Disclaimer: Plot, original characters, and such are mine. As for the Supernatural characters…not mine but I like to borrow things…

Bobby watched Dean's face as he adjusted the IV line that was hanging over the edge of the front seat, worry etched deeply into his face. They were nearly six hours into their journey and Dean hadn't managed to be awake for more than a few scattered minutes of the drive. He finished messing with the line and glanced out at Sam, standing at the gas pump, staring out into the distance. They hadn't said a word since Bobby had relayed the information from Alice. Sam had sat silent, his hands curled in angry fists, as Bobby drove them towards South Dakota.

"Sam, give me a minute," Bobby called as he stepped out of the car and headed for the stretch of grass near the small convenience store, his cell phone in hand.

He dialed Marty, his mind whirling with information and worry.

"Bobby," Marty said as he answered. "Those boys can't possibly be causing any more trouble…you've only been gone about six hours."

Bobby scoffed. "They excel at finding ways. Listen, I'm getting worried about Dean…he hasn't been really awake yet—Hell, I swerved to avoid an accident and he ended up on the floor of the car, didn't even make a peep!"

"You and Sam wanted him calm and quiet! Jeez! Look…skip the next IV bag that I premixed and just use one of the regular bags," Marty exclaimed into the phone. "What's got you all worried, Singer? This isn't your first rodeo."

"No…it certainly isn't," Bobby replied as he glanced back at the Impala. "I got a call from Alice Hilty—"

"The Alice Hilty? I thought she wasn't helping us out anymore—"

"She is this time," Bobby said, interrupting Marty. "She knows what's after Dean. It's not going to be easy to fix this."

"She have any pointers?"

"She's got a few books and ideas," Bobby explained. "Might be nothing, but we've got to try anything we can."

"She coming up there to help you," Marty asked. He knew Alice wasn't one to rub elbows with hunters, especially after she had been hunted by them so often over the last century.

"Doubt it. We'll manage. This sedative is just working a little too damn well if you ask me."

"Just call me if you want something else, I'll sort him out," Marty said before he hung up.

"Who was that," Sam asked as Bobby climbed back into the Impala and cranked the engine.

"Marty. I want you to skip his next sedative. I want to know if under all those drugs he's with us yet…or if he's still just out of it. I'd rather have him off the drugs and somewhat lucid now rather than waiting until we get home to dry him out."

Sam nodded. "Hopefully, he's more with it and less argumentative."

"Shouldn't be this bad off…wish he'd wake up enough to say something."

"He might be miserable and ranting, but I know what you mean," Sam replied. "He's just to quiet."

Another two hours into the drive, Dean became restless in his sleep, muttering threats as his hands lashed out at figures in his dreams. Sam watched helplessly as Dean's head thrashed from side to side, fear etched into his face and anger in his voice. Sam knew this was the beginning of the sedative wearing off, that this was truly where Dean was, and that it might only get worse.

"Wish we could do something else to help," Sam mumbled as he ran a hand over his unshaven face. "He sounds miserable…"

"With you, all Marty and I could do was wait for it to pass…course, it seemed to help that you were throwing up, but I don't think Dean even has anything left in his system for that kind of thing," Bobby commented. "At least the threats sound like Dean…he might only be fighting nightmares, but at least he's fighting."

They drove on, eating up the road between them and the salvage yard; a place where they could finally take a minute to breath and get their bearings. Bobby and Sam stopped often, each time taking a moment to check Dean's temperature, to try and rouse him, and to press a bottle of water to his lips. The closer they got to the salvage yard, the more aware Dean became, pushing their hands away as they attempted to adjust the IV line, to cover him with the light sheet Bobby had stolen from the cabin, and everything else that Dean normally considered mother-henning.

"Stop…," he finally muttered as they crossed into Nebraska. "Sammy...stop."

With a shared glance and a deep sigh, Bobby pulled off the road and killed the engine. "You awake, Dean?"

"Sick…"

"Just hold on a second," Sam said as he quickly climbed out of the car and yanked open the rear door. He kneeled on the edge of the seat and ruffled Dean's hair. "Let's get you upright."

Dean didn't answer him as he rolled onto his side and began dry heaving. "Dean, come on, man, you've got nothing to throw up. You need to sit up. It'll pass."

Bobby climbed in the other door and yanked Dean upright; tightening the seatbelt over his shoulder to keep him positioned upright. They waited silently until Dean's dry heaving had tapered off to a slight gagging cough. Dean's bright eyes slid open, glaring up at Bobby. He thrust the handcuffs under Bobby's nose. "Off…now."

Bobby shook his head. "Once you've been awake for an hour without flipping out and trying to kill anyone, I'll take them off. I'm not going to have you ambush us from the backseat."

"I'm fine," Dean snapped as he yanked against the handcuffs.

"Calm down, son. Your fever has been slowly going down, but you're not there yet," Bobby said, gauging Dean's temperature with his hand. "Be better if you didn't throw up what little fluids you've got left."

"Don't touch me…hurts everywhere…," Dean ground out as he flinched away from Bobby's touch. He caught sight of the IV still dangling from his arm and turned to look at Sam. "I said no…get it out…"

"Only after you drink something," Sam stated firmly. He held a bottle of Gatorade in front of Dean's face, watching as Dean's eyes tracked it, suspicion in his eyes. "You want to drink this for me so I can get that thing out of your arm?"

Dean rolled his face away from Sam, closing his eyes and shutting out Bobby and Sam. His vision was still filled with bright lights that made his head hurt. Before Sam could say anything, Dean was asleep again, his breathing slow and calm once more.

"Guess that's a big no," Sam muttered to Bobby. "How long before the sedative completely wears off?"

"Not soon enough," Bobby said as he climbed back behind the wheel.

Dean woke up an hour from the salvage yard. "Sam?"

"Dean? Hey man, about time you woke up," Sam said as he turned on the seat so he could look at Dean. His eyes were still fever bright as he stared up at Sam, his handcuffed hands catching his attention.

"Sam…"

At the sound of Dean's voice, Bobby and Sam glanced at each other. He sounded weaker than before.

"How you doing, Dean? Do you remember where we're headed," Bobby asked loudly. During one of Dean's short moments of alertness, Sam had tried to tell Dean that they were on the road. It was debatable how much Dean had retained from their earlier talks.

"Mmm-hmmm," Dean murmured as he tried to sit up, gripping the back of the seat for leverage. His head swam dizzily as Bobby hit a bump in the road.

"How about some English in there somewhere," Bobby chuckled, worry momentarily pushed aside at the sight of Dean up and moving.

"The yard," Dean muttered as he stared blearily at the handcuffs still wrapped around his wrists. "Get 'em off… now."

"Might as well go ahead, Sam; doesn't look like he can even keep his head up, much less cause any trouble," Bobby said, handing him the key. "The IV stays in, you hear me?"

Dean grunted tiredly and tossed the handcuffs on the floor.

"You hungry," Bobby asked as he pointed to a billboard up ahead.

Dean shook his head, recoiling from Sam's hand on his forehead. "Not hungry."

"Fever's still going," Sam exclaimed. "How is that possible?"

"I'm batman, that's how. And stop touching me," Dean said as he pulled a blanket from the floor. He wasn't about to admit he was freezing cold, fever or not.

"Idjit," Bobby said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. It was good to hear Dean sounding like himself.

"Dean," Sam said slowly. "We've got some information that's going to help."

Dean looked from Bobby to Sam, a trace of hope on his face. "What did you find?"

"It's the Fay that's been taking you. Least, we think it is," Bobby explained. "Got a phone call earlier today; it sounds like it matches up with some lore."

"So you have a book or something Sammy can read over dinner and we can have this finished before breakfast, I hope," Dean said slowly.

"I wish," Bobby grumbled. "But no, I don't have the right books for that. I've never seen many books on the Fay, certainly never found one to buy. Most of them are oversees, since that's where the majority of lore began. A friend down south is mailing us a few things, books and such."

"The south….What friend," Dean asked curiously. Bobby might have contacts, hunting buddies, and some enemies, but he didn't use the term friend very often.

Bobby cleared his throat, adjusting the rearview mirror to see Dean's face. He wanted to gauge his reaction. "Alice Hilty."

Dean frowned and look away from Bobby's eyes. "Well, that can't be good news."

"Why? Cause its Alice? She helped us out a lot with that whole Wendigo thing," Sam asked, confused. He knew Dean had never been overly fond of her, primarily due to the circumstances of how they met, and her history with their dad; but when they parted ways with her Dean had seemed fine with her. But as for this—this almost sounded like resentment. "I thought you were okay with her."

"There's nothing we can do, right? Is that what you found out," Dean suddenly spat. "We don't hear from her in ages and now she just happens to pop up with the book we need? You called everyone before and she's just now willing to call us back?"

The three men sat silent as the engine purred, eating up the last few miles that stood between them and some decent rest. Sam knew that Dean wasn't as strong as his little rant might suggest; his breath quick and raspy, his knuckles white as he clutched the edge of the seat. Sam knew they were depending on Alice's lead, that without her help, they would be useless against those coming for Dean. He also knew that Dean would push anything aside to act his default setting of 'I'm fine'.

"Is this anything to do with how she just disappeared off the map after Dad died," Sam asked, his words heavy in the air. "I know you tried to call her…so did I…And I think Bobby did too. You don't see us bitching about it!"

Dean turned away from Sam, looking out the window as the scenery whooshed past. "No. But if she didn't want to help us, that's on her."

"Help—Dean, what did you expect her to do? Bring him back…," Sam exclaimed. "Dean, look, man—Alice didn't call anyone when word got around that he died. We weren't exactly expecting a sympathy card from anyone, were we? So let it go, she's answered the phone this time and that's what matters now."

"I don't want her help. We can do this on our own."

Bobby sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. He was too old and too tired to put up with Dean's sudden resistance to the only help they had found. "Sam….what do you think," Bobby asked. "Think we can figure this out without help?"

Sam knew the answer. Alice had given them a name, a few references, and while Sam and Bobby could take some extra time making phone calls and hunting down professors who might be able to give them some information, Alice was practically standing in from of them with what they needed. Even better, she had already mailed it to them. But he knew Dean wasn't against the books she was offering them. He was against help from Alice. If it had been some old hunting buddy that they hadn't heard from in ten years, he'd have been more willing to go with it. This was Alice, the hunter from their dad's own past, whom Bobby had put up to saving Dean in the past. Dean hadn't even said her name since John had died, other than the one voicemail he had left her.

"Dean…We need the help…so….you don't get a say," Sam muttered lightly, his tired eyes glued to the horizon. "Not this time."

Bobby watched Dean in the rear view mirror; at Sam's words he went stiff, his back straightening as he pulled away from his brother. Dean stared at Sam, something a lot like surprise written on his face. He was the big brother; he made decisions; not only for himself but for Sam at times too. Bobby knew that Dean wouldn't take well to losing his own vote, but damned if he wasn't proud of Sam for taking a stand against Dean's hindering attitude.

"It's my problem," Dean said, his voice dangerously low. "I say we can handle it."

"No, Dean, we can't! We've tried—while you were missing…we called everyone. Bobby called in every favor he had, and nobody—NOBODY—knew about this. No one else recognized it. It might be a week late, but at least someone called us back," Sam snapped. "Sorry it had to be Alice, but that's who answered the call and I'm goddamn it— I'm just happy that anyone called us back!"

Dean angrily moved away from Sam as far as the seat would allow before he yanked the IV line from his arm and threw the whole mess over the seat into Sam's lap before pulling the blanket up around his shoulders. He ignored Bobby's eyes in the mirror and stared out the window.

"Dean…that's not helping anybody," Bobby said with an annoyed sigh. "I'm going to have to put that back in unless you drink something."

Before Dean could reply, Sam thrust a Gatorade into Dean's face, a daring look on his face. "You've got to drink it. Or else the needle goes back in."

Dean grabbed the bottle, his face wrought with anger. He quickly rolled the window down and chucked it out before Sam could even open his mouth. "I don't want it," Dean snapped, glaring back at Sam. "…Let's just get to Bobby's and figure this out, alright?"

They road in silence the rest of the way, pulling into the yard afternoon; Bobby killed the engine and waited. "How are we going to do this?"

Sam glanced at Dean, his back still to them. He couldn't tell if Dean was sleeping or not.

"Alice's information pretty much makes our original plan a go," Sam said quietly. "We've just got to get him to cooperate."

"Sam, there is no 'we' for this part…he decides to fight us and your shoulder will be ruined. That happens and you're right going to the hospital, I'm not trying to stitch it all back together again," Bobby stated. "This is on me to get him in there."

"So…let's just tell him—"

"Tell me what," Dean asked, his voice tight with frustration, as he pulled himself upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Bobby and Sam looked at each other, neither wanting to be the one that had to tell Dean he was going to be on lockdown for an undetermined amount of time.

"According to some of the lore, and this is all just speculation, but it's the best we've got—"

"Just spit it out, Sam," Bobby said.

"You've got to stay on lockdown….specifically, in the panic room…," Sam said.

Dean's demeanor changed, anger returning to his voice. "Why?"

"The iron…it should help keep you grounded here so they can't take you," Sam explained.

"Supposedly," Dean snapped. "But it's not a guarantee, right?"

"It's the best we've got right now," Bobby interjected. "Once we can dig into the lore, we may find something else a little more tolerable. For now, we've got iron as a defense."

"If you haven't even seen the lore yet, how do—"

"Alice told us."

Dean sat back, his face falling.

"She had Abraham look through the books before he tossed everything into the mail for her," Sam explained. "She called us earlier…Bobby spoke with her and they think the iron in the panic room may be the best way to keep you put while we sort out the rest of the lore and try to find a way to fix this."

Dean shook his head slowly. "I'd rather be upstairs with you guys. I can help."

"We know," Bobby said. "But we'll take shifts downstairs."

Dean didn't say anything as he pushed the backdoor of the car open, grimacing as he stood. His feet were still sore, much like the rest of him. He walked towards the house, Sam trailing behind him with a duffel bag. Dean sat on the edge of the steps and let Sam and Bobby move into the house.

Sam tossed the duffel bag onto the floor and waited in the doorway, holding his arm to ease his aching shoulder, keeping Dean in his sight while Bobby made arrangements below. He knew Dean needed to fight the enemy, not hide out in a panic room while someone else did it for him; it was his way.

Dean glanced around the yard, trying to ignore the hole Sam was burning into his back with his constant staring. He breathed the cool air deeply, turning his face toward the light. A light breeze blew past, making him shiver as it moved over his still fevered skin. He didn't even remember the last time he had just been alone without Gloria, Sam, Bobby, or one of those things hovering over him. He wanted the world to be still and quiet, to give him a minute to think.

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby appeared at Sam's elbow, pausing when he saw Dean sitting on the steps. Even without seeing his face, Bobby could see his unhappiness. His shoulders were dropped; his head tipped slightly forward, his chin low. His hands were clutching the edge of the steps, knuckles white from gripping the wood. Bobby knew Dean was panicked at the thought of being locked up downstairs. No one wanted to be locked in the panic room. It was one of the places that was high on the list of bad memories, watching Sam detox from demon blood at the top of that list. Dean's last prolonged stay in a panic room had been some time ago, in Alice's panic room no less.

Bobby waited until Dean moved before he called his name. "Dean, it's ready for you."

They watched as Dean pulled himself to his feet, refusing to meet their eyes as he pushed past them and into the house. Without a word, he climbed the stairs down to the cellar and stared at the gaping metal door across the room. He hated the panic room and while he didn't want to have to sit it out alone, he wasn't about to let Bobby and Sam coddle him and sit shifts with him. He stepped into the room and surveyed Bobby's handiwork.

Bobby had set up two cots in the room, a testament to his promise that they would sit shifts with him. A stack of books had been balanced on the narrow table across the room, chairs on either side. He cracked a small smile when he saw the magazines sticking from under the pile of books. A grocery sack caught his attention; his stomach flip-flopped at the sight of pie. He pushed the bag aside and caught his reflection in a small mirror on the wall. He stared at his reflection, bruises marring him, the large hand print still covering his face. He knew he looked bad, even if his sight wasn't quite back to normal yet.

"It's worse than Sam's letting on. It's why he's fighting you like he is…"

Dean jumped at the voice and relaxed as Bobby stepped into the room with him, bags in hand.

"What do you mean," Dean asked him suspiciously.

"I mean Sam is worried about telling you what we know, or what we think we know. I'm going to tell you anyhow, cause I'm hoping that telling you makes you more willing to cooperate and stay in this damn room."

Bobby sat on the edge of one of the cots. "Until those books get here, Alice has better knowledge of this whole thing than I do. I also trust that she has no ill will towards any of us, even with her history with your dad. If she is right about all this, it ain't going to be easy to fix this. She thinks you've been marked as something called a Teind."

"A Teind? What the hell is that?"

Bobby started to empty the bags out onto the cot as he spoke, sorting out antibiotic ointments, pill bottles, and extra clothes for Dean. "It's a tithe that the Fay collects and pays every seven years. It takes hundreds of men, as a collective, for the payment to be settled."

"So who's getting the tithe in the end? Sounds like that would be the one for us to go after," Dean remarked as he thumbed through one of the books.

Bobby sat silent for a second, knowing there was no way that Dean was going to handle this well. He had been to hell once already and the thought of going back would be hard to for him to hear, even if they had a plan. Not that they did yet.

Bobby considered Dean's words. Normally, that's exactly what they would do, but this time…this time that wasn't possible. He discreetly patted his jacket pocket, the small syringe inside. He had promised Sam he would do his best to avoid using it. They needed Dean better and talking to them, not doped to high heaven because he freaked out and made a run for it.

"It's a payment that is paid to Hell," Bobby explained slowly, his eyes glued to Dean.

Dean looked up at Bobby so fast his vision swam, paling at the words. "What did you say," he choked out, his voice suddenly rough and tight.

"Hell, Dean. I said it's –"

"I heard what you said," Dean yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. He paced around the room, his jaw set. "You're wrong…"

"If the lore is right—"

"Then the lore's gotta be wrong then," Dean snapped as he grabbed the duffel bag on the floor and started stuffing it full of the clothes Bobby had brought him. "If they can't find me—"

"They'll find you, Dean," Bobby said with a deep sigh. "They've been running their prey to ground for centuries; if there is one thing they know how to do, it's finding who they're looking for."

Dean shook his head angrily, refusing to give in to Bobby's words. "No…I can—"

"What? Outrun them? You're still fevered, haven't eaten anything in who knows how long… It's not a good idea, Dean. You know that!"

Dean turned and walked to the panic room's open door, the duffel bag gripped tightly in his hand. His head was spinning from the information, his body aching from the movement of being awake and upright. He placed a hand on the doorway, ready to step from the room. He stared down at his bare feet, pale against the dark painted floor.

"Dean, listen to me…We aren't about to let this happen but the first part of that begins with you staying here. In this room. If you leave—we can't let you leave, Dean. We won't let you go again."

Dean heard the truth in Bobby's voice. It was a threat, one made of good intentions and family bonds.

Bobby watched as Dean dropped the bag to the floor and leaned against the wall, sliding down it until he was sitting on the floor. Unfallen tears glistened in his eyes; anger, fear and panic encompassing him. "It's gotta be wrong…I can't go back, Bobby...I can't…"

"I know," Bobby said gently. "And we're not going to let that happen."

"How?"

"We're working on something," Bobby said reassuringly. He could lie when he had to.

Dean nodded his head slowly, his eyes glued to his hands. "I'm just destined to be down there…can't seem to stay out of Hell…"

"That's just your fever talking," Bobby said as he stooped low and tipped Dean's head up, scrutinizing his appearance.

"No…it's not...," Dean muttered, his eyes glazed over in fear and fever. "I'm going to burn…forever…"

Bobby watched worriedly as Dean just sat there, a brokenness about him that Bobby hadn't seen since John had died.

"I want you to get some sleep," Bobby said. "Been a long day and you need to finish getting that poison out of your system."

Dean didn't move, his eyes staring at the floor.

"Dean?"

Bobby sighed and grabbed Dean's shoulder, squeezing it hard. Dean looked up at him, worry on his face. He let Bobby pull him to his feet and gently push him toward the cot. Dean dropped ungraciously unto the one farthest from the door, shivering lightly, his back to Bobby and the inviting doorway that led to fresh air and the real possibility of being kidnapping for some hellish payment.

He was startled when a colorful flash fluttered in the air inches over him. He flinched before he realized Bobby was unfurling a quilt over him, shaking it out, as it floated down onto him. Dean ran a hand over the familiar fabric, the stitched lines comforting. "Forgot about this," he mumbled. He hadn't laid eyes on the log cabin quilt for some time, not since it had disappeared from Bobby's couch awhile back.

Bobby chuckled as he moved a chair next to Dean. "Well, I didn't. Back when you showed up here with it…after being at Alice's for so long…I figured you might have gotten a little attached to it."

Dean didn't say anything as he traced the familiar pattern. It was comforting, warm and friendly.

Dean didn't say anything as Bobby held out a bottle of Gatorade. "Now, I know Sam was pushing this earlier and you weren't giving in. You're an adult and fevered or not, you know you need something or else your body isn't going to be able to survive the fever."

Dean stared at the quilt under his hand. "Just leave it by the cot."

"You going to drink it?"

Dean didn't answer him, his eyes wandering to the quilt again. "Is she coming?"

"Who," Bobby asked, confused. "Alice?"

Dean nodded slightly, his face hard.

"She didn't say," Bobby admitted. "You want her to?"

Dean frowned. "When is Sam coming down?"

"He'll be down in a little while once he's gotten something to eat and I get a chance to change that dressing on his shoulder," Bobby explained.

"What happened to Sam," Dean asked. Keeping Sam safe was his job.

"He got shot…hit the bone," Bobby said. "I got it all out and stitched him back together, but it's a mess."

"He taking antibiotics," Dean asked, wiping sweat out of his burning eyes.

"Course! You think I'm an idjit," Bobby scoffed with a chuckled. "He takes his better than you take yours."

"Yeah…well, this sucks," Dean muttered as he pulled the quilt under his chin, shivering.

Bobby sat next to Dean, waiting for Sam to wander down and take over for a bit. He flipped through one of the books he had brought down for Dean; not reading so much as listening to Dean's breathing. He had dozed off after a few minutes of Bobby rustling pages. Bobby was startled as Dean woke with a cry and suddenly bolted upright, leaning heavily over the side of the cot; dry heaving again.

"You alright, son," Bobby asked.

"I could taste it…," Dean whispered breathlessly.

"What," Bobby asked as he laid a hand over Dean's forehead, a look of sympathy creeping across his face.

"…Brimstone…," Dean said as he leaned into the touch, letting out a low, misery filled sigh. In that moment, he hated himself. He didn't want to lie here anymore, or be taken care of by anyone. He wanted Sammy to pack the car and hit the road, leaving this madness behind. He hated that someone—anyone even, had spent time hunting for a way to fix this. People needed to be saved, but he didn't want it to be him they saved. Innocent people, those were the ones who deserved to be helped. If Hell wanted him; he'd end up there no matter how hard he fought. "Let me go, Bobby…let them take me…," he whispered, an unbid tear trailed down his fevered cheek.

Bobby put a steadying hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles on his back. Dean looked awful, a new level of misery, even by Winchester standards. "Just a nightmare…And we're never going to let that happen."

He watched as Dean's tremors slowed, his eyes drooping shut as he leaned heavier and heavier against Bobby's arm. He caught Dean in time, shoving him back onto the cot before he hit the floor.

"Dean?"

He didn't respond to his name, his head rolling against the pillow. Bobby adjusted his cap, weighing what Dean didn't want against what he needed.

He scowled as he grabbed the IV kit from the small table. He pulled the bag of IV fluids from his jacket pocket and glanced over at Dean, hoping that his phone call with Alice and Marty was going to pay off. He grabbed the set of soft restraints from an Army trunk under the cot and hesitated before sliding them in place. No doubt, Dean was going to hate him…but he would be alive, hopefully.

Dean didn't flinch as Bobby slid the needle into place. He left the crimp in the tubing, keeping the fluids from traveling down the line and into Dean. Bobby ignored Sam's sudden hovering in the doorway as he taped the plastic tubing to Dean's skin, fortifying the odds against Dean getting hold of it and yanking it out. He rolled Dean onto his side and placed a small pillow behind him, leaving him slightly on one side.

"Worried he's going to throw up again?"

Bobby grunted and nodded. "Don't want him choking if he does." He pulled the quilt back around Dean and stepped back to check his handiwork.

"Is that the quilt Dean stole from Alice," Sam asked curiously. He remembered Dean ignoring his questions about it on the long ride from Tennessee to South Dakota.

"Yep," Bobby replied as he motioned upstairs. "Sam, go grab us something to drink. We need to talk about what's going to happen next."

Ten minutes later, Bobby and Sam were sitting at the narrow table Bobby had dragged into the room, staring into the bottom of their glasses. Bobby had tried his best to explain the plan, but he could tell Sam wasn't easily going for it.

"So, who exactly thought of this plan," Sam asked. He wasn't really sure yet if he wanted to be thankful or angry. It was a fine line.

"I started to wonder about it on the way back…I called Marty. Turns out he's done something similar in the past for someone who was possessed. He called Alice about it. She called me and we talked it over some," Bobby explained.

"And you were going to tell me when? When it killed him," Sam snapped as he eyed the IV line taped to Dean. He wanted to leap up and yank it loose. "Because I'm guessing that's a possibility."

"I'm telling you now, Sam," Bobby said gruffly. "I haven't started to run the fluids yet…if you want to say no…I'll respect that. We can wait."

"So…how is turning his IV fluids into Holy Water—what exactly are you hoping it's going to do for him," Sam demanded.

"Some of the lore lists Holy Water as being off-putting to Fay—some say as a defense, some say it's more of an irritant—either way, we're hoping it's going to flush out the last of that Fay poison he ingested," Bobby explained. "You got lucky, you ate such a small piece and threw your guts up…Dean, he ate a fairly small piece, in comparison to what they tried to force him to eat; but this might help burn it out of his system."

"And the fever? I thought that was burning it out of his system," Sam said, trying to keep up Bobby.

"If it is, it's taking to damn long for my liking. Look, Sam, if we wait for the fever to do the job, he could just as easily die from the fever," Bobby said firmly as he passed Sam the bottle. "He needs fluids and for this to be over now."

Sam stared at Dean, eyeing the plastic tubing taped to his arm. "It's going to hurt like hell, if it works. You know that, right?"

Bobby nodded; a frown on his face. "I do."

He slid the prefilled syringe across the table to Sam. "He's restrained…he can't yank the lines out…but he doesn't have to be conscious for it to work so…if you think he needs it, you'll have it."

Sam shook his head but slid the syringe into his jacket pocket anyways. "I'll wait with him."

Sam listened as Bobby climbed up the creaky steps, a pit in his stomach. He needed to find a way to help Dean. He needed Alice's books now. He needed to save his brother. He walked across the room and unsnapped the crimp from the line, the clear liquid rushing through the line. He sat back and watched Dean's face for any sign that he was waking up, praying that he didn't.

Upstairs, Bobby tossed his cap on the table and checked his phone again, wondering how long before another phone call came through from Alice. In all honesty, he wanted the help. He couldn't risk letting Sam rip his shoulder out and Dean could be a handful, even when he wasn't sick. He hesitated as he dialed the familiar number, grimacing at the sound of her voicemail.

"Alice? Listen, it's me, Bobby Singer," he stated as he glanced at the cellar door. "I've been doing research now that we have a name for this… but I think we're going to need you for some of this. Call me."

Bobby tossed the phone back on the table just as a pain filled shout came from below. He trudged down the steps and found Sam standing over Dean, quilt in his hand, watching as Dean fought viciously against the restraints, his whole body taut as he arched against the cot. His teeth were bared and bloody; threats and pleads rolling off his tongue. Bobby watched in horrified fascination as a fine mist rose from Dean's suddenly sweat covered skin, as though something was boiling under his skin. The similarity between Dean's appearance and that of a Holy Water soaked demon send a shiver down Bobby's spine.

He and Sam stood side by side, their eyes glued to the sight before them. Dean's movements didn't slow as he fought; unaware of the worried eyes watching him. He was to far gone to notice them, much less understand how this was going to help him. As another howl ripped its way out of Dean's lungs, Bobby nudged Sam.

"How long you going to let this go on for," Bobby spat. "He's hurting—"

Bobby's words were cut short by Sam holding up the syringe between them, empty.

"It's no use. I already did what I could, Bobby," Sam said with a grimace. "It didn't even slow him down any."

"Balls! What the hell do we do now," he mumbled, regretting this idea altogether. He stared at Dean, his mouth open in a silent scream as he continued to fight.

"Nothing to do… we wait, I guess."

So…sorry about this chapter. It's not everything I wanted, but I've had a few crappy days…

As for Dean, a few things are going to have to happen and I'm wondering how many of you would like to see Alice reappear in this story. Let me know!