Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to their rightful owners. If we don't all know that by now then something's wrong….

Warnings: The usual- lots of Winchester angst, swearing and suspense!

A/N: This is about as far ahead as I've gotten with this story. The next chapter should be a few days coming, because it has yet to be written. Hope you can hold onto your horses and wait awhile for the next!! Enjoy!

Part Eight: Knocking on Forbidden Doors

-

And you go dancing through doorways

just to see what you will find

leaving nothing to interfere

with the crazy balance of your mind

and when you finally reappear

at the place where you came in

you've thrown your love to all the strangers

and caution to the wind

- Dire Straits - Love Over Gold

-

Dean looked out the window trying to quell his feelings of anxiety. Jim and his father had left less than an hour ago, and he couldn't help but feel like he was floundering against a tide he had no way to fight. Night was falling outside, and the temperature was dropping rapidly and although the house was warm enough, Dean was cold in more ways than one.

Every light in the place was blazing, and Dean had even gone so far as to salt all the doors and window sills just to be sure. Even if this was holy ground (well the church was anyway) he wasn't taking any chances.

He had always felt that if he stayed in one place, had a home like Jim did he would be vulnerable. That he would be a sitting duck for anything that had nasty plans for him. It was one of the reasons he didn't mind moving around all the time. At least he felt.

But Sam was different, and Dean wasn't sure if he'd realised why their father kept moving them the way a lioness did when she thought he cubs were being threatened. It was a feeling that Dean obviously shared with his father, although they'd never brought it up in conversation.

Wind rattled the windows every now and then, and Dean couldn't help the paranoia that was setting in. He kept the shot gun filled with rock salt at his side as he paced the house and checked all the entrances relentlessly.

If it was a fight this thing wanted then Dean would willingly comply. There was no way in hell that whatever it was was going to get Sammy, and Dean would put his life on the line if he had to.

John would be telling Dean to calm down and get a grip and it was true that he was tightly strung at the moment, but John wasn't there and Dean was.

When his father wasn't around, Dean did things his way and he always would.

Dean took the stairs two at a time to go and check on Sam again.

The room was lit by the golden glow of the lamp, but it did nothing to make Sam look any better. If anything, it made the dark smudges of illness under his eyes seem dark. It made him look frighteningly frail and lifeless. Dean didn't like the pallor of his skin either.

Surprisingly, Sam was awake again, and had his face turned towards the window. Dean set the shotgun by the door and went to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Sammy. How're you feeling?"

Sam turned his face towards Dean, and gave him a thin smile.

"Not any worse if that's what you were wondering." Sam coughed slightly to clear his throat.

Dean picked up the glass of water on Sam's bedside table and handed it to him, steadying it when his hand trembled. Sam sipped at the water then let his head fall back against his pillows and Dean returned the glass to its resting place.

"Well that's something at least."

"Mmm."

Dean frowned at his brothers lacklustre response but decided to keep trying.

"Dad and Jim have gone to town to pick up a few things. Maybe when they get back you could try eating something," he suggested, picking at Sam's sheet absentmindedly.

Sam's eyes were dulled with something Dean couldn't recognise, and he realised that even if Sam was starting to get better, he wouldn't spring back from this emotionally, or even mentally.

It was something Dean couldn't see and fight to protect his brother from and it was scary to think that he could lose his brother to whatever dark demons were plaguing his mind,

"Hey Dean," Sam started, looking towards the window with a small frown on his fever flushed face.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Do you hear that?"

Dean frowned this time, and followed Sam's gaze out the window and into the darkness.

"Hear what?"

"That noise. It's coming from outside."

Dean paused and wondered if Sam had started hallucinating again.

"I don't hear anything, Sammy. There's nothing out there, I already checked." Dean reassured him, but he stood and went to the window just to make sure. Sam's erratic and distracted behaviour was starting to disturb him and he felt his anxiety return. He wished his father would get back. He always felt stronger when he was around.

He pushed the curtains aside and looked out, scanning the darkness with trained eyes in search for something he knew wasn't there. After a moment, he stepped back and pulled the curtains fully closed.

"There's nothing there, Sam. Nothing to worry about. Besides, I've already warded the place. We're perfectly safe."

Sam was still frowning when he turned around, but his eyes were focused on Dean now, watching him as he returned to the bedside. His eyes followed Dean's every movement slowly, and he could tell that his brother was tired once more.

The amount of time he spent sleeping was worrying Dean. Every little thing Sam did seemed to tax what little strength he had, and Dean was beginning to think that it wasn't right.

"Don't worry, Sam. I won't let anything happen to you, remember?" Dean smiled at his brother and was pleased to see an answering smile, although it was small.

"Did you and Dad figure out what it is yet?"

Dean blinked at Sam, and was at a loss as to what to say. He hadn't even realised that Sam had known they thought something was after him.

" 'm not stupid Dean. I know why Dad hasn't taken me to the hospital. Besides, I've heard you guys talking." Sam smiled wearily at him.

"Uh..." Dean wracked his brains for a suitable answer. "When did you get so smart, Sammy-boy?"

"I've always been smart, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes minutely before closing them. "So?"

Dean looked down at his hands for a moment.

"We uh...haven't come up with anything yet, Sam. But we will. We'll get whatever this thing is."

Sam snorted, his eyes still closed and Dean could tell that he was fighting the urge to fall asleep again.

"I know you will. You guys always figure it out when it comes to a hunt." Sam murmured,

'But not when it comes to you,' Dean thought to himself. 'You're the one thing we can't figure out, and I know it kills you sometimes.'

He cleared his throat again.

"You should get some rest, Sam. But before you do, take these." he leaned over and retrieved two Tylenol from the box by his bed. "They'll help with the fever."

Sam accepted the pills and took them without complaint before lying back down and closing his eyes once more.

"I'm tired of resting."

Dean smiled at this emergence of the old Sam.

"I know kiddo, but you need to get better. And besides, you have to listen to me."

"And why's that?"

Dean grinned at him, although he knew he couldn't see it.

"Because I'm the oldest."

Sam's lips twitched slightly and he snorted again and Dean couldn't help the way the grin wouldn't leave his face.

"Whatever. Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean knew that Sam wanted him to stay with him while he fell asleep without him needing to say it aloud. He had been that way when he was little too, and Dean had often wondered why, but had never questioned him on it.

Maybe that was part of the problem with their family. Most of the communication that went on was silent, and that was all very well for some things, but other things needed to be said aloud in order for them to be fully understood, and Dean knew that the only time that spoke about something was when they were all yelling at each other.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"Do you think that once this is all over Dad's going to leave me again?"

Dean swallowed the swift hit of pain those whispered words caused him, and he couldn't resist reaching out and stroking Sam's hair off his forehead.

"Not if me and Jim have anything to do with it. We're working on it, Sammy. Give us some time." Dean murmured back silently.

Sam nodded but didn't say anything and Dean wasn't sure if he believed him or not. He was on the edge of sleep now, and Dean wished more than anything that he would slip back into the oblivion that he had been resting in for the last hour. At least then his baby brother might get some peace.

Dean watched Sam slip into a light doze, and he stroked the messy hair with a smile.

"You need a hair cut, kiddo," he informed him quietly.

When he received no reply, Dean sighed and carefully settled himself on the bed beside Sam, leaning against the headboard and looking down at his slumbering sibling.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you," he whispered, letting his hand fall on Sam's damp hair gently. "I promise."

-

Awareness struck Sam like a blow to the face. The place was cold, colder than it should have been, but it felt like heaven on his hot skin. Sam sat up a little, and grimaced a little at the pounding in his head. Beside him, Dean was slumped against the headboard fast asleep. Sam sat up, frowning a bit at the strange feeling in his stomach.

There was something...

Shakily, he swung his legs out of bed and stumbled over to the window. He pulled back the curtains and looked outside. All he could see was the reflection of his face and the lamplight.

But there was something...

His vision blurred momentarily in front of him, but he blinked and it corrected itself after a moment There was a shotgun beside the door. Sam made his way carefully across the bedroom floor and grasped the cold metal in his shaking hand.

He was tired of being scared of whatever it was. He was tired of hearing that voice in his head taunting him, calling out to him. But most of all he was tired of feeling tired.

The journey down the stairs wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be. As long as he remembered to keep a firm grasp on the shotgun and on the handrail, he managed to stay upright. The ground floor was a quiet as the upstairs had been, and Sam remembered Dean saying something about his dad and Jim going out somewhere. He couldn't remember much of anything really, just snippets of blurred memories, and vague conversations. Most of all he remembered the pain that had been tormenting him ceaselessly.

Shaking himself out of it, Sam steadied himself with a hand on the wall, and made his way towards the back door, trying to still his trembling limbs. He was still so tired, but he needed to see whatever it was that was waiting outside.

He knew Jim had set various protections around the place; herbs planted in certain corners of the garden, lines of rock salt laid carefully underground, protected by plastic. He'd have to get across that first before he could make any sort of sense of what it was that had been stalking him.

Sam wondered what it was it wanted from him. Jim had said that he was sensitive to evil, but maybe that was just another way of saying that he was tainted in some way.

It made sense. His mother had died because of him, and he had often wondered if Dean and their father blamed him for that. There had been times when he had blamed himself. Maybe that was why his father had been so determined to leave him.

And maybe that was why this entity wanted him. Because his soul was tainted.

Sam blinked back his tears and opened the door with hands that were reluctant to co-operate. He leant for a moment against the doorframe to catch his breath, and as he did he looked out over Jim's back porch and beyond the neatly landscaped gardens towards the shadows of the trees. That was where it was waiting for him.

Sam knew that his father would be furious if he knew he was doing this. He would be so far beyond furious; he'd be livid. But Sam had no choice. There was no way they'd be able to stop this thing before it was too late, so Sam had to find a way to save himself.

Sam's options had dried up the moment he had fallen prey to this strange illness. And despite everything, he didn't want to die. He wanted to be with Dean again, and he wanted to make his father proud of him.

Taking a breath of frigid air, Sam set foot beyond the door, and instantly felt that hissing voice in his head again, and the pressure behind his eyes. He trembled with fear and with weakness, and for a moment he considered going back and getting Dean. But he couldn't be a baby forever. He couldn't rely on their protection for the rest of his life. This was his battle and one he had to face on his own.

The voice became more insistent and Sam knew that he was unable to resist that call. It had connected with him on some deeper level that he couldn't comprehend, and he knew he was unable to break that connection.

Feed me...Let me feed...

Hungry...

Sam gasped as pain exploded in his head and he stumbled forwards, almost falling down the porch steps but catching himself before he did and still managing to maintain his grip on the shotgun.

His breath hung in white clouds in the cold air before him, and he could hardly breathe past the tightness in his chest.

He wanted to run, but found he couldn't. He wanted to scream for Dean but the words wouldn't come to him. Nor would the strength.

There was only the pain and the creature.

He could see it now, hovering at the edge of the trees. Waiting for him, he realised. It wanted him, and if it took him, well. At least Dean and their father would be safe and free. No more little Sammy to protect or shelter. No more dead weight to hold them back.

No more Sammy.

He dimly heard the rumbling of an engine, and a crash, followed by shouting voices, but he was almost at the edge of the garden now and his eyes were fixed on those glowing blue ones that were staring at him.

The moment he set foot outside the protection of Jim's garden, time seemed to scream to a halt. The all he could see was a dark shadow and glowing eyes rushing at him, then nothing.

Just a black empty void filled with a hollow silence that seemed to ring in his ears.

TBC