A/N Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay, life has taken so many undesirable twists and turns. Not only had I been forced to type one-handed after hurting my arm, (hence the delay) but life in general seems determined to bring me down as it sometimes does. As the saying goes, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans." On the plus side, in less than a week I'll be in Vancouver at the Supernatural convention! Yay! If anyone else is going and would like to say hi, send me a PM and we can arrange to meet. It'd be nice to meet some of you peeps in person if possible.

Anyway, without further ado, here's the next chapter!


Chapter Four

Confusion rattled his brain as his father's voice echoed in his mind, If you can't save him, you're going to have to kill him. But it was overlapped by Sam begging Dean to kill him and an image appeared through the wall of flames that surrounded him. Sam stood in front of him, aiming his gun at him, a wicked smirk on his face, his eyes black as coal, his thumb pressing deep into his shoulder and that image was overlapped another one of Sam looking hurt and betrayed, Why didn't you save me? as their father hovered over him, I gave you one job, one. And you couldn't even do that right.

A loud, sudden report of a gunshot sliced through his consciousness and he opened his eyes only to find himself lying awkwardly on the floor.

He blinked sluggishly, unsure of what was real. He tried to reach through the sounds and images that assaulted his psyche, the ones that lingered even as he began his ascent into semi-awareness. He tried to push his way through the fever-induced haze as the fire raging in his head reached for him, determined to pull him back into the darkness.

He could still hear the distant sound of his father yelling at him, scolding him for not doing his job and protecting Sammy as Sam screamed at him to kill him. Their voices were a hollow, distant cacophony of sound and fury and he blinked again, trying to drown them out as he tried to pinpoint was wrong with this picture.

Dean shook his head and groaned—nothing made much sense. He couldn't quite remember…he couldn't quite… it was there, he knew it was there but his mind couldn't quite reach it… whatever it was.

"Sam?" he called out, or at least he thought he called out but to his own ears it sounded like nothing more that a faint hiss. One thing in his addled brain made sense and that brought him back to his father's final words, of the first and last important task his father ever gave him. Watch out for Sam. Save Sam, protect Sam. (Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don't look back). If you can't you're going to have to kill him.

Sam needed Dean to be strong, protect him and save him from the darkness even if it meant throwing himself into the flames instead. Keeping Sam safe, protecting him from the dark was the most important order Dad ever gave him, the one order Dad never needed to give because to Dean it was simply a second nature, like breathing

He squinted his eyes shut and behind his eyes he saw Sam, his eyes black as night, behind him stood his father, his eyes yellow, like an infection.

You're worthless. You couldn't save your dad, and deep down, you know you can't save your brother. (They don't need you like you need them.) They'd be better off without you.

"No," he murmured, too weak to raise his voice to match his despair.

Pain flared in his shoulder, pulling him back into reality and when he opened his eyes he was back on the floor, still lying in the same awkward position he landed in when he first passed out. They'd be better off without you… echoed in his head a moment before it faded, along with all the other images and sounds that just a second ago had been so prominent and had now become the vague and distant memory of a bad dream and only the pain and the emotions remained.

Hand weakly reaching for his wounded shoulder in a futile effort to ease the pain, Dean tried to suppress the fear, the hurt, the grief so he could sort out his jumbled thoughts and figure out why the place seemed to be on fire despite the lack of flames or smoke—it sure felt like there was a fire.

"Sammy?" he grunted, wondering if he was OK. Even conscious, his fevered mind made it unclear of whether Sam was freed of the demon Meg, or if the memory of the black smoke erupting from his little brother's mouth was just a dream of wishful thinking.

He was fairly certain Sam was no longer possessed, but he had to be sure. Clarity came in broken fragments, and that, along with the haze of his climbing fever left him confused. Meg had him fooled once, what was to stop her from pulling the same trick? No he was quite certain that she was gone, he remembered the pure pain and guilt in Sam's eyes that prompted him to hide his bullet wound. Couldn't fake that lost puppy look that Sammy had perfected. But on the other hand, Meg managed to fake it quite convincingly before…

Using the wall for leverage he slowly, gingerly pushed himself to his feet… or at least he tried to. He almost made it back up all the way before the rising heat and the darkness reached up and grabbed him and he plummeted into oblivion once again, his body sliding slowly back down the wall to the floor.

-

Sam woke up with a gasp. He jackknifed into a sitting position before falling back into his pillow and curling into himself in pain. Not physical pain, though his head ached and the burn on his arm hurt, this pain was deep, emotional, hard to describe, full of guilt, frustration and hopelessness.

The nightmare had shaken him deeply as memories of his possession continued to resurface, flashing through his dreams like a badly edited movie. Scenes cut too short, and too jumbled to make any sense. They left him feeling dizzy, nauseous, like he was on a spinning carnival ride and he wanted to get off, but it just kept spinning and spinning, and images of the past week's events kept flashing and replaying over and over, creating a scrambled jigsaw puzzle of memories with too many of the pieces missing.

He shivered in his blankets, gagging at the scent of sulfur tainting the air. Sulfur overpowered his senses, making him choke and gag and curl further into himself, his body tensing. He could feel tears in his eyes, and they burned. He let out an involuntary sob, and hoped that Dean was still sound asleep so he wouldn't hear him.

To make sure he wasn't waking his brother, Sam turned his head in Dean's direction and was startled to find the bed was empty.

"Dean?" he whispered hoarsely, wiping away at his eyes.

Sam glanced in the direction of the bathroom, but saw no glow of the light. For a fleeting moment Sam wondered if Dean left him because of what he did while possessed before brushing off the absurd notion. Dean had proven that he'd never leave Sam in the dead of night without a word no matter what Sam did. It wasn't like him to just up and leave. Dean had the love and loyalty of a golden retriever, he'd never walk out on Sam.

That's where we're so different.

Guiltily he thought about all the times he walked out on Dean just because he was angry, or disagreed with him, or things just plain weren't going his way. Sam was perpetually the prodigal brother, taking off when things became too difficult or when he wanted something different, something better. He wondered what went through Dean's head the night Meg first possessed Sam and he left.

Probably thought I left because I wanted to. Probably thought I was just being my typical run-away-when-things-get-bad self.

There was no time to wallow in guilt and self-pity, and Sam shook the thoughts from his head. Something was wrong. He knew it deep in his gut that something was wrong. Dean wasn't in bed, but he hadn't left, he wouldn't, not on his own volition.

"Dean?" he called, louder this time as he flipped on the lamp, wincing at the sudden intrusion of the light. His stomach muscles clenched with nausea, but Sam swallowed hard a few times, clutching his stomach with one hand and covering his mouth with the other and ignored it.

Maybe Dean couldn't sleep and went to get breakfast. It was possible, dawn had broken so it was possible. Except Dean was in bad shape, he had passed out behind the wheel, too exhausted to function…

No, something was definitely wrong.

Swallowing back the fear that sent his insides churning Sam tried not to think about all the horrible scenarios that rushed through his head, meshing with the vague memories of the past week. Meg was still out there… what if she came back and did something to him? What if she never left? As the horrible thought crossed his mind, not for the first time, he realized his hands were shaking and his eyes moved to study them in morbid fascination. He half expected to see his brother's blood staining his fingers. They looked clean, but he could still feel the blood, taste the sulfur... Pressing his hands against his thighs to ease the tremors, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and willed the thoughts away. He was just tired, paranoid. Meg was gone from his body, his exhausted mind was just playing tricks on him.

Still didn't change the fact that there was something wrong. He just knew it deep in his gut that Dean needed help.

He climbed out of bed and looked around the corner towards the bathroom and found him on the floor, leaning against the wall, his head bowed, a new trail of drying blood forming a line down his forehead and along his cheek, his face ghastly pale, arms limply by his side.

"Dean!" Sam practically fell down beside him, he reached out to touch him, hesitating for a moment, but he swallowed back the guilt and the sulfur tasting bile and lightly tapped his cheek. He took a sharp intake of breath at the heat radiating from his brother's skin, "Dean, come on, hey… hey come on," he tapped him again, "wake up! Damn it, you're burning up… come on Dean..."

When Dean didn't respond or give any indication of waking, Sam innocently grabbed his left shoulder and shook him, "Dean!"

At that contact Dean's eyes snapped open and he took one look at Sam and flinched, scooting away from him in a panic, "No, get away from me!" His voice was alarmingly weak and his words were so slurred Sam could barely understand him.

"Dean, it's me, Sam," he pleaded gently, his sincere gaze meeting Dean's panicked, glossy, fever-bright jade eyes. "Trust me."

"N-no, Sam! G-get away!" Dean hissed pitifully, scooting further away, lashing out blindly with his right arm until his left arm gave way under his weight and he collapsed, falling back into unconsciousness.

Sam froze for a moment in shock. He reached for Dean again, slowly, cautiously, feeling sick to know that Dean's terror was directed at him. Because Sam hurt him. Maybe he didn't hurt Dean on purpose, maybe it wasn't by his own will, but still, Sam was the one who let himself get possessed, Sam was the one Dean saw when he did all those things.

His hand hovered over Dean's motionless form, and that was when he saw it, the blood on his hand. There wasn't a lot of blood, just a faint smear but it made Sam's eyes widen in panic. It didn't register the first time around, but when he gently touched Dean's shoulder again, the shirt felt damp and sticky with drying blood, blood that was almost invisible against Dean's black shirt. Dean flinched at the contact, sagging further to the floor, groaning softly.

"What did I do to you?" Sam whispered. He placed his hand on Dean's forehead, wiping away some of the sweat and blood, biting his lip at the heat. He wondered where the new trail of blood came from but as he rose to his feet he saw dark red traces on the doorframe and put two and two together. Dean must've hit his head on his way down to the floor. But what was he doing out of bed if he was hurt so bad? Why didn't he tell Sam how badly he was hurt? Because he can't trust you after what you did, Sam. Worst of all, how did Sam manage to sleep through it all? How could he have missed it?

But I didn't miss it, I knew he was hurt… Why didn't I do anything?

Sam ignored the queasiness in his stomach, the persistent irritation and itch on his skin and the taste and smell of sulfur that was bound to drive him mad and stumbled into the bathroom. His own discomfort was the reason why he turned a blind eye to Dean's pain, and he deserved to feel the way he did. He was the reason Dean was in pain in the first place.

Stop it Sam, he inwardly scolded himself as he grabbed a cloth and got it wet with cool water, Dean now, guilt later.

Kneeling beside his brother he cupped Dean's burning cheek into his palm, tilting his head and wiping his face with the cloth, "Dean, hey. Come on man, open your eyes, please."

Dean groaned under his touch, his eyes fluttered for a moment before his head lolled back against the wall.

"Dean!" he tapped his cheek and nudged his shoulder—his uninjured one this time—and continued to run the damp cloth over his face and neck, attempting to bring his temperature down and washing away the sweat and the blood.

"S-sam?" came the barely audible whisper.

"Yeah man, it's me," Sam smiled gently as he watched his brother struggle to pry his eyes open, "Open your eyes."

"You sure it's you?" Dean moaned, batting away weakly at the cloth, a pained grimace on his face.

"Of course it's me you jerk," Sam's voice broke on the last word, hating that Dean felt the need to ask that.

The response that followed was familiar, automatic and eased some of the tension by a small fraction. "B-bitch," Dean's lips curled into a weak grin and his glossy eyes opened as he once again batted Sam's hand away. He glanced around in confusion, "What are we doing on the floor?"

"You tell me," Sam frowned, a hint of anger in his voice, "I just woke up and saw you lying unconscious and you're burning up. What's going on Dean? What's wrong with you? What did I do to you?"

Dean rested his head against the wall and sighed weakly, "You didn't do anything, Sam."

"Oh so those bruises? Those cuts? That wound on your shoulder? They just magically appear or something?" Sam hissed.

"It wasn't you, it was Meg," Dean pushed Sam away and tried to push himself up, "It wasn't you. Besides, I-I'm fine."

"The hell you are," Sam muttered, draping Dean's uninjured arm over his shoulder and helping Dean to his feet. Dean's left arm snaked around his middle and he doubled over, his knees buckling. "Whoa," Sam lurched to catch his brother before he could face plant on the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. As it was Sam barely had the strength at the moment to support his brother and he almost ended up dropping him and winding up on the floor himself. With a grunt he managed to get a better grip on his injured brother and growled sarcastically, "Oh yeah Dean, you're totally fine. What am I so worried about?"

"See?" Dean tried to smirk, but there was too much pain in his eyes, too much weakness, too much weariness for it to be convincing.

"Dean!"

"Just need some rest," Dean mumbled, his head lolling forward, his voice fading. He breathed deeply through his nose and feebly pushed Sam away, "I'm good." To prove his point he shuffled drunkenly to his bed, flopped down, winced and gingerly rested his head on the pillow, "I'll feel better in…" he paused to hiss in pain, "in the morning."

"No, Dean you're hurt, you're burning up. A few minutes ago you were delirious after apparently passing out on the floor. You're not fine. Please, just tell me what's wrong, tell me what I—"

"—Meg," Dean interjected.

"—did to you!"

"Nothing," Dean murmured softly his eyes sliding shut, "just knocked me around a bit, nothing I can't handle."

"Damn it, why do you have to be such a stubborn ass? Please, don't lie to me, Dean, this is serious!"

Wearily Dean opened his eyes, they looked greener than usual, accentuated by the red rimming his eyes and the dark smudges underneath. He looked at Sam, his eyes searching for something. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to have found it and he whispered, "I'm OK Sam. I'll be all right."

You don't trust me, do you? Misinterpreting Dean's real motives for downplaying his injury to beyond the point of stupid recklessness, Sam heaved a sigh, his shoulders sagging in defeat and exhaustion. He blinked, feeling a teardrop fall from between his eyelids and then opened them again, his eyes moving up to the ceiling, his hand running over his face in guilt and worry. You don't trust me. Can't say I blame you...

"You on the other hand look like shit," Dean continued, ignoring Sam as he scoffed and rolled his eyes at the statement, giving him an incredulous look, "Go back to sleep Sam, you're exhausted. It's been a trying week, w-we just need… just need…" his eyebrows pulled together as his voice faded and he grimaced. He blinked a couple of times and stated, "We just need some rest."

Sam watched Dean struggle to stay conscious, watched his tired eyes blink sluggishly as his lips curled into a weak smirk, an attempt to reassure Sam that was failing miserably. Sam sighed, shaking his head, "Dean—" Sam hesitated, there was no reasoning with Dean. He could argue until they were both old and grey and Dean would still refuse help and deny injury. He had always been like that, but this stubborn determination to pretend nothing was seriously wrong was getting out of hand. Even Dean knew when to draw the line at such stupidity.

If you'd just trust me…

"Can we at least do something about your fever?"

"Already took care of it… took some of the g-good stuff, don't worry…" Dean murmured faintly, "just waiting for it to kick in…" as he spoke his voce faded into nothingness as the pull of sleep claimed him once more.

Sam watched him for the longest time, rooted in place unable to move. Unable to shake the growing panic that came from knowing that his brother was suffering because of him.

It was a faint groan coming from his wounded brother and the line of pain and discomfort on his forehead that got Sam moving again. His hand brushed against Dean's sweaty forehead and he was relieved to feel that he was slightly cooler than he was when Sam first found him on the floor, though not by much. He just wished they had a thermometer so he could know for sure. They used to have one, a good one but it disappeared from the first aid kit, having been accidentally left behind somehow in a nameless hotel in a forgotten town or city.

Hurrying to the bathroom to refresh the damp cloth he used to wash his brother's face, Sam returned and draped it over Dean's forehead. Dean shivered and groaned at his touch but he didn't wake. Sam rested his hand against the Dean's cheek for a moment, holding that position before he reluctantly withdrew his hand.

He needed to know exactly what was wrong if he was going to help Dean get well. He had a vague idea, the fever and the way Dean favored his left shoulder being his biggest clues, but he still couldn't remember what he did, what kind of injury they were dealing with, or if the mysterious shoulder injury was even his biggest concern. Dean was beaten to hell, just about anything could have given him this fever that had his brother truly sidelined.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of just cutting off Dean's shirt and seeing for himself, and under any other circumstances he would do just that without hesitation. But the sulfuric guilt that still weighed heavily on him made him wonder what right he had to do that. It was never an issue before but for some reason Sam felt as though doing so would be some sort of an unforgivable violation. Besides, if Dean woke up… by getting possessed and hurting him, Sam believed he inadvertently broken his trust, he didn't want to shatter it completely especially since that trust had already been shaken when Sam took off after learning what Dad told Dean just before he died.

Dean seemed to be stable for now, so Sam decided to wait. He said he took care of it, and Sam believed him. His brother was stubborn, but not entirely stupid. So for now he'd watch and wait. If he started to get worse, or if there was no change, Sam would do what had to do.

Silently cursing his brother's stubborn determination to leave Sam in the dark, Sam sat down on his bed and watched his brother sleep, keeping vigil as he wracked his brain to try and piece together his scattered memories. If Dean wasn't going to tell him what happened, then Sam was just going to have to remember it himself.


A/N Thanks for reading, now please let me know what you think! I have to say the response that this story is receiving has blown me away! I never expected this to get as many reviews as it has! They all mean so much to me, and has made my muse so very happy, and hungry for more, so please, keep it coming! Your feedback helps me improve as a writer!