Thank you so much Jenjoremy and Gredelina1 for beta'ing and helping me hammer out ideas.

Another extra update – this time because I have a story I need to rec to you wonderful people and I couldn't wait till Friday.

Chapter Twelve

Sam's skin was sallow grey, almost as pale as the pillows he reclined against. Dean had propped him up so Sam was only half lying down. Dean told himself he did it for Sam's comfort, he seemed to find it easier to breathe when he was higher in the bed, but the truth was when he was lying flat, looking as sick as he did, it was all too easy to remember that hospital room where a doctor had told him there was no hope for recovery. He was better than that now, Dean knew. Sam was awake and talking, whereas then he had been deeply unconscious, but the rest of the tableau… it was a little too familiar.

Dean was overwhelmed with relief that Sam was back, awake, talking, himself again, but the internal injuries Crowley had mentioned and the wrecked look of his brother made him think their struggle wasn't over yet. Ezekiel, or whoever he had really been, had obviously healed him some, but was it enough for Sam to make it?

Dean shook his head briskly at the thought. Sam hadn't made it this far to be defeated by the trial damage now. His fear was compounded slightly by Charlie's pleas though.

"Please, Sam, you need professional care," she said, perching on the side of his bed.

Sam shook his head. It seemed even that small movement took effort. "Not happening, Charlie. It's too much of a risk with our history."

She turned to look at Dean imploringly. "Help me out, will ya?"

Dean looked past her to Sam. "Maybe she's right?"

"No," Sam said. "If it gets that bad, I will go, or you can take me, but we're not there right now."

I'm not dying yet. The words went unspoken but they were in the air regardless. If Sam was bad enough that it looked like it was risk arrest or death, they could take him to the hospital, but not before. How screwed up were their lives when that was a valid choice for them?

"We don't have Cas' healing anymore, Sam," Dean reminded him, making the angel shift uncomfortably on the other side of the bed.

Sam shot Castiel an understanding smile. "That's okay. I can kick this on my own. I just need rest." As if to punctuate the point, he yawned widely, covering his mouth with a hand.

Charlie bit her lip. "I don't know, Sam…"

"I do," Sam said firmly. "We can talk about it later. Right now, I just want to sleep."

Still looking uncertain, Charlie nodded. "Okay. Fine. You win this round, Winchester, but only for now. I'll be back to check on you soon."

Sam reached a shaking hand across the blankets and patted her arm. "Thanks, Charlie."

"Yes," Dean said seriously, "Thank you, Charlie, really. You, too, Cas."

Castiel nodded and Charlie grinned and got to her feet. "I don't know about you guys, but I need a coffee."

"Be right out," Dean said. "Cas, want to help her?"

Castiel took the hint and after nodding to Sam, he followed her out of the room.

Sam watched them go and then he smiled slightly at Dean. "You don't have to stay either. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, you can say that," Dean growled. "But you disappeared standing right next to me, Sam."

"Sorry," Sam said. "I'll try not to do that again." He cracked a smile. "Seriously, though, go get a drink or something at least. You look like you need it. I'm just going to sleep." When Dean still didn't move, he said, "Come on, Dean. Take a break. You're wrecked. I can tell."

Dean sighed. "Fine. I'm going to get a drink, and you get some sleep, and then we can talk."

"Sure," Sam said drowsily, settling back against his pillows and closing his eyes. "We'll talk."

He must have been truly exhausted as his breaths quickly became soft sighs of sleep and he relaxed. Dean stayed a moment longer, unwilling to leave his brother alone. It occurred to him, though, that in Sam's position, he would want a little space, too. And he really did need a drink. Not a coffee. A real drink; something to wash away the anxiety and bad taste of the past days of worry and fear.

"Be right back," he said softly, and then slipped out of the room. Almost as soon as he was away from Sam, he wanted to turn around and go back. He forced one foot in front of the other though, and turned the corner, almost walking straight into Crowley where he stood leaning against the wall with a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a smug smile in place.

"Moose taking a nap?" he asked.

Dean walked past him without a word.

"Now, is that polite?" Crowley asked. "I'm the reason he's here and capable of snoozing right now. A little conversation isn't too much to ask for."

"What do you want, Crowley?"

"First of all, some thanks," he replied. "I heard you throwing around the gratitude in there, and I noticed my name didn't come up, which I think is pretty rude since I'm the one that actually did the saving."

"We're grateful," Dean said, "But don't pretend you did it for any reason other than to serve yourself. We made a deal. Had I refused to do that, you wouldn't have lifted a finger for us, for Sam."

"True," Crowley conceded. "But we did and I did. And in that spirit, I thought I'd do you another solid."

Dean frowned. "What can you do for us now? You can't fix Sam."

"True. I can't, not without a deal anyway, and you've got nothing else I want. No. This is a bonus gift: a little information before I bow out and leave you to your deathbed vigil."

Dean swallowed hard and Crowley laughed.

"Okay," he said. "Maybe not deathbed, but Moose is in bad shape. I was in him and I felt what he feels. He's a mess."

Dean nodded stiffly. "Okay," he said, forcing his tone to remain even. "What else do you want to tell us?"

"Where I found him when he was stuffed down deep. See, I'm guessing he's going to be a little close-lipped about where that angel stuffed him, and I thought, as his brother, it's your right to know."

"Where was he?" Dean asked, wondering why the question hadn't occurred to him before. He supposed he'd just been so relieved to have Sam back with him that he hadn't worried about where he had been. The fact that Crowley seemed so eager to tell him made him think that it wasn't anywhere good.

"Hell," Crowley said. "That naughty angel stuffed him back in the Cage. Not the real Cage of course, but a combination of Sam's memories and imaginings of it."

Dean swayed and gripped the wall for support.

Crowley went on gleefully. "I know torture, Dean, you know torture, but neither of us knows anything compared to those two archangels. They are artists in the purest sense of the word. The things they did to him…"

"Stop," Dean croaked, nausea rolling in his stomach.

Crowley smiled smugly. "Just thought you ought to know. Well, that's me done for now. I'm going to make tracks. I'll call when I need you next. And you will answer, understand?"

Dean nodded, barely aware of what he was doing. It was taking all his effort to keep himself from vomiting. Crowley sauntered away along the hall, and then stopped at the end and turned back.

"You want to know the sad thing? Even with what they were doing to him, all Moose was worried about was you. He thought something bad had happened to you. Can you begin to even fathom that kind of devotion?" He scoffed. "Soul mates."

Dean bent over and vomited on the floor.

Charlie ran the cloth over Sam's brow, and followed it with her bare hand. Sam's skin felt dry and far too hot. Sam leaned into her touch and murmured his brother's name weakly.

Charlie's teeth snapped together with an audible click and she didn't answer.

Castiel leaned closer from his place on the other side of the bed and said, "He'll be here soon, Sam. He's getting something to help you."

Charlie scowled at him and he hissed at her. "What do you want me to say?"

Sam turned toward him. "Cas?"

"I am here," he said gently. "So is Charlie."

Sam nodded and then turned his face into the pillow and stifled a groan.

"We need to get him to a hospital," she said.

"No," Sam said, his voice stronger than it had been all night. "It'll pass. I've beaten worse." His bloodshot eyes opened and he looked at Castiel. "Right, Cas?"

Castiel nodded regretfully. "You have."

Charlie knew that, but there was a difference between beating the devil and beating this kind of human frailty. She had to respect his wishes though. Sam's will had been overpowered too many times in his life, most recently by the angel posing as Ezekiel, and he deserved the chance to make his choices now, even though it scared Charlie more than she could say.

She'd thought that once they got Sam back, it would be okay, over, better, and in some ways it was. He was there now and no longer trapped inside his own body, but he was suffering and Charlie was so scared they were going to lose him.

Her fear was also tempered by anger, fury even, at Dean. As far as she knew, he hadn't been back in Sam's room since Sam sent them away so he could sleep. She didn't know what had happened, but when she and Castiel had come out of the kitchen with mugs of coffee for them all, he had been knocking back a whiskey in the library. Charlie had asked him what was wrong, but he hadn't answered. He'd merely said she needed to keep an eye on Sam.

She'd thought maybe he just needed a break, a moment to savor the relief of having Sam back with them the way he tended to deal with most things—with alcohol—but it had been hours and he hadn't come back. There was also the scent of sickness in the hall outside Sam's room.

He hadn't asked about Sam; he hadn't checked on him at all. That was not the man she'd lived the last week with searching for Sam. Then Sam's fever had started to climb, so she'd sent Castiel to get him. Castiel hadn't said what passed between them when he went, but the message was clear when he came back into the room—Dean wasn't coming.

Sam jerked again and a tear slipped from his eye and ran down his cheek and onto the pillow.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Castiel asked, his frustration at his helplessness obvious in his voice.

Sam just groaned.

"Where does it hurt?" Charlie asked.

"Doesn't hurt," Sam lied.

Castiel frowned. "Then what is it?"

Another tear slipped from Sam. "I can hear him."

"Hear who?"

Sam spoke in a rasping whisper. "Lucifer." He groaned again and this time there was a word discernible in the sound. "Dean!"

"Okay, that's it!" Charlie whispered furiously. "The hell with this. He doesn't get to hide out and ignore this." She jumped to her feet and tossed the cloth to Castiel. "Keep him as cool as you can."

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm going to talk to Dean," she said. "And if talking doesn't work, I am kicking his ass in here whether he likes it or not."

"That may not be a good idea, Charlie."

"He doesn't get to hide. Sam has been through God knows what with that angel. He's going through hell now, too. Dean should be here with him, not drinking himself stupid."

Castiel nodded slowly. "You're right. Just… Be aware, he won't be happy."

She smiled grimly. "It's Dean Winchester. He's hardly ever happy."

"Dean," Sam murmured on the bed, his face turned into his pillow.

"He'll be here soon," Charlie promised.

Charlie stormed out of the room and through the bunker to the library where Dean was sitting at the long table with a decanter of whiskey in front of him and a glass with a generous measure in it in his hand. When he caught sight of her, he took a swig of his drink, grimaced and said, "Now's not the time, Charlie."

"Now's exactly the time," she snapped, throwing herself into a chair.

He looked surprised at her anger. He lowered his glass slowly and gave her a searching look. Worry crossed his face and he asked, "Is Sam okay?"

"Absolutely not," she replied. "He's got a fever."

Dean relaxed slightly. "Yeah, Cas said.

"And you didn't think that maybe you should come check on him?"

"He's better off without me," he said in a dead voice.

Charlie glared at him. "You're kidding right? Better off! We have spent the past week and more searching for a way to get him back. You did everything including making a deal with the King of Hell, and now you think he's better off without you? What the hell happened to you?"

Dean heaved a deep sigh. "I spoke to Crowley."

"Crowley! You spoke to that jerk-off and now you're not going near Sam. What the hell did he say that made you do a complete spin on everything you've been working for?"

Dean raised bleary eyes to her and said, "He told me what that angel did to Sam. Where he was when he was stuffed down inside."

"Okay," Charlie said slowly. "And that makes a difference because…?"

"It was Hell. No, it was worse than that. It was the Cage. That dick stuffed Sam back in the Cage in his head."

Charlie leaned back in her chair, her breath whooshing out of her. The Cage! That evil asshole had put him in the Cage. How could anyone be so cruel?

"I did that," Dean said. "You heard what the angel said. He stuffed Sam away because of me. I treated him like a pet, demanding, acting like he was the lesser one, and so he did that. I screwed up so bad Sam was back in the Cage. And you want to know the kicker? Even in there, with all they were doing to him, he was worried about me!" He laughed mirthlessly. "I have screwed that kid up so bad that even when he's being tortured beyond what we can imagine, he worries about me. I'm staying away so I don't screw him up anymore."

Charlie closed her eyes a moment, trying to make sense of the emotions roiling though her. She was shocked, angry, sad, but also disappointed. "You're wrong," she said.

Dean looked at her blearily. "What?"

"He's not a kid. Sam hasn't been a kid in a long time. And you haven't made him into anything but a good man and a better brother. He worried about you because he loves you. I know you love him, too. You're not staying away to protect him. You're staying away because you're scared to look at him and see your mistake. Sure, letting that angel in ended badly, but Sam's alive because of it. The alternative was losing him altogether. None of us wanted that."

"Sam did," Dean said quietly.

Charlie bit her lip. "I don't think he did. I think he was just afraid of what being saved would cost you and the world. I think he'd have—" she cut off as she heard her name being bellowed from a distance by Castiel.

"Sam!" Dean gasped, and they both leapt to their feet.

Dean was faster. He raced ahead along the halls to the bedrooms, Charlie hot on his heels. He came to a dead stop in the door to Sam's room, and Charlie squeezed past him and into the room, taking in the scene with an assessing eye and pushing down her panic.

Sam was convulsing on the bed, his feet hammering the mattress and his head jerking against the pillows. Castiel stood helplessly beside him. He turned to Charlie as she came in and said, "I don't know what to do! He was talking nonsense, his fever was very high, but then he began to seize."

"You're already doing it," Charlie said. "It must be the fever. We need to get it down." She took a breath. "Okay. Go to the bathroom and fill the tub with tepid water."

"Ice?" Dean asked.

"Too risky," Charlie said. "We need to cool him carefully."

Castiel rushed out of the room and Charlie heard his footsteps moving along the hall. She watched Sam carefully, waiting for the seizure to pass. After another minute it did, and she quickly moved to his side and checked his pulse; it was too fast and his skin far too hot.

"How is he?" Dean asked.

"He'll be okay," Charlie said reassuringly, hoping desperately she was telling the truth. "I'll go take over for Cas. You two get him in the bathroom as carefully as you can."

Dean nodded and came over to the bed. Charlie hesitated at the door, uncertain whether leaving Dean with him was a good idea, but then Dean ran a hand over Sam's hot brow and said in a soft voice, "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm going to take care of you."

Charlie thought it was safe to leave them.

So… Crowley wins the award for doing anyway the least helpful 'solid' ever. Sammy's all kinds of messed up and Dean is drunk off his ass. Not so good times.

Story Rec: Destruction-Trilogy-Broken byFiery Charizard.

Summary: Post Season 11. Dean gets back to the bunker to find a pool of blood and no Sam. Thus he begins the biggest hunt of his life. But as time moves on, Dean becomes more and more desperate. Sloppy. Will the hunter become the hunted? And what really happened to Sam?

I can't say enough good things about this story. It gripped me from start to end. The twists and turns are wonderfully written and well thought out. Fiery Charizard writes with the kind of skill I wish I had. Do yourself a favor and go read.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx