Someday Never Comes

Chapter 5

By the time they returned to the cabin, Sam could tell Dean was feeling less that 'peachy.' Unfortunately, that was the answer he received to his hesitant inquiry into his brother's health. From the slight flush on his cheeks to the droop of his eyes, Sam knew Dean's reserves were almost depleted and that the older hunter would drop like a rock given the correct circumstances.

Sam wasn't above playing dirty to make sure those circumstances came about.

He'd managed to copy quite a few records from the library's local records and as soon as they were back in the warm, comfortable cabin, Sam insisted they wade through the pages and pages of death notices under the pretext that something may jump out at them that could help them to possibly turn up a lead as to the identity of the La llorana. Dean had grumbled about wasting time, but had finally agreed, admitting he had no better solutions to their current problem.

Sam knew his brother's obvious exhaustion and slight fever, coupled with the tedious job of sifting through meaningless names, descriptions and the scientific jargon used to record the cause of death would take their toll and make it impossible for Dean to not succumb to his bodies need for rest.

After almost an hour of nearly nodding off himself due to the mind-numbing subject matter, Sam glanced at his brother, relieved to see him prone on the bed, paper work rising and falling steadily on his chest as he breathed deeply in sleep.

Sam grinned in triumph. Mission accomplished.

Setting his own lists aside, he quietly crossed the room to the side of the bed and placed a gentle hand on his brother's forehead. Dean's skin was warm, but just slightly. He'd already been fighting the blood loss and chills from the warehouse before he took his midnight swim in the lake, but Sam was confident that the fever was more likely due to the older man's run down condition than to any actual infection or sickness. A good nights sleep would do him good.

Sam let his hand fall to his brother's cheek, a sad smile turning the corner of his mouth as Dean unconsciously leaned into the connection, sleep offering him the opportunity to accept the care and concern that wakefulness had always forced him to deny.

Sam sighed. It wasn't fair. His brother deserved so much better.

He had wanted to stop at this quiet, remote cabin to give Dean time to come to terms with what had happened. He wanted his older brother to be able to relax and find a way to deal with the loss that had torn his life apart – now as well as twenty some years ago. Dean had never really talked about their mom. Sure he had told Sam some things here and there, like how she had always burned the chocolate chip cookies and how she had tucked him in to bed every night telling him that 'angels were watching over him.' But Dean had never really opened up about how he felt about losing her.

Sam knew it hurt his brother still. He missed her, too and he would always regret not having known her, but Dean… he remembered her – as much as a four year old could. And he had always carried her memory in his heart. Sam envied his brother that.

He pitied him for it, too.

Gently, he pried Dean's arm from its position on top of his chest and removed the papers. He considered removing the worn leather boots to make Dean more comfortable, but decided that his brother looked pretty content and feared waking him, denying him some much needed rest. Leaning across the bed, Sam gripped the comforter and pulled it across, effectively covering his brother boots and all.

Knowing he still had pages of research to sift through on his own, Sam filled and started the small coffee maker, yawning as the warmth of the cabin fed his drowsiness. Rubbing a hand over his face, he glanced at the empty bed longingly, knowing that if he lay down for even a minute, he would be out. He took a deep breath and released it through his nose, shaking himself to get his blood circulating.

There would be no sleep for him. Despite the death records, Sam knew he needed to stay alert to keep an eye on his brother, just in case the spirit called for him again. He was pretty sure, now that Dean knew what was going on, that the older hunter would be able to resist, but Sam didn't want to take any chances – especially after all they had been through – all Dean had been through – in the last few days.

Nope. Better safe than sorry. Sam would stay awake and watch over his brother. He owed him that much. He'd denied the djinn and he would deny the La llorana. The spirit couldn't have his brother. Sam wouldn't allow it.

Padding quietly to the door, Sam stepped out onto the small porch, sighing as the cool night air swept across his skin. The drowsiness he'd begun to feel inside the cabin began to abate as the chill woke his body, causing him to shove his hands into his pockets and pull his arms close to his side.

His eyes searched out the dark waters of the lake, lapping against the grassy shore. The dock swayed rhythmically and Sam suppressed a shudder, the memory of watching Dean step off into the nothingness of the murky waves eradicating any remnants of his lethargy.

He stepped off the porch and made his way down to the grass next to the lake. His eyes searched for any sign of the spirit, turning his head slowly from side to side in an effort to pick up anything that could be construed as a voice. A slow drifting mist covered the water sporadically, slowly ebbing toward the shoreline, gliding along the dark waves and gracefully floating onto shore, hovering around his ankles.

He sighed, disappointed that he couldn't sense anything. To be completely honest, it scared the crap out of him that Dean had been able to hear the spirit and he couldn't – after all, he was supposed to be the one with the weird ass psychic powers, right? He was almost certain his theory about the La llorana appearing to other people in pain was correct. He had the name of the man who had died on his honeymoon and a few other victims from the last few years. In the morning, he'd take the opportunity to make a few calls before Dean woke and try to verify that theory.

In the meantime, he set his resolve. There was no way this spirit was getting to his brother. It would have to go through him first.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

"Stay with us…"

"I'm sorry."

Dean's eyes snapped open as the familiar sensations from the dream began to fade from his mind. His hand rubbed at his stomach, the sensation of the knife wound faint, yet still discernable in his tense body. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax, knowing that the dream was just that – a dream – and it couldn't hurt him. The power the djinn's fantasy had over him was diminishing, he knew, but it was still painful to remember, and he just wished he could bury it somewhere in his subconscious and move on.

He knew he wasn't fooling Sam – his little brother had always been able to see through Dean's façade when he'd wanted to, but this was something Sam couldn't help him with. His brother was right. It wasn't losing mom that hurt so much, it was the fact that he'd chosen to let her go.

Yes, he knew she hadn't been real. Sam, Jessica, Carmen… none of them had been real. But they had been real enough to him. He had seen them, touched them, smelled them… he had even been able to sense their love for him… and he had known all along he didn't belong. That he couldn't stay.

He'd gone to Dad's grave in the hopes that he would be able to find something, some reason to believe that he could deserve it. But, even without saying a word, John Winchester had made sure he'd known the truth. He was a hunter. His life was already set for him from the moment his mother had perished in the flames. He had no choice… it was never meant to be.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he grimaced at the slight sheen of sweat that had formed on his skin. Although still chilled, he knew the room was warm and pushed at the comforter that had been thrown over him. He must have fallen asleep while reading through those damn boring death notices.

He shook his head, a knowing smile lighting upon his lips. That had probably been his brother's plan all along. The kid could be pretty devious when he put his mind to it. Of course he was no match for the master….

Dean pushed himself up, groaning as he felt his muscles protest the movement. He hated being sick. The aches and general crappy feeling was something he'd always downplayed, but this time his exhaustion was something he just couldn't shake. He was pretty sure he just needed some time and that his current physical condition was nothing to be alarmed about, but he was equally convinced his mother hen little brother wouldn't stop hovering until he was convinced Dean was back to 100%.

Time to start acting the part.

A quick look around the cabin showed no sign of Sam. The door to the bathroom stood ajar, the space beyond it dark and deserted. The coffee pot was still brewing, so Dean knew his brother hadn't been gone for long. His heart beat faster as the thought of the La llorana targeting Sam and he pushed himself up, moving toward the door, ignoring the objection from his still weary body.

As soon as he was out the door, his eyes found his brother at the edge of the lake, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the thin tendrils of mist coiling around Sam's legs.

"Sam!"

He jumped off the porch, the weakness in his legs nearly sending him onto the grassy slope. He watched as Sam turned, concern in his eyes as he took a step forward.

"No!" Dean pushed himself on as he watched the expression on his brother's face turn from concern to shock as the tendrils coalesced and pulled Sam's feet into the water, his body quickly following.

"Sammy!!"

Dean raced to the edge of the water, wading in without a thought for his own safety. As the water quickly deepened, he dove, headfirst into the mist, surfacing further from the shore. He turned, treading water, his eyes frantically searching for any sign of his brother.

"You can't have him!" he screamed into the darkness. "Not him! Please…" his voice broke and he could feel the sob rising from his chest. "Please…" his voice now a hoarse whisper as he turned in a slow circle. He didn't know if the water on his face was from the lake or his own eyes, but it didn't really matter. Fear had gripped his heart and he couldn't even summon the anger he was normally able to rely on. All he could think about was that he couldn't lose Sam. He couldn't… "He's all I have," Dean pleaded. "Please, take me… just let him live. Please…. I'll do anything you want. I'll help you find them. I promise. Just… please… give him back."

His voice gave out, the emotion choking him as he struggled to keep his head above the water. Suddenly the mist began to recede and he held his breath, not daring to hope…

There! A dark shape bobbed in the water a few yards to his right. He quickly covered the short distance, grabbing the familiar plaid shirt and yanking back on the pliant body.

"Sammy…" he whispered, his voice trembling with cold and fear. Without hesitation, he dragged his brother back to the shore, pulling him up onto the grass and completely free of the water before falling back onto his butt, Sam's cold body wrapped in his arms. He couldn't tell if Sam was breathing and he couldn't focus enough to find out. He simply pulled the taller man back against his chest for the moment and buried his head in the crook of Sam's head and shoulder. "Please be okay," he whispered brokenly. "Sammy, please be okay."

A shuddering breath and violent cough were his answer. Sam's body lurched forward as he choked up water, finally expelling the unwanted liquid from his body. After a few moments he was able to breath normally again and leaned back onto Dean's chest.

"Dean?"

Dean just nodded, unable to speak. He was trembling from the cold and pent up emotion and he managed to wrap his arms back around his brother, ignoring the shivers that wracked his fevered body.

Even through the layers of wet clothing, Sam felt the heat coming from his brother. "Shit, Dean. What the hell were you thinking? We've got to get you dry before you catch pneumonia."

Sam shifted, turning himself sideways to get a good look at his brother. "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded and cleared his throat, fighting the shivers as he raked his eyes over his brother. "You?"

Sam coughed again, but nodded. "What happened?"

"You didn't hear her?"

Sam shook his head. "No. One minute I was standing on the shore, the next…" he shrugged, his eyes catching his brother's in the moonlight. "You saved me."

It was Dean's turn to shake his head. "She gave you back."

Sam frowned, unable to decide if the shivering of his brother's body or the dull fear in his eyes unnerved him more. "Come on," he slowly pushed himself to his feet and leaned over to give his brother a hand up. He had no idea why Dean believed the spirit would give him back. He could tell his brother was still feverish and he knew the few hours of sleep had not been near enough, but now was not the time to argue about what a spirit would and wouldn't do.

First he needed to get them both dry. He needed to get Dean back into bed, give him some time to heal. Then they would figure this out. Together. Just like they always did.

TBC