Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. They all belong to Kripke and his merry band of misfits. Unfortunately.

Author's Note: Yeah... this is late. Like really really really x100000000000 late. I am sorry about that. I just lost interest in this story up until now and even now, it's for short spans. I am so sorry. I never meant to let this go. I hope you all will forgive me for that and for the length of this chapter.

Read and review please!

You Found Me

Chapter 4

Sam was distantly aware of someone talking to him. He could hear a familiar voice speaking through the inky inferno that had him trapped, but he couldn't make out the words or the person who was speaking. The voice sounded a lot like Dean's, but that made Sam's befuddled mind all the more confused. Dean hated him. Dean wanted to hunt him. Why would he be talking to him?

"I think he's running fever," he heard the voice that may or may not have been Dean say. "He needs a hospital."

"All of them are infested with demons!" another voice said one that sounded distinctly like Bobby. That made about as much sense as Dean's. Sam had attacked Bobby the last time he had seen the older man. Why would he be here?

"I know that!" Dean shouted. "But his wounds are infected and he needs antibiotics!"

That explains the pain, Sam thought absently as he tried to hang on to the sound of Bobby and Dean's voices. He didn't want to be sucked back into the darkness again.

"Damn it," he heard Bobby swear.

There was a cold, gentle pressure on his forehead; one that took away the aches Sam didn't even know existed. He whimpered when the pressure was suddenly gone.

"Easy," Dean murmured from somewhere above him. "I've got to grab another one, okay?"

"Can't the friendly neighborhood angel do anything?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"You heard him, Bobby. Castiel can't do anything," Dean said sounding as exhausted and pained as Sam felt.

"Damn," Bobby swore again.

"If he could just hold water down, I wouldn't be so worried," Dean said quietly. "But he can't and his fever is spiking."

Sam felt a sudden movement somewhere near his legs. He let out another whimper when the movement jostled his injured leg and sent pain searing through him.

"Shit," Dean swore. "Crap. His leg. I forgot. Sorry, Sammy."

The relieving cold was back on his forehead and there was something warm on his leg that took away the sharp agony that had been shooting up it. Sam sighed in relief.

"I'm going to go call Ellen, see if she knows anything," Bobby said sounding as though he were suddenly far away.

Sam realized that he was drifting back into the state of unconsciousness. Feebly, he tried to fight against it, only to give up when it became clear that that was one battle he wasn't going to win. He thought he murmured Dean's name before he fully went under.

Pain assaulted him as he fought his way back to awareness again. Sam could barely breathe through the constant waves of agony that flooded through him every time he inhaled.

Breathing shouldn't be this painful, he thought.

There was a gentle pressure on his head, though despite its lightness, it still hurt.

"Easy," Dean murmured when Sam accidently let a whimper escape his lips. "You're going to be okay."

How can he say that? Sam wondered. After everything I've done to him, after everything we've both been through, how can he say that everything's going to be okay?

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked from somewhere nearby.

"Not so good," Dean said. "The fever's gone, but he's in serious pain. He keeps calling my name, asking me to help him. I could help him if only he'd just wake up."

Who says that I want to wake up? Sam wanted to know. He didn't, not really. He didn't want to face the reality of everything he caused. Which was what, exactly? he asked himself.

It hit him then that he couldn't remember anything about what happened to him. And that terrified him even more than the overpowering darkness that overtook him at that moment and took away every thought and noise.

The next time Sam became aware of what was going on; he noticed that he didn't hurt nearly as bad any more. He felt better than he had in a long time.

"Come on, Sam, open your eyes."

Dean's voice made Sam start and his eyes flew open. The sudden brightness overwhelmed his pupils and he let out a low groan as it brought about a sudden pounding in his head.

"Sorry," Dean said quickly.

The bright light was turned off, allowing Sam's eyes to adjust to the dimmer light.

"Hey," Sam rasped as his eyes focused on his brother. Dean looked exhausted, with dark circles underneath sunken eyes and greasy hair. He looked nearly as bad as Sam felt.

"Hey," Dean said quietly. "Are you awake for good this time or are you just sleep-talking again?"

Sam raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"What?" he asked wincing as the effort of talking made his throat hurt.

"Never mind," Dean said. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," Sam rasped. "How long has it been?"

"Two weeks, three days, five hours, and seven minutes," Dean rattled off instantly. "You were out of it for a while."

Sam managed a grimace, pleased to find that that didn't hurt. The rest of him, however, hurt like Hell. His chest burned, his head ached, his nose hurt, and his leg was killing him. Even the tips of his hair hurt.

He was about to ask for water to soothe the fire in his throat when a glass full of the miraculous liquid appeared in front of his face, connected to Dean's hand. Sam drank greedily, ignoring Dean's words of caution about drinking too much of it. He stopped only when the glass was empty.

"What happened?" he asked his voice sounding more normal now.

Dean had a good enough poker face to fool most people, but Sam wasn't most people. He could sense, even on the cliff of death, when Dean didn't know what to say and was trying to think of something that wouldn't freak Sam out. Now was one of those times.

"What?" Sam persisted.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean said softly. "I mean, one minute you were beside me in that convent and then the next… I don't know, poof, and I was waking up with a concussion in the middle of a pile of wreckage and you were just gone. I—Cass and I—we, uh, we found you two weeks ago. Do you remember anything?"

Sam strained his mind, trying to recall his last memories. The only thing he could remember was the blinding white light and Dean being beside him. After that… only a black void full of pain and terror.

"No," Sam whispered painfully. "I don't remember anything at all."