it, Jim. You've done it before, you can..."

Dean's stomach was in nervous knots as he listened, wondering what in the four corners of hell was going on. If something had happened to Sammy...

"What are you waiting for then? Get him to the damn hospital!" John snapped, his hand tightening on the wheel.

Dean's heart sank as he watched his father's face turn ashen. "We're on our way. Do whatever you can to help him. We'll be there as soon as we can."

His father hung up, then glanced at Dean.

"Sammy's very sick, Dean. Jim can't get him to the hospital because he doesn't have insurance or any documentation for him."

"What's wrong with him" Dean asked urgently.

"He's got a fever than won't go down. He's delirious and he's...he's calling for us."

John's foot pressed down on the accelerator and Dean began to pray that they would get there in time.

But then, he needn't have worried; because when it came down to family, John Winchester would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Even if it meant marching to the deepest depths of hell with guns blazing, he would do it. Not even death could stop him anymore, but that didn't stop Dean from being scared.

TBC