Chapter Twelve

Dean stared down at his unconscious sibling, wondering for the nth time if they were too late.

Sam was still alive; Dean checked almost every five minutes. His chest still rose and fell with each breath and his heart was beating silently, still pumping precious blood through his body. But he just wouldn't wake up.

Dean glanced up when he heard Bobby's footsteps on the concrete floor outside the panic room.

"Son, why don't you head on upstairs, get some rest," the grizzled hunter suggested, "I'll look after Sam. Call for you if he wakes up."

Dean shook his head, "I think I'll stay a little while longer."

Bobby remained where he was, silhouetted in the doorway before turning with a sigh and making his way back upstairs.

Dean peered at his brother's face, wishing Sam would open his eyes.

SPN

Bobby sighed and drained his glass of whisky, staring at the clock on the oven. It was nearly midnight and Dean still refused to leave his brother's side.

The grizzled hunter was beginning to worry. Maybe they were too late. Maybe they had succeeded in killing the shade but Sam really was gone, his body just a shell.

Bobby stood and moved to the counter to grab the bottle of whisky but decided against it. If Sam was in fact lost to them, Dean didn't need him two sheets to the wind.

SPN

Dean dug his knuckles into his eyes as they burned with exhaustion. He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that it was just past four in the morning.

Peering down at his brother, Dean felt hot moisture gush into his eyes but he quickly wiped it away.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, "C'mon man, wake up. Please."

Dean reached down and picked up one of Sam's limp hands, "Don't let me be too late to save you."

SPN

Bobby walked down the basement stairs slowly, two cups of coffee in his hands.

He peered into the Panic Room and saw Dean fast asleep, sitting in the folding chair beside the cot with his arms crossed over his chest and his head leaning back.

Sam was still unconscious, lying quite and still on the uncomfortable camp bed.

Bobby called Dean's name quietly and the younger man woke up, glancing around owlishly for a moment before peering down at his sibling and sighing.

"I thought you could use something to drink," the grizzled hunter said, holding one mug out to Dean.

The eldest Winchester wiped a hand over his face and nodded, taking the offered beverage.

Bobby took a drink of his own coffee, peering at Dean from over the rim of the cup. The young man was looking down at his sibling with red-rimmed eyes.

"Sam's a fighter," the grizzled hunter said, "He's just been through a hell of a lot an' needs to rest."

Dean looked up and nodded, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and unshed tears.

"Yeah," he muttered, "Yeah, you're right."

Bobby smiled grimly. He hoped to God he was right.

W

Bobby closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed the bridge of his nose, letting Rufus ramble away on the other end of the phone line.

"Listen Turner, I-" Bobby began but a cry from the direction of the basement had him stop mid-sentence.

"BOBBY! GET DOWN HERE!" Dean shouted, "NOW!"

Slamming the phone back in its cradle without saying another word, Bobby ran the stairs. What Bobby saw when he entered the Panic Room made his heart leap in his chest.

Sam was awake!

He was leaning over the side of the cot, Dean gripping his shoulders to keep him upright.

"Sam?" Dean spoke his brother's name worriedly, "Sammy? What's wrong?"

Bobby watched as the young man shuddered and threw up bile.

"Balls," the grizzled hunter swore and moved forward, pressing a palm to Sam's brow.

The boy was burning up with fever.

"Don't feel good," Sam whimpered and edged closer to his brother.

Dean looked up at Bobby questioningly.

"What's wrong? I thought that fever was the shade," he said, eyebrows knitting together.

Bobby shrugged, "Could be the spirit was keepin' the fever at bay while it possessed Sam or it got to 'im after he got sick."

Dean glanced down at Sam as though expecting his brother to answer, tell him exactly what had happened but the younger man only groaned miserably.

"Let's get him upstairs," Bobby suggested, "He'll be more comfortable there."

Dean nodded and tightened his grip on Sam's shoulders, "C'mon Sammy, stand up."

Sam struggled to get his feet under him. Finally he managed to stand; swaying, head lowered but at least he was up.

It was agonizingly slow going but the trio eventually made it to the top of the stairs. Sam staggered towards the couch almost blindly, sinking onto its cushions heavily.

"Mm cold D'n," Sam muttered and wrapped his arms around himself as he fell onto his side, his head resting on one armrest while his feet pressed against the other, knees bent.

"I think I've got some Tylenol upstairs in the bathroom cabinet," Bobby said and headed in that direction.

Dean crouched beside his sibling.

"Man, Sam, you can't wait to get over one thing before coming down with something else, can you?"

Sam didn't answer, his eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping.

At least this is just a flu bug, Dean thought thankfully, I can deal with that.

Author's Note:

Thanks to yukio87, Jkf340, tracyeubanks1, reannablue, SpanaHana, sarah, nekowithachainsaw, Mutilated Pancake, L.A.H.H, jchow1154, BranchSuper, SamDeanLover28, and Marianne Lidell for reviewing.

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