Guardian Angel

Chapter 3

Notes: Part 3 of the Happy Birthday fic for my very patient, forgiving, awesome bud, PADavis :D – holy fudge sundae, sorry for the delay, I can only blame myself LOL :) – please also check out the absolutely fantabulous story Phoebe wrote for me - 'Ménage a Trois' (I'm huggling it to death) :)

Lizz is also being wonderful, and giving me some time to catch up with Bad Blood. I'll have a new chapter of that story soon. And thanks, as always, for the wonderful support, reviews, fav's and alerts ;)

Herb knowledge courtesy of my very own herbalist, Muffy Morrigan :) – I let her out of the dungeon (on weekends ... maybe) ROFL XD

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY ;)

Warning: Rated T for bad language – not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine :)

Dean was shaking violently now, chills wracking his body as he finally started warming up. At least his stint in the snow had broken his high fever, but Sam still kept his arms wrapped securely around his brother, holding him closer. His heart ached with every shivering breath Dean drew in, lungs making a crackling sound with each exhale.

He kept massaging the Vicks Vapour rub onto Dean's chest, moving along his heaving ribs and across his clammy skin, up to his neck and back again, hoping that it would somehow alleviate his breathing.

Alternating, he'd take one of Dean's hands in his own, kneading each finger, trying to return blood flow to the purplish, blue digits. He didn't want to explore the possibility of damage from frostbite, scared to even look at Dean's toes. He shook his head, wanting to clear that image from his mind.

Dean's goose-bumped skin was still cold against his own, seeping through Sam's vest as he continued to whisper soft reassurances. He was hoping that his brother would wake up soon, give him some sort of sign that he was going to be okay.

Shit, this was so not good. Dean needed to be in a goddamn hospital, on oxygen, drugged up to the gills with the antibiotics and whatever other shit they could pump into his bloodstream to make him better. This was severe pneumonia, there was no mistaking the symptoms, but he was already working on a risky treatment plan, knowing he needed antibiotics, needed to keep Dean hydrated.

He shifted uncomfortably, getting a bit hot in the heated room, what with the layers of blankets, which were pulled up to Dean's chin, and the added warm bottles. But he wasn't going to move, not just yet, not until Dean's body temperature had returned to normal.

Reaching over for the second Styrofoam cup, he drank the last of the soup, the tasty liquid relieving his hunger pangs. He had tried to give some to Dean earlier, but his incoherent brother had just turned his head away, going a little green, and Sam hadn't forced the issue. He'd eventually need to get Dean to drink something though.

He aimed, tossing the empty container across the room, hitting the bin spot-on. Typical, he'd just made a three point shot, with nobody to witness. He nearly jumped out of his skin, jostling them both, when he noticed a pair of unfocused eyes watching him.

"Dean?"

"Ya … hot."

Okay. Not quite what he was expecting.

"Um, thanks ... I think."

His relief was short lived as Dean eyes started closing again, so Sam tapped him lightly on his face, trying to keep him awake.

"Hey, hey, you with me? Need you to stay awake for a minute."

Face scrunched up in pain, Dean contemplated the request.

"Head hurrs."

"I can imagine, I'll give you something for it, just stay awake, okay?"

Dean squinted, confusion written on his face as he tried to focus, eyebrows knitting together, before a startled look flitted across his features.

"Smy … we … spoonin'?"

Sam couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief at his anal brother.

"Yeah, I thought I'd just take advantage of you, while you're down, ya know. Didn't think you'd mind."

"I ... mind ...dude."

Sam grinned, Dean's raspy chuckle quickly turning into a deep, chest-rattling cough. He clung to Sam's arm for a few minutes, Sam supporting his weight, before he finally caught his breath, fighting the urge to sink back into exhausted sleep.

"Dean, I need you to stay awake ... please ... try take some meds."

He was already tapping out two Tylenol into his palm

"Here ya go, open your mouth, that's it."

Dean tried, he really did, but his stubborn jaw just wouldn't move. He felt like shit, joints and muscles aching, body wracked with chills. It was taking all of his will power just to stay conscious. But at least Sammy was warm ... god, so nice and warm … and even though he'd regret it in the morning, he seriously just wanted to snuggle closer to that heat ... defrost ... pass out ...

He frowned, disorientated as Sammy's fingers pushed at his lips, prying them open, placing one tablet on his tongue before tilting the Gatorade bottle towards his mouth.

Dean felt like he should be pissed, the kid was manhandling him for goddsake, lanky bitch just wouldn't let up, but he couldn't muster enough energy to slap the princesses' hand away. So he swallowed instead, the pill disappearing down his throat, causing him to cough weakly. The cool liquid was soothing though, and he tried to take another thirsty mouthful.

"Easy, easy, small sips."

Sam carefully repeated the process until he'd given Dean the second Tylenol and two broad spectrum antibiotics he'd found in the med kit.

He prayed they'd act quickly, knowing that pneumonia could easily advance to 'blood poisoning'. Dean was already in severe respiratory distress, and his brother dying was just not on his to-do list.

Dean took a gulping breath before doing his best to hack up a lung, stabbing pains accompanying the effort. He groaned, whatever was clogging his throat, landed in his mouth and he started gagging. A tissue miraculously appeared before his mouth, so he leaned forward, squinting at the yellowish green sputum he spat out. Okay, he was pretty sure that wasn't healthy.

Sam's face wrinkled, quickly throwing the slimy wad away. Shit, that was gross, but Dean needed to cough, needed to clear his lungs, and he was more than willing to do whatever was necessary, no matter how effing unpleasant. Didn't change the fact that his big brother was going to owe him big time for this.

Nerves thrummed with tension as he reached over for the inhaler, managing to get Dean to inhale for four counts, before a coughing fit shook the entire bed.

"Easy, easy … that's good; you're doing great, Dean."

He rubbed small circles on his brother's chest, the pungent smell of sickness hanging thick in the air. Dean looked terrible, his face contorted in agony. Sam held a clean tissue to his mouth again as he spat out the fluids he was coughing up, his heart nearly stopping at the sight.

Oh, god, there were specks ... he inspected them closer ... Dean was coughing up some blood.

Oh shit, oh shit, he needed to try something else. He started struggling out from behind the mass, propping his brother upright against the pillows and tucking him in again before running his fingers through his hair nervously. Shit, he needed to calm down, needed to get a grip. He could never figure out how Dad made this look so easy. Damnit. He started pacing, glancing over at his pale sibling, eyes closed, lips colourless, back arching slightly as he continued to battle to inhale.

Okay, so Dean wasn't breathing right, lungs badly congested, blood was definitely not a good sign, skin taking on a bluish tinge. He was on the verge of completely losing it, the need to punch something making his hands fist. Instead, he moved over to the desk, picking up his cell phone, already knowing he wouldn't get a signal. He threw it down in irritation, the battery cover clattering off, before he grabbed Dad's journal, scanning his notes on medical procedures, therapies, cures, herbs … even goddamn rituals.

He sped read through a section on ancient water therapy. Apparently the use of cold and hot water acted like a universal pump, stimulating circulation which would help with the effectiveness of any herbs or drugs. But the thought of dragging Dean between a hot shower and a cold bath was far from appealing.

The notes about herbs proved a bit more useful. He scratched around in his duffel, pulling out the packet filled with ingredients that they used on hunts. He had Mullen which he mixed with some red cedar, quickly wrapping it into a small, tight incense bundle, which he started burning. The room filling with a rich, spicy fragrance as he took a deep breath, feeling the desired effects, knowing it would help towards opening Dean's lungs.

Next, he grabbed the nearly empty bottle of Vicks and entered the small bathroom. There wasn't anything he could use as a container, so he let the hot water run for a few minutes, planning on filling the tub halfway before adding a few dollops of the mixture.

He was folding a towel over the edge of the tub for Dean to lean against, already on high alert, when he heard the soft call from the bedroom. He immediately dropped what he was doing to check on his brother.

"Dean?"

"Smy? … no … nono ... plse ..."

He moved over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Dean had drifted into a restless sleep, a fine layer of sweat beading on his skin, gasping as he fought to breathe. A quick check showed that his pulse was racing. Shit.

Dean's eyes were rolling behind closed lids, obviously in the throws of a fevered dream, pushing frantically at the blankets, feet kicking as he tried to squirm free. Sam moved forward, clasping his brother's arms, trying to still his frenzied movements.

"Easy, Dean, I'm hear. It's okay."

"Ghnn ..."

The words were soft, wheezing past panting lungs.

"No Dean, not gone ... shhh ..."

"Suppose ... take ... care off ..."

"You do ..."

Sam swallowed uncomfortably.

"Jus ... one job ... let ya ... down ..."

He was realizing something about himself ... he hated seeing this part of Dean, the tormented part that was usually so well hidden ... not knowing how to fix it, just knowing with certain clarity that he had to get Dean out of the deal ... some way, anyway. He rubbed his brother's arm soothingly, jerking when Dean suddenly sat upright, eyes flying open in panic.

"SAMMY!?"

The anguished yell ripped a bit more at Sam's soul and he cupped his brother's face between his hands.

"Not, gone ... I'm here, remember … but you brought me back?"

He gently pushed his brother to lean against the pillows. Dean was delirious, his temperature climbing steadily. Shit! Was it too soon for more antibiotics?

"Smmy?"

He saw a small flicker of recognition in those glassy eyes, a look of disbelief.

"Yeah, dude ... it's really me."

Dean just stared at him for an uncomfortable moment.

"Don' ... go ... kay?"

He squeezed his shoulder, a sad smile pulling at his lips.

"Don't worry, not going anywhere."

The words thankfully seemed to sink in and Dean relaxed, tense muscles uncoiling as his arms slipped down to his sides. Sam thought he might have fallen asleep again, but his eyes quickly blinked open, staring blankly ahead.

"Here, try and drink some more of this."

He held the bottle of Gatorade, cradling Dean's neck, lifting him up slightly. Dean clamped trembling fingers around his wrists as he sipped.

"Nggh."

Sam took that as a 'thanks', letting his hand swiftly brush over Dean's warm forehead and through his damp hair. Dude was too out of it to even notice the covert attempt at a temperature check. Instead, he blinked owlishly, licking dry lips, before letting his head fall back against the pillow, continuing to watch Sam's every movement. Sam took the opportunity to let his hands skim against Dean's throat, behind his ears, checking to see if the glands were swollen.

Finishing his assessment, he patted Dean's leg before moving to kneel at the foot of the bed, scared at what he'd find. Removing the socks, he was relieved to see that there didn't seem to be any serious damage, even though the tips were very blue. He vigorously started rubbing each foot, Dean groaning in discomfort. He needed to stimulate circulation, Dean's feet twitching as he massaged each toe. He was pleased to see that Dean wasn't suffering from frost bite, as he'd feared, although that did seem kinda strange.

"... ngg ... cat ..."

Sam looked up at his brother, his winded tone so soft he could barely hear it, but he noticed that his gaze had drifted to a spot by the door.

"What?"

"… watchin' ... me."

Dean's hand had moved up, subconsciously kneading his palm into his sore chest.

"Do you see it, is it here, now?"

He nodded, confused by Sam's question.

"Yeah … s'over there ... stopped me."

Sam frowned.

"Stopped you from what, Dean?"

"… stopped me … followin' ..."

He was looking towards the door and Sam suddenly knew what he was referring to. His words were becoming weaker, voice breaking. Sam felt slightly unnerved, glancing at the spot Dean was referring to. There was still nothing there.

"… sat on … feet, could'n move. Wanted to … they called … but he was warm, furry ..."

He smiles at that, pressing his thumbs into the arch of Dean's relaxed foot. Dean obviously had a soft spot for his imaginary pet. Sam had no idea what was going on, but if the cat was looking out for Dean, he wasn't going to complain.

"... didn't want me ... ta follow ... can still hear 'em ..."

A chill ran down Sam's spine remembering the car accident, how he'd nearly lost Dean back then, he wasn't going to let that happen again, not ever.

"Well, you're not going anywhere, dude, you hear me ... nowhere!"

The conviction of his voice didn't surprise him. He would protect his brother no matter what, at any cost. If something wanted Dean, it'd have to go through him first.

He sighed with relief when he saw that Dean's feet were finally starting to regain a healthier, pink colour, so he continued his manipulations, letting his brother ramble. He knew he was getting worse, but he hoped a session with the steamy vapours would help unclog his lungs.

"… has 'lil 'cow-lick' … top've his head."

Dean was waxing lyrical about the cat. Sam was sure that he had more than likely seen the little guy when they arrived, and his fevered mind was still conjuring up the fur ball now. But if it was keeping Dean grounded, he could live with that.

"He's beige, right?"

"Ya see 'im … too?"

He nodded, playing along, remembering what the clerk had said about his pet. Finally happy with the results of his impromptu reflexology session, he covered the feet in socks, getting up, talking loudly for Dean's sake, as he went to wash his hands.

"Yeah, cute little guy, keeps disappearing."

He put in the plug and started filling the tub, adding the Vicks. The hot water mixing with the colder air instantly started making thick billows of minty steam.

Perfect.

Pulling the door closed behind him to trap the mist, he came back, moving over to the bed to gently pull his brother up and to his feet. He thought he might need to carry Dean there, but, to his surprise, he managed to stand, even if he was clinging to Sam like a lifeline, legs shaking under his weight.

"You okay?"

A slight nod of confirmation before small steps began leading them to the bathroom. Dean was leaning heavily on Sam, Sam taking most of his weight, as they made their slow progress. Halfway there, Dean stopped.

"Don't ... feel ta good ... Smmy."

"Shhh, I know ... don't try to talk, just concentrate on breathing, okay?"

Dean swallowed convulsively, the nausea he felt inducing a small cough, which turned into another knee buckling fit. Sam clung to his brother, arms wrapped firmly around his waist, Dean's arm hooked over his shoulder as he battled to keep them both upright. Dean was heaving in air, eyes watering.

"Nghhh ... hurss."

"I know, dude, I'm gonna fix that, just hang on ... I'll fix it."

Dean's hand was pressing into his chest as he continued to wheeze, shuffling until they finally reached tub, Sam assisting him to kneel on the bath mat. He helped Dean lean forward over the thick towel he had placed on the rim, supporting his neck and placing his other hand on Dean's chest. They were both leaning over the tub, Sam watching Dean's face as his brother started inhaling the therapeutic vapours.

The hot steam was hitting Dean full in the face, his breaths becoming more laboured. New bouts of coughing had him groaning in pain, his right hand moving up to fist into Sam's t-shirt, trying to push away. Sam just held him steady, knowing Dean was too weak to fight him off. His whole body was shaking violently, rounds and rounds of hacking, as the mist filled Dean's lungs, loosening the congestion. Sam moved his hand from its position on Dean's neck, instead, hitting him firmly between the shoulder blades.

"It's okay, just breathe ... keep breathing!"

He noticed, for the first time the dark bruises running along Dean's spine. His guilt intensified when he realised that he had made those marks. But he couldn't stop, Dean was choking up phlegm, spitting it into the water, Sam watching sickly as it mingled and sank to the bottom of the tub, the red specks still evident.

"You're okay ... doing great."

"Smm ... stp."

He couldn't breathe, he was gasping. He tried pushing himself up, but Sam held him in place, encouraging him to cough, to clear his lungs. Dean started shoving weakly at the arms supporting his weight, mouth opening but not making any sound. Sam was suddenly aware that he wasn't drawing in oxygen, realizing something was blocking his airway.

"DEAN? Come on, cough ... cough it up!"

Dean's panicked gaze locked with his brother's, mouth gulping, but he couldn't cough, couldn't breathe. Sam tried to pull him up, shaking him desperately, watching in terror as Dean's eyes started to roll back, slumping forward, unconscious, into Sam's arms.

Sam was frantic, hitting Dean with heavy blows now, trying to dislodge the phlegm that was asphyxiating his brother.

Nothing.

Oh god, he was gonna die, Dean was gonna die in his arms.

In desperation he pried Dean's jaw open, sticking his fingers into Dean's mouth, swabbing the back of his throat, trying to dislodge the obstruction blocking Dean's windpipe. He just prayed Dean didn't have a seizure; otherwise he'd probably lose those fingers.

"You don't get to die, Dean. I'm not going to let you die!"

He leaned Dean further over the tub, resorting to a Heimlich manoeuvre ... his own heart racing in alarm.

"Breathe, damnit!"

Still nothing. He quickly felt for a pulse, it was there, but getting weaker. Dean was suffocating. Tears were streaming down Sam's face as he continued the life saving procedure ... feelings he had held in check for months were starting to pour out of him.

"If you die, Dean, I don't know what will happen to me, what I'll become ... it scares me to even think about it."

He was pleading.

"So there isn't any alternative, you hear, it's me and you together in this thing."

He was begging.

"I need you to keep an eye on me. Just like Dad told you to."

He was praying.

"Please, Dean ... please ... if you can't save me, you're the one who needs to ... I don't want to become one of the things we hunt."

Another Heimlich thrust and suddenly an elongated globule of slime fell with a splash into the tub.

And then ... to Sam's eternal relief ... Dean inhaled. A shaky, shallow breath, followed by a popping sound as mucus bubbled at the back of his throat.

It quickly turned to heaving, Sam holding onto his brother in desperation, making small circles on Dean's back, his own muscles cramping in sympathy. He knew how much it was hurting, but he couldn't stop.

Dean was barely conscious, but at least he was breathing again; alive ... that was all that mattered for now.

His own pulse was racing, waiting for Dean's gasps to even out a bit, enjoying each shallow sound, before pulling him down to sit on the floor. He reached for a towel, wiping at Dean's mouth, wrapping his long arms protectively around his brother's torso, feeling Dean's weak but steady heartbeat beneath his hand. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but Dean seemed to be breathing easier.

"I'll take care of you."

He whispered the words close to Dean's ear, watching his brother's eyes trying to flutter open.

"It's my turn."

They sat like that for a few minutes, Sam not wanting to move yet, he was exhausted, Dean was too, but he knew he had to repeat this process, even though it was filling him with unimaginable dread.

He adjusted his hold, pulling his brother with him, supporting his upper body as they both hung partially over the edge of the bath. With one hand, he tugged the plug loose, watching sickly as the tainted water ran down the drain, before rinsing and refilling it. He battled with another dollop of Vicks, rubbing the residue left on his finger onto Dean's neck and chest as he waited for the steam to start wafting up. He held Dean in place, the wheezing returning in full force, confused whispers almost breaking Sam's resolve.

"Smmy ... nnn ..."

He ignored his brothers attempt to push away, movements filled with panic as he started hacking up more phlegm. But he had to do this, had no choice if he wanted Dean to survive the night. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes and he quickly swatted them away, resuming the rhythmic thumping to Dean's back with the base of his palm, adding to the mottled bruises.

"Nnnno ... plss ..."

Oh, god, his big brother was begging him to stop ... tear streaked face, red ... dark veins bulging in his neck ... choking ... gasping.

"plss ... Smm ..."

No ... he needed to remain focused ... be strong .... stronger than Dean.

"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ..."

As Sam zoned on his battle to keep his brother alive, a small feline figure sat by the door, it's piercing blue eyes evaluating his tireless efforts.

But Sam didn't see the cat watching him work, didn't see the way it cocked its head to the side, looking straight into his soul ... and he didn't hear the soft, approving purr echoing soundlessly in the room.

TBC