Disclaimer: As before, nothing belongs to me. The song is called the Riddle by Five for Fighting.

Warnings: Angst, swearing and subjects which could offend.

A/N Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. Personal commitments have kept me from writing as much as I would like, and add that to the fact that I have a nasty throat cold, it makes for one annoying mess!

This chapter is rather uneventful (in my opinion) and it focuses mainly on Dean's point of view. It also focuses rather strongly on religion, a subject I know next to nothing about. The prayer used is one I found on the net so it may not be all that accurate. Hopefully the next chapter will shift to Sam or John's point of view (no promises though!) and I hope to have it up within the next few days.

Enjoy!

Part Ten: Give me Shelter

Dad I'm big but we're smaller than small
In the scheme of things,
well we're nothing at all
Still every mother's child sings a lonely song
So play with me, come play with me

The Riddle (You and I) By Five for Fighting

-

Dean's eyes were glued to Sam's motionless body. It had been two hours since they'd come face to face with the creature that had taken up residence in his little brother, and since then he hadn't moved a muscle.

The Pastor had dimmed the lights in the room, because when Sam awoke once more (which he would, Dean was constantly reassuring himself) he would be staring straight up into them and Dean knew that Sam hated it when lights were shone directly into his eyes.

Caleb and his father had holed themselves up in Jim's library, and were immersed in finding a solution to the delicate situation they had found themselves in. Dean wasn't sure what they had come up with yet, and he feared that there was no answer. Maybe Sammy couldn't't be saved this time, and Dean wasn't sure how he would deal with that.

Hell, he thought, maybe he wouldn't be able to deal with it at all.

In fact, if it came down to it he would probably follow Sammy if he died just so that he wouldn't be alone.

Dean swallowed and shook his head to clear it. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lay down beside Sam and drift off into sleep, as he had done so many times when they were young. But he had to stay awake. He had been given the task of watching over Sam. Of guarding him and he didn't like it one bit. Sam didn't need to be guarded like he was a prisoner of some kind. But he was a prisoner wasn't he? A prisoner to the Wraith that had singled him out.

A prisoner in his own body and trapped within the horrors of his mind. Dean shuddered when he thought about it. If it was him instead of Sam he knew that he would have lost the plot a long time ago and gone off the deep end. But Sam was strong; probably stronger than all of them put together, and Dean couldn't help but be proud of the fight he was putting up. And he knew that Sam was fighting.

He was always fighting. He fought dad, he fought Dean, hell, he fought anyone who he thought was getting in his way as he had from the moment he could talk.

Dean could still remember the way he would kick and scream in his highchair as both he and their father struggled to feed him. He'd wanted down and he wouldn't quit until he got it. In the end it was easier to comply than fight, and it was a lesson that Dean and John had learned early on. But in the end, Sam's sweet nature always got the better of him, and he always made up for his temper tantrums in unparalleled displays of love and affection.

Whether it be in the form of a hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek or a small body sprawled on their laps, Sam Winchester never left a doubt in anyone's minds that he loved his father and his brother more than anything.

But when the boy fought, he sure did give it his all.

Dean wondered for the hundredth time in the last hour what kind of battle was raging within his brother. If he knew his brother (and he did) then he was putting up one hell of a fight. If he hadn't been as angry as he was, then he would have felt a bit sorry for the Wraith. He hadn't known what he was getting himself into when he chose Sam Winchester as his victim. Poor sucker.

He tightened his grip on the shot gun slightly, feeling the cool metal and welcoming the surge of relief it brought.

Ever since he had started hunting, he had realized that guns meant safety. They meant protection and the feel of them had always given Dean a certain amount of comfort. The weight of a handgun tucked in the back of his jeans, or the worn leather of a knife hilt, it all meant the same thing to him. Protection. Safety. Security.

But what weapon could help Sam now? The power of love, maybe. Of faith, possibly. But the means to this particular end was obscure, and Dean was terrified that they wouldn't come across it in time to save the one who meant so much to him.

He heard someone enter the room and looked up into Pastor Jim's tired looking face.

The older man crouched down beside him, his eyes on Sam. Dean could clearly see the sadness on his face, and he swallowed his own misery as he looked away.

"Do you want a break, lad?"

Jim's voice was quiet, and Dean appreciated it. It didn't seem appropriate to disturb Sam while he was caught in the midst of such a struggle- to make noise and confuse him seemed unfair and cruel, so by some unspoken agreement they kept their noise to a minimum. Like they did in hospitals, he supposed. Noise was thought to put undue stress on the patients and disturbed their rest, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was disturb Sam's much needed rest- if he was resting at all that was.

Dean shook his head and rested the shot gun across his lap.

"I'm okay. I can go a few hours more."

Jim nodded, understanding without needing it explained and Dean was grateful once more. The Pastor had been a large part of their growing up, and while Dean had never been as close to him as Sammy was, he still considered him to be part of their extended family. The affection he had for the man often surprised him. After all, he was a big fan of everything the Pastor's kind frowned upon- pre-marital sex, drinking, swearing, crime…now that he thought about it he had probably sinned in all ways possible, and he wondered if Jim didn't look at him differently because of it.

"Hey Jim?"

"Yes, lad?"

"How come you never preach to us about all the sins we've committed? Or about God for that matter? We commit almost every crime possible. Not rape or anything. But we steal, and we kill and…"

"Dean," Jim halted his rambling questions with a smile and an upraised hand.

"First of all, I don't think you'd better let your father hear you asking me questions like that again. He'll probably skin you alive for giving me such an opportunity."

Dean shared a smile with Jim, but it made him a bit sad. Smiling felt so unnatural to him, almost unreal now. He wondered how long it would take for a simple smile to feel okay once more.

"In answer to your question, I believe that in your line of work, the smaller sins must be over looked. What your family does is too important to be hindered by concerning yourselves about committing sins. You save peoples lives, you help them find closure. I think god is willing to overlook it in the face of things." Jim explained quietly.

"Dad stopped believing in god a long time ago." Dean told him, looking down and stroking the muzzle of the gun in his lap. He knew that Jim was watching him carefully, as if to guage his reaction, but he couldn't bring himself to meet that probing gaze

"When your mother passed away, a part of him left with her. Your father lost faith in everything he once believed in," Jim replied. "I've seen it happen before. And to be honest I do understand. But that doesn't mean that God isn't still watching over him. Or you and Sammy. Even if we lose our faith that doesn't mean that God does."

Dean swallowed. "Sometimes…..Sometimes I want to believe so bad, but I just….I don't think I can. I know Sammy does. I see him praying sometimes and I want to too, but I can't seem to…"

"Can't seem to what?" Jim prompted gently.

"I don't know…I like to think that there's something watching over me. Mom used to tell me that there was but since she died…."

"Dean."

He looked up into Jim's eyes and was surprised to see a smile there.

"If you're even thinking about it, then that's fine. It's a decision you have to make for yourself. But you want to know what the secret is?" Jim whispered with another smile. "It doesn't matter what you believe in, as long as you believe in something. Whether that's belief in yourself, or Sammy, or in the power of your own strength that's enough to start with. Anything else can be considered a work in progress."

Dean liked the sound of that. He liked the sound of it a lot. And the strange thing was, it made sense in a funny way.

Jim chuckled to himself and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Just don't tell that father of yours that I've been lecturing you about faith."

Dean grinned then.

"What about him? Is he a work in progress too?"

"Oh, he's my biggest one yet, Dean. I'm working on it."

Dean felt a cold place somewhere within himself warm a little.

-

Sam stirred not half an hour later, and Dean was at his side within seconds.

"Hey buddy. How're you doin'?" he asked gently, although he knew it was a stupid question.

The old Sammy would have glared at him, and employed that sarcastic wit of his that never failed to make Dean feel ridiculous and leave their father fuming.

"Dee…"

"I'm right here Sammy. Are you gonna open those peepers for me or not?" he chided gently as he made sure that the shot gun was inconspicuously out of reach. He knew Sammy better than he knew himself and he knew that Sam responded best to encouragement and horribly to being pushed.

Sam rolled onto his side and blinked slowly, focusing on Dean, who was crouched just outside of the circle.

"Hey Dean."

He was looking more alert than he had been previously, and it was relief to Dean and it struck deeply at his weary core and made him feel a little more human for a moment.

"You been here the whole time?" Sammy asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but audible none the less.

"Of course I have."

"You need to get a life…"

For a moment, Dean was stunned, unable to believe that he could joke under such dire circumstances. But when he saw the small smile on his tired face, he couldn't help the laughter that escaped him.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm a sucker for those pathetic eyes of yours. Gets me every time."

Sam smiled at him again before closing his eyes slowly and opening them again. His eyes landed on the shot gun that Dean had tried to keep from sight, and Dean's heart dropped.

"Hey Sam, I uh…It's not…"

For a moment Sam was quiet, studying the menacing looking gun before he looked at Dean once more. That heart-rending, strange smile was back on his face once more, and Dean was not so happy to see it this time.

"You'll use it if it wins won't you?"

"I'm not going to shoot you Sammy. Never," Dean said firmly, as he struggled to keep his mouth from trembling at the very idea.

"You have to. I want you to. I don't think I could live with myself if I did something to you. Or dad."

Dean could see that Sam's strength was failing quickly, and he didn't want to waste the little time they had talking about Death. Or anything to do with the wraith. But he knew that he had to get the idea out of Sam's head before it became an obsession.

"Look Sam, if something does happen, and notice I said if, it won't be you that will do it. It'll be the Wraith that's inside you. You would never do anything to hurt anyone. You know that. And so do we."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes once more.

"Where's dad?"

"He's upstairs in the library trying to find a way to get rid of it. Don't you worry, Sammy. We've got this one covered." Dean tried to smile as reassuringly as he could.

"Protective circle working then?"

Dean nodded.

"It won't be for much longer, Sammy. Dad'll figure something out."

"Yeah…"

Dean's heart ached and throbbed away in his chest, and he hadn't the slightest clue what any of it meant, but he knew that Sammy was losing his hope and he was losing it fast.

Dean sensed more than heard Jim enter the room and kneel next to him.

"Sam how're you feeling, lad?"

A smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes remained closed, and Dean found himself longing for the sight of those gray eyes once more. Sam had their mothers eyes, Dean knew, and it had torn at their Dad for years. Dean couldn't lose another person who had those eyes. There was nothing without Sam.

"Top of the world, Pastor…"

"I'll bet," Jim said wryly. "Are you thirsty?"

Dean automatically felt a twinge of guilt for not thinking of this earlier, and he immediately got up to fetch a glass of water for him.

Cautious now, he place the glass just inside the circle and with drew his hand as quickly as possible without being obvious. Sam just watched with those all-knowing eyes of his and said nothing, waiting until Dean had withdrawn before he reached out a badly shaking hand and grasped the glass.

Dean watched helplessly as Sam slowly lifted the glass to his mouth and managed to drink. Water spilled over his hand and down his chin, and Dean wanted nothing more than to be able to steady that trembling hand himself and wipe away the spilt water. But there was nothing he could do except sit back and watch.

Sam was frighteningly weak. He could barely move by himself, and Dean knew that once the Wraith was gone it would take a long time for Sam to recover. This wasn't the sort of thing someone just bounced back from. It was like a cancer, slowly leeching strength and vitality from a person until they just slipped away, weak and without struggle.

The empty glass was slammed roughly down by Sam, and both Dean and Jim watched as Sam's body suddenly convulsed once, then shuddered violently. His eyes were squeezed shut and his jaw was clenched, and Dean could hear his breath catch in his throat.

"Oh god..."

"What do we do, Jim? We have to help him!"

"You stay where you are Dean!" The Pastor ordered sharply. "You'll not set one finger in that circle."

"But..."

"You hear me, Dean?"

Dean nodded wordlessly and turned back to watch Sam, feeling tears threaten once more. It wasn't fair. Why did Sam have to suffer so much, and for no reason? Hadn't their family been through enough already?

"Sam, can you hear me?" the Pastor was speaking steadily to Sam, and Dean clenched his fists as he listened. "Are you hearing me, Samuel?"

"I...I hear you..." Sam groaned, his eyes still closed and his body shuddering horribly.

"Good. Do you remember the prayer to the Archangel Michael? I read it to you awhile ago, remember?"

"I remember.."

Dean was amazed that the Pastor would even imagine that something like this could help Sam, but he bit his tongue with much difficulty. Sam had always been more into praying and religion than he had ever been, and he wondered how praying was going to help. Praying was for people who had given up already. Who had nothing left except to ask for some sort of divine intervention that never came.

"Say it with me now."

"Don't...think I can...Pastor..." a hacking cough erupted from Sam, and Dean was horrified as he watched Sam's back arch away from the floor. A sharp cry spilled from his sibling, and covered Dean face with his hands and realised that he was trembling just as badly as Sam was.

The Pastor waited until Sam had relaxed once more and lay panting on the floor, limp but still visibly trembling.

"Try Sam. Are you ready?"

"Think...so..." another cough, this one weaker than before, and another shudder raced through him. "L...Latin?"

"Not this time. English, lad. It's easier that way. Here we go."

"Saint Michael the Arch Angel," Jim began, still watching Sam who was struggling to comply with the request. His lips moved at least.

"Defend us in battle. Be our safeguard and protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; may god rebuke him, we humbly pray and do thou, oh Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of god thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen."

Dean understood now. Jim was giving Sam something to hold onto. Something to help him fight the Wraith. It was a good prayer, and a fitting one, considering what they did for a living. He would have to remember it.

He would remember it, because it was obviously something that Sam held close to him when he needed something to keep him grounded.

They both watched in silence as Sam's taut body relaxed somewhat, and he subsided into another coma-like sleep.

"You see now Dean? Sometime people need something to hold onto to keep them going. For your father that's you and Sam. For Sam, that's his faith in God and you. All you have to do is decide what it is that you need to keep you strong, and believe in it with everything you have in here."

The Pastor patted Dean's chest with a strong hand, and Dean looked at Sam.

Well the answer to that was an easy one. All he had to do now was find a way to keep him from slipping away.

TBC

A/N: I realise that whole 'It doesn't matter what you believe in, just as long as you believe in something,' thing is from Firefly, and I shamelessly manipulated it for my own use! It's just such a good saying…..