Disclaimer: Nothing to do with supernatural belongs to me...

Warnings: Swearing, Limp-Sam, and mushy moments between Sam and Dean.

A/N: I enjoyed writing this chapter, though it was a bit difficult at times. Right about now we're about half to three-quaters way through this fic. Any suggestions or ideas for an ending that you would like should be submitted soon! Even though i know how it'll end already...

So i got my major adrenaline rush today, and i still managed to get an update in! Went on one of the most terrifying rides i've ever seen before, and boy was i shaking at the end! Also laughed through it like a loon, but never mind...

Part Seven: Spellbound

Another dream that will never come true

Just to compliment your sorrow

Another life that I've taken from you

A gift to add on to your pain and suffering

Another truth you can never believe

Has crippled you completely

All the cries you're beginning to hear

Trapped in your mind, and the sound is deafening

- Prayer, Disturbed

-

All Sam could hear was the roaring in his ears. Every noise was too loud, and every light was too bright. The sheets chaffed uncomfortably on his sensitive skin and he was hot, too hot. Fire raced through his veins like a rapid river, and Sam could hardly breathe.

It was too hot. The voices in the hallway were too loud.

The voice in his head was louder.

Come to me, it whispered. Feed me. Let me feed...

The burning got more painful, the pounding in his head almost unbearable and he must have called out or something because suddenly Dean's face swam into his vision.

" 'ammy? Can you hear me?" his voice was distant, and throbbed painfully in his ears at the same time. Distorting then evening out. Like someone was pushing the volume control on a stereo up and down at will.

"Dee..." the word tore at his throat, clawing its way out.

His mouth couldn't seem to form words properly, but he knew what his mind wanted to tell him.

Save me...oh god it hurts...make it stop...make the burning stop...

A hand on his forehead, colder than ice and like a slice of heaven on his burning skin.

"I'm right here, Sammy. You're safe."

No I'm not...Save me dean...

He sucked in a sobbing breath which burned like icy fire into his struggling lungs.

There was another voice then, and Dean turned away. Sam clutched at his brother desperately, not wanting him to leave. It had been too long, and the pain was almost taking him over. He wanted it gone, even if it meant that he would be gone too. Anything to make that burning leave him alone.

"...he okay?" that other deeper voice was fading in and out too, and Sam began to wonder if he was going deaf as he was burning.

Dean was replying again, but Sam was giving into the pain once more and letting it take him where it would.

What seemed like only moments later, he was painfully jolted awake and he felt the world spin out from beneath him.

"Easy, Sammy." His father's voice was quiet in his ear, and there was a brief and fleeting pressure on his hair before it disappeared. "You're starting to burn up again. We're going to make it better. Just hold on to me, okay?"

Sam closed his eyes as they shot upwards, and suddenly his was floating in the air, his feet free of the cruel clutches of the sheets. The air was blissfully cool on his skin, and Sam lost himself in the sensation. The voice had faded a little as well.

His father smelled nice. Like outside and cool night air. Gun oil and sweat.

"Dad?" he asked, struggling to draw enough air and words to speak.

"Yeah, Sammy? Get the door Dean."

" Iss hot..." he mumbled, pressing his face closer to the nice scent.

"I know, Sam. We're fixing that now," was the soothing reply.

"Not outside..." he said anxiously, beginning to struggle weakly. "Not outside..."

"I know, Sam." his father repeated. "Not outside. We're staying in here where it's safe. Dean's gotten you a bath ready. We'll get rid of that sweat, hmmm? Make you feel better."

"Too hot for a bath..." he mumbled, settling back down against his father's chest. At least that's what he thought he was saying. His mouth wasn't cooperating with his brain properly, he thought idly. In fact his whole body felt funny. Disjointed somehow. As if he was there, but he wasn't.

"Hold him for a minute Dean."

He was on solid ground once more. Or at least he thought he was. The fire was back again, and the room swam before his eyes.

Funny. He hadn't thought he was underwater.

"Whoa, steady there, kiddo," Dean's blurred face appeared before him once more, and he felt cool hands on the bare skin of his arms once more.

"Where'm I?"

"You're sitting on the toilet, dude. Just hold on a minute and we'll cool you down."

Sam let Dean strip him of his cotton boxers and he sat there, wondering where the sun was. He needed to find some shade.

He was too hot and he told Dean so.

Dean glanced away at his father who was sitting with his hand in the bathtub. There was a rushing noise, like water.

Were they near a river?

"I think he'd delusional again."

" No 'm not," Sam disagreed, sleepily. He needed to sleep again. He head was pounding unpleasantly, and the voice was back, hissing at him in his mind.

"Have you listened to the shite coming outta your mouth?" Dean asked with a laugh.

"Dean. Cut the crap and bring him over here."

Sam closed his eyes and then all of a sudden agony, and pain exploded throughout his body chasing the burning fire away with an icy one.

He cried out and began to struggle, unaware of the voices calling out to him and hands pulling at his limbs. His head renewed its vicious pounding and his body began to ache and throb anew, but with an unfamiliar pain now. He had to get away, it hurt, it hurt, it burned anew with icy claws trying to rip into him.

"Sam, it's okay!" Dean was calling to him, holding his shoulders.

"God damn it!" John cursed. "Samuel, listen to me! Nothing's trying to hurt you! You need to calm the hell down before you hurt yourself!"

Their words registered in his mind, and as he listened, the pain dulled to a full body throb but the panic gradually drained out of him taking with it his remaining strength.

He slumped, boneless, back into Dean's arms and tried to ignore the icy demons clawing their way through his body.

Tainted...it was all tainted...

-

Dean swore silently as Sam stopped struggling all of a sudden. He glanced at his dad, who was tight-lipped and tense as he released Sam's legs and sat back.

"Shit," he swore.

They were both soaked liberally with lukewarm water. Sam had reacted as if they had dumped him in a lake of icy cold water in the middle of Antarctica. Dean exhaled as the adrenalin rush left his blood and left him feely shaky and upset. He looked down at the weak boy in his arms and realised that Sam was probably feeling far worse than he was.

He was dull eyed and unresponsive and Dean glanced at his father worriedly.

"Is he okay? He's not..."

John leaned over him to look at Sam's pupils and check his pulse.

"He's not in shock. He's just weak." he surmised after a few moments.

He sat back and regarded Sam speculatively. "Hopefully this will bring that fever down a little. We won't leave him in here for long. Are you okay to stay with him while I get changed?"

"Of course," Dean nodded, and looked down at Sam. He pulled the boy closer and ran a hand through his wet hair.

John patted his shoulder, stood up and left the room silently.

Dean rested his head on Sam's for a moment before he picked a wash cloth and dipped it in the water.

"Hey Sam. You remember when we were kids and you used to sleep in my bed after we watched horror movies? You never could stand them."

Dean smiled as he remembered. He began to slowly trail the wet washcloth over Sam's neck and shoulders, talking as he did.

"We used to huddle together under the covers and talk until the early hours of the morning. You remember that?"

Sam moved slightly, turning his head towards Dean's chest, and he knew then that he was listening from whatever dark place he was trapped in.

"You used to ask me where dad was, and what he was hunting. I made up all these stories to try and convince you that he wasn't in danger and that he wasn't hurt, and even though you never believed any of them, you always used to ask me to tell you anyway."

"I remember," came a strained whisper.

Dean jumped slightly, pausing in his gentle administrations. He wasn't aware that Sam had even opened his eyes again. The fact that he was talking back encouraged Dean to continue.

"Dad used to come in and find us under the sheets whispering together, and he used to take you back to your own bed and stay with you until you fell asleep."

"He used to hate us sleeping in the same bed." Sam's laugh was weak, but it was something that was music to Dean's ears.

"Only after you turned seven." Dean corrected. "He told you that you were a big boy, and that big boys slept in their own beds. I still remember the look on your face when he told you that. You said that he used to sleep with mom, and did that mean that he wasn't a big boy?"

It made Dean laugh just thinking about it. His father had been bewildered, not only because the seven year old had been able to come up with such a question, but because he could find no answer to the innocent question.

"But I still came back." Sam was smiling faintly, his eyelids heavy as he struggled to stay awake.

"Until you were eleven. And we kept watching those horrors, and you kept getting scared and coming to my bed."

"Mmmmm..."

Dean wiped the damp cloth over Sam's forehead tenderly, and Sam turned his face upwards for more access.

"You remember the one I told you about the little boy who fought off the pack of scary dogs until dad went and saved him?"

"You told me that the boy had a bag of chocolate that he was saving for his older brother so they could share, and the dogs wanted it for themselves." Sam slurred still smiling. "And he fought them off with a big stick he found on the ground until dad and Caleb shot at their feet with magic silver arrows and they ran away."

Dean was amazed that Sam remembered the whole story, and yeah, it sounded lame spoken out loud, but to a little boy it had been an amazing adventure of triumph over evil, in which their dad was the hero. It had been a hope to hold on to, and a reassurance that their father was really okay.

Dean smiled down at him around the tightness in his throat.

"Yeah that's the one. Well I need you to be brave for me like that boy. I need you to fight this Sammy. For me, okay? Cause I...I need you around for awhile yet. " Dean whispered, blinking away the blur of hot tears.

A hand wrapped around his forearm, and squeezed gently.

"The uh...the truth is, I think I'd be lost without you. And I know dad would be a wreck, despite what you think. I think we'd fall apart if we lost you." Dean choked out. "So...you just…hang in there, kiddo, and me 'n dad will figure out the rest. You got that?"

There was a slight movement of Sam's head, and Dean took that as a nod of agreement. He exhaled shakily and rested his head against Sam's once more.

"You...You're such...a girl Dean.." Sam whispered, slurring his words together. "Grow a pair..."

Dean laughed now, relieved to see even a tiny piece of the Sam he knew emerge.

"Listen to you, tough guy. You'd be a blubbering mess if you were in my place."

"Girl..." was the only reply.

Dean knew that Sam was practically asleep now, so he pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, and gently shifted him a little higher.

"I'll try Dean...For you..."

He almost missed those almost inaudible words, but they were like a slice of redemption delivered straight from above. If Sam could somehow fight whatever this thing was, then he sure as hell could fight beside him.

A slight movement had him turning to see his father leaning against the door and watching them. Dean knew he had heard most of the whispered conversation, but he found that he couldn't be the least bit sorry or embarrassed.

For a moment, neither of them moved. John's eyes drifted to Sam who was fully asleep and he straightened from his position on the doorframe.

"Let's get him out of there and into bed."

They dressed him in a clean pair of pyjama pants, and got him settled in bed once more. Dean was tucking the sheet around Sam and he felt his dad watching him from the other side of the bed. He straightened up and looked his old man in the eyes, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say.

"He's lucky to have you Dean. God knows me an' him, we'll never understand each other. I'm glad you do, because I understand you. When you were younger, there were times when I could barely look after myself after your mother..." John paused and looked away as he always did when Mary was mentioned. "You're a good man Dean. And you're a good brother. That's something you can always be proud of. And I am too. Keep it in mind."

With that John turned and left the room without turning back. Dean sunk onto the edge of Sam's bed with his mouth open.

"Well," he said to Sam's peacefully sleeping figure. "There's another miracle right there, hey Sammy?"

-

Jim had yet to go to town, and John paced the confines of the kitchen like caged tiger. Dean was sitting at the table, his eyes flicking between John and Jim, who was sitting opposite him and talking on the phone.

Eventually, Jim hung up the phone with a frustrated sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

"Caleb hasn't got a clue. He said he'll start heading back this way within a few hours after he's talked to one of his contacts a few towns over." Jim informed them.

John scowled and hoisted himself onto the bench top.

"Bobby said he hasn't heard of anything like this before either," John practically growled out. "And he's the expert on possessions and spirits and the like."

"He's not possessed." Dean stated. "We already did that...thing."

"No, I know. I can't think of anything either. And you searched all the church records and the library?" John asked Dean.

"Of course. There's nothing. Anything that sounds remotely like this thing is put down to demonic possession or haunting. And we know it's neither of them." Dean replied, smothering a yawn.

"And there's no way he could have been..." John began.

"No John. There's not. I'll even say another blessing over him if it'll make you happy but there's no way I'm putting him through another one of those. Not while he's like this."

They all sat in silence for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts. John jumped when Jim spoke up.

"How is he anyway?"

John rubbed his eyes. "Fever's died down a bit after that bath. And he seems pretty peaceful at the moment. Not sure how long it will last though."

"I think maybe its time we took him to the hospital, John." Jim began.

"I'm beginning to think you're right." John replied, tilting his head back to inspect the ceiling.

"No." Dean spoke up suddenly. "Sam wouldn't want that. You know he hates hospitals."

"We don't really have much choice at this point, Dean," Jim pointed out.

"The fevers gone down at last. He's resting for the first time in hours," Dean countered. "Lets give him a chance and see if he can beat this thing by himself."

"Its cruel to make him suffer needlessly, Dean..."

"I know that! Trust me, the last thing I want is for Sam to suffer. But I know him, and I know he'd want us to at least give him a chance. Have a little faith in him. Isn't that what you preach in your sermons, Jim? Have faith?"

Jim studied him for a long moment before looking towards John.

The oldest Winchester looked up to see two pairs of eyes boring into him, and he studied each of them in turn as he thought.

"If he starts getting worse again, we're taking him in. We'll give him this chance though." John said as he hopped off the counter top. "C'mon Jim, I'll give you a lift into town. Dean, I want you to..."

"Stay here and watch Sammy." Dean grinned as he stood up. "You'd think after all these years I would have those words memorised off by heart."

John rolled his eyes as he grabbed his keys.

"You know, John, that kids too damn smart for his own good. If he couldn't talk his way out of any situation then he could just as easily use that charm." Jim commented, watching as the boy disappeared upstairs.

"Trust me, I know," John replied dryly. "By the time I was twenty I hadn't got into half as much trouble as he has."

TBC