See Chapter one for summary, author's notes, etc.

Unchartered Waters

3

Caitlin watched Sam intently for a few minutes until she was sure he wasn't faking sleep. Then she turned toward the other bed.

"Impressive."

She started. She'd thought Dean was asleep, but he was lying on his back, staring at her, lips curled in a smile.

She sat down on the edge of his bed. "What's impressive?"

"You. Persuading Sam to get some rest."

Caitlin smiled. "Yeah, well, I gather stubbornness is a Winchester family trait."

"Only in the younger brothers."

She studied his face, noting the over-brightness of those extraordinary eyes, the pain creases etched on his brow and the tightness of jaw.

"You're in a lot of pain, aren't you?"

"I've had worse." He cleared his throat and it was obvious the subject was closed. "So, you're Ellen's niece, huh?"

"Yes. Ellen's my mother's sister."

"Haven't seen you around the Roadhouse before."

"I've only been there three weeks," she explained. "I… I'm taking some time out. To think… about stuff."

She was afraid he was going to ask her about the "stuff", but he didn't. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Strange place to choose if you want to get away from hunting."

Caitlin smiled at the idea of herself as a hunter. "I'm not a hunter. I'm a photographer."

Dean frowned. "A… photographer? I just assumed—"

His words were cut off in a hiss of pain.

"Dean?"

"Just… give me a minute," he gasped.

She watched helplessly while he rode out the pain, itching to offer some kind of support. Tentatively, she reached out a hand to touch him, but found herself holding back. Instinct told her that he wasn't a man to accept help or comfort easily.

Finally, taut muscles relaxed and he blew out a long breath. "Well, that was a blast."

"What…?"

He shrugged. "Felt like someone was prodding my insides with a hot poker."

Ouch. "You should try to get some sleep," she said, knowing how lame that sounded.

He grunted. "I'm not sure sleep's an option."

"Just close your eyes, then, try and rest." You need to save all your strength for what's ahead, she thought, but couldn't bring herself to say aloud. She could tell from his expression that he was thinking it too.

"Keep an eye on Sam," he said after a moment, then rolled onto his side and shut his eyes.

Caitlin pulled up a chair to the bed and picked up the journal.

She read through Bill's detailed account slowly, trying to take in every detail. It wasn't easy reading. She felt a growing horror as she read the list of symptoms, beginning with localized pain at the site of the injury that slowly spread throughout the body. As the venom took hold it gave rise to muscular cramps and shooting pains through the extremities accompanied by severe headaches, an escalating fever and then delirium. Dear Lord. She couldn't bear the thought of Dean suffering through a hell like that.

She looked across at Dean, considering the symptoms she'd witnessed. Judging by his present condition, he was already entering the second stage.

Dean grunted, shifted position onto his back and opened his eyes. "Hey."

"Hey. How are you doing?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and she half expected him to blow her off with, "I'm fine," but he surprised her by saying, "Been better." She guessed this was a major admission for him and it touched her that he trusted her, a stranger, with the truth.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. Can I get you anything?"

"Water'd be good."

"Sure." She got up and poured a glass of water, waiting as he propped himself on one arm to drink it and not missing the sharp intake of breath as he did so.

"Thanks." He drained the glass, handed it back to her and sank back into the pillows with a sigh. "What're you reading?"

"It's… It's Bill Harvelle's journal. There's… there's some stuff in here about parnocks." She didn't know what else to say. What could she say? Tell him about the symptoms she'd read about in the journal? Hey, Dean, you think this is bad? Just wait until the pain becomes unbearable and the fever and delirium kick in. That would really help. Yet she couldn't bring herself to lie to him, either, and she sensed that he was the kind of man who'd want to know the truth.

"It's okay," he said quietly, disconcertingly reading her thoughts. "I know it'll get really bad."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Dad told me about someone he hunted with once who was poisoned by a parnock," he went on. "I know what's happening to me."

"That guy. Did he…"

"He didn't make it."

She swallowed. "Dean…"

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I'm not afraid to die."

"You're not going to die," she said quickly. "There are stories in Bill's journal of people who've survived this, and you will too."

"Right. Takes a lot to bring down a Winchester." His eyes looked through her, maybe at a distant memory, and she didn't think the pain reflected there was physical. She remembered Ellen telling her that John Winchester had died not six months before and wondered how close father and son had been. As she was deciding how to respond, he startled her by reaching out a hand and grabbing her wrist. "If I don't make it…" he silenced her automatic protest with a frown. "If I don't make it… I need you to look out for Sam. Don't let him… Call Bobby Singer. He'll know what to do. The number's in my cell."

She was shaken, not so much by his words, echoing as they did Ellen's earlier request, but by the intensity of his gaze and the fear in his voice; fear that was clearly for Sam, not for himself.

"It won't come to that. You'll –"

"Promise me." His grip tightened, and his eyes darkened with emotion. "Promise me."

She nodded. "I promise."

"Will you stay, until… Will you stay awhile and keep an eye on Sam?"

Caitlin felt tears pricking against the back of her eyelids. He knew he might be dying, but his only concern seemed to be for his brother. "Of course. Don't worry about Sam. I promise I'll look after him."

His eyes searched hers intensely for a moment, and then his grip relaxed and he let go of her wrist, sinking back into the pillow and folding his arm around his middle.

"Try to get some more rest," she said softly.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, and then curled up again and closed his eyes.

Caitlin put some coffee on to brew, thinking that Sam would need some when he woke up, and then sat and watched Dean while he rested. He wasn't sleeping, she could tell that from his breathing. He was clearly in pain, but trying to control his response to it. For his own benefit, or for hers? She wasn't sure. Eventually, though, he put a hand to his head, and a gasped moan escaped his lips.

This time she didn't hesitate to reach out a hand in response to his distress, touching his arm. "Dean, what is it?"

"Head," he ground out. "Feels like ... someone's in there with a chainsaw."

"I'll wake Sam."

"No! Let him sleep. Wait awhile, okay?"

"I don't think--"

His back arched and he cried out, face screwed up in agony. She reached for his hand and his fingers curled around hers, tightening like a vise as his whole body stiffened. She let out a startled yelp of pain.

When the attack passed, he tried to pull away.

"Sorry," he whispered.

She kept a firm hold of his hand. "What for?"

"Hurt you," he murmured.

His jaw was locked against the pain, yet he was worried about her? Her throat tightened. "You didn't hurt me," she lied. A little hesitantly, she leaned forward and ran her free hand through his hair, thumb running soft circles around his temple, alarmed at the heat that met her touch. The fever was beginning to kick in. "It's time to wake Sam."

This time it wasn't a question.

Before she could move, Sam stirred. He may have heard Dean's cry in his sleep, or maybe some kind of second sense had alerted him to the fact that his brother needed him. Another moan from Dean brought him fully awake, and after one quick glance at his brother he jumped out of bed.

"Sam, take it easy," Caitlin urged as he swayed and abruptly sat back down. Feeling a little self-conscious at being caught holding Dean's hand, she let go and shifted back a few inches.

"I'm okay. Just a little dizzy, that's all." He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood up again, more slowly this time, and walked over to sit opposite her on the edge of Dean's bed.

"Hey, Dean." he asked softly, resting a hand on Dean's forehead.

Dean didn't reply, but she saw him visibly relax under his brother's touch.

Sam glanced back at Caitlin. "Shit, Caitlin, he's burning up!"

"I know," she said miserably. "The fever's starting to set in."

"You think? Why didn't you wake me?" he demanded.

She was a little taken aback by his anger. "I was just about to."

His eyes flashed. "You promised you'd wake me if he got worse."

"I know," she snapped back, stung by his unwarranted aggression. "And like I said, I was about to-- "

"What, you thought you had to wait for him to start screaming or something?"

"Hey, right here, you know," Dean interjected weakly. "And you can hold your breath if you think I'm gonna to scream like a girl."

Sam's brow furrowed and he immediately turned his attention to his brother. "I'm sorry. How are you doing, dude?" he said, voice softer now. "And I want the truth."

Dean blew out a shaky breath. "Like crap warmed up."

Sam frowned at the admission, as if it was unexpected.

"And why the hell are you shouting at Caitlin?"

Sam glanced at her, expression contrite. "I'm sorry. I just…"

"It's okay," she said quickly. "You're just worried."

"You know, Sam, you could take some lessons from Caitlin here on bedside manner."

Suddenly Dean's features screwed up, and he let out a strangled cry, body going rigid as another attack hit. Sam shifted his hand to his brother's shoulder, murmuring soft words Caitlin couldn't quite make out.

It was long minutes before the spasm passed and Dean lay back panting, clearly weakened by the severity of the episode.

For the next couple of hours, the violent spasms returned at regular intervals, and the effort of riding out each attack left Dean sweating and exhausted. Eventually, they seemed to die out, although tremors continued to run through his body from time to time. But the pain must have dulled a little, for Dean seemed to relax and, after a while, drifted into a fitful slumber. Sam pulled the comforter up around his shoulders, tucking it in, then walked over to the other bed and sat down with a sigh.

Caitlin watched as he ran a hand through his hair.

"How are you doing, Sam?"

"I'm okay."

"How's the head?"

Sam shrugged. "Bit of a headache, that's all. Nothing compared to…" He swallowed.

Caitlin stood up and walked across the room. "You want some Tylenol?"

Sam shook his head. "Some coffee would be good, though."

"Sure." Caitlin poured them both a mug of lukewarm coffee long past its best, then refilled the filter. They'd both need the caffeine to keep alert during the night. She glanced at her watch. Midnight. It felt later.

She sat down beside Sam and handed him a mug.

"Thanks." He took a mouthful and sighed. "I needed that."

"Why don't you try and get some rest?" Caitlin suggested hesitantly.

Sam shook his head. "No. I'm not leaving him. I can't." He paused. "There must be something we can do. He's in agony, Caitlin. I can't just sit here and watch him suffer. There must be something we can give him to help with the pain."

"There's nothing," she said, steeling herself against the anguish in his eyes. "You read the journal."

"Maybe we missed something. What about natural painkillers, like devil's claw, or white willow bark?"

Caitlin knew they hadn't missed anything. Both of them had carefully read the entry. But she picked the journal up anyway and quickly flicked through to the relevant part. She scanned the dense writing. The detailed account was very clear.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said softly. "Antibiotics, painkillers, even natural remedies – if you give him anything, it'll kill him." The words sounded harsh, but Sam needed to accept the truth.

After a moment, Sam nodded. He was quiet for a while, then looked up at her, eyes dull. "Look, I appreciate you being here, but there's nothing more you can do. Why don't you go home?"

"I'll go if that's what you want. But I'd like to stay, Sam. I don't want you to do this alone."

Sam hesitated. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just that me and Dean … We're used to looking after ourselves."

Caitlin studied him, trying to decide whether he really didn't want her around or if he was just thinking of her. Either way, it didn't really matter. He needed her. "I understand," she said patiently. "But this is different. You're not one-hundred percent yourself, and don't try to tell me you don't still have a pounding headache." She paused. "Do you think Dean wants you to face this alone?"

Sam licked his lips. "I guess not."

"I won't get in your way. I'll just be here, if you need me."

He studied her for a moment and then nodded. "All right. I… thank you."

A strangled groan from Dean interrupted them, and Sam was back at his side in an instant. Caitlin followed. Dean was still curled up in a fetal position, clutching his head with both hands.

"He said his head's hurting badly," Caitlin said quietly. "The fever can't be helping."

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's okay, you're okay, just try and relax," he soothed. He glanced at Caitlin. "Let's try a damp cloth, try to get the fever down a bit."

Caitlin nodded, and headed for the bathroom, reflecting grimly that the worse was still to come.