Director's Cut- Last chapter (for realz)! Comes directly after my last chapter.

*~.~*

"...and anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders, for well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder. Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah..." Dean sung to his brother who had slept through the night and well through the morning. He used to sing it to him when he was a baby. Then one day Sam had found it annoying and frustrating and he wasn't a baby anymore so Dean needed to just stop it. So Dean used it to wake him up with, after that.

"How's his temperature, Dean?" John asked as he entered the room again with some lunch.

"It's good, Dad," Dean replied, glancing over at the Chinese food containers right as his stomach growled. "Come and eat, son," he said with a slight smirk at the sound.

"Soon as I can get Sammy to wake up," Dean told him and turned back to his brother. "Hey Jude, don't let me down." John smiled fondly at his son as he pulled the items out of the bag and set them on the table. "You have found her, now go and get her. Remember to let her into your heart-"

"Ugh..." Sam groaned. "De- stop it," he turned his face into the pillow and tried to pull the other half of it over his exposed ear.

But Dean was smiling because Sam was finally awake. "Rise and shine, Sammy," he told him. "Time for some grub, little bro. You slept through breakfast!"

"Dean," he heard a voice, familiar, yet he couldn't place the name in the moment. "Dean, come on, man. You gotta wake up." But Dean didn't want to open his eyes. He was comfortable and warm and screw whoever it was that was talking to him right now. "Dean, man, I need you here. I can't get Sam to wake up."

That did it.

Dean's eyes snapped open as the sudden realization of where they were, and the moments leading up to his last conscious thoughts, came flooding back to him in a rush of memories. "Sammy?" he pushed up to sit.

"He's okay," George assured. "He's warmed up now. Might've gotten himself a bit of pneumonia for his trouble, but he's alive. Lucky for you I was in earshot of that shot you took at the monster. Made the whole thing cave in on you. Good thing I brought help back with me."

"How long have we been back?" Dean asked as he spotted Sam and moved to get out of the bed to go to him.

"You both have been out a good twelve hours," he replied. "Need to get him up and get some fluids in him. Here," he handed Dean a bottle of water. "You too. We've got soup cooking, so try and get him up while you drink that in the meantime. Need help getting up?"

"I'm good," Dean said, pushing up to stand and wobbling only slightly. George stayed to make sure Dean got to the chair beside Sam's bed.

"I'm gonna go help out Aunt Fay. Be back in a bit."

Dean nodded in his general direction and searched his brother's face. His cheeks were red with near-frostbite. He could hear the rattling in his chest and knew George was probably right about the pneumonia.

"Sam," Dean instinctively reached out to put a hand on his forehead, feeling the temperature there and liking it a lot better than the last time he'd felt the kid's skin. "Sammy, c'mon. Time to wake up." Sam didn't so much as flinch. "Don't make me do it, Sam. I'll do it, I swear," he threatened. Still no response. "You asked for it..." Dean cleared his throat and began to sing as softly as he could, so no one but Sam heard him. He got a bit closer to him to do so. "Hey Jude, don't make it bad," he paused a moment to see if Sam would react. "Take a sad song and make it better... C'mon man," he begged. "Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better. Hey Jude, don't be afraid-"

"Mm-" Sam groaned as he fought his way out of the depths of sleep, and then was violent thrown into consciousness when his lungs decided to put up a massive fight.

"Hell," Dean moved to help Sam to sit up, patting his back firmly once he did. Sam subconsciously gripped Dean's arm that held across his chest as he tried to expel whatever seemed to really not want to be in his airway. Dean could sense his panic and tried to calm him. "You got this, Sammy. It's okay. You got this. Just sick is all. A little pneumonia. You just gotta get some of that crap outta ya is all. You'll be okay."

Sam tried to listen to what his brother was telling him. There was already pain shooting through his entire body from the events leading up to now. Last thing he could remember was the ground going out from under him. Then nothing. Whatever happened, though, it hurt like something close to Hell to cough.

Dean grew more concerned when Sam's coughing didn't seem to let up at all. The struggle threw Sam into a panic, arms flailing out to find purchase, legs swinging out and almost causing him to topple off of the bed. Dean pushed out of the chair and into the bed, pulling Sam flush up against his chest and held onto him around his back. "You're okay! You're okay, Sam, just breathe!"

*~.~*

"Sounds like you've got a sick one back there," a woman with wavy dark hair said as she sat at the bar with her coffee.

"Yes, poor dear," Aunt Fay replied as she fumbled around in the cabinets in search of something. "Gone and got himself pneumonia. Him and his brother were out trying to track down that...thing that's been causing all the insanity around here. Got themselves hurt and trapped. Lucky George found them when he did or-" when she looked over again, the woman was gone. "What in the world?"

*~.~*

"Guh...oh god it hurts..." Sam said, throat tight and every muscle clenched against the pain.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean replied, still holding onto him. "Should I get you to a hospital or something?" he asked fearfully, panicking and not knowing whether or not they'd be enough.

"You could," a voice came from the doorway, and Dean looked over at the unfamiliar face. "But there's a monster out there and you're probably the only ones who can kill it."

"Who are you?" Dean nearly scowled, cautiously.

"I'm...just an observer," she replied. "Maybe I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." She took a step forward.

"Stay where you are!" Dean shouted, and Sam turned his head to see why Dean sounded so tense. "I don't know you, and I don't know who you think we are-"

"You're the Winchesters," she shrugged.

"What're you a friend of George?"

"Know the guy, but we're not close or anything."

"Again I'll ask, who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Claire. I want the same things you do, Dean," she replied. "And I know that Sam is sick with more than just pneumonia."

"W-what?" Dean asked, eye twitching.

"I know about the trials," she told him. "Pneumonia on top of it, I don't think Sam would do very well recovering. Hospital would just put him at more risk."

"Yeah?" Dean tried to sound angry, but the fight was wearing out of him at her every word. "What the hell can you do about it then?"

"I can fix him up," she replied. "But there's a catch."

"Always is," Dean grunted and shook his head.

"You can't kill me. That's the catch," she said. "In exchange for helping your brother, you let me live."

"Why would we kill you?" Sam asked weakly.

"Because I'm a witch, and that's generally what you do with us."

"You're a witch?" Dean asked, brows raised. "Perfect. Yeah no thanks, lady. You can take your magic potions someplace else."

"Listen, kid," she replied, shaking her head. "I'm not here to dupe you into some kinda trap. There's no double-whammy spell added on to the healing part. I just wanna help your brother and also not get killed."

"And why would you possibly care about him?" Dean asked as Sam tried his hardest to hold back a whimper at his spasming insides as he hid his face in Dean's shoulder.

"Because you're the only idiots around dumb enough to try and kill this thing who might actually get the job done."

"How do you know about the trials?" Dean asked.

"I told you. I'm an observer. Now...you wanna sit there and ask me questions and hold your brother until he dies? Or you want me to help him?"

Dean was hesitant. He wasn't one to trust so easily, especially when it came to matter of Sam. But feeling him shaking in his arms had him considering it. "Sam?" he said, turning his head a bit more toward him. "This is your call, man." But Sam didn't respond. It's when Dean realized his grip had gone slack. "Sammy?" he pulled Sam's head away so he could look at him. Sam's face had lost its color, and his breath was just barely wheezing in and out rapidly. "Sam!"

"You need to let me help him!" Claire said as she came closer. "You've got no idea how bad it is." Dean looked back and forth between her and Sam, hesitance reigning him. "Come on, man! Make a decision!"

"I swear to God if you hurt him I will end you so slowly and painfully-"

"Yeah yeah, make a hole, short bus," she said, approaching the bed as she pulled something from her jacket. Dean stood, not leaving eye-shot of his brother as the witch laid him down and poured something into his mouth. "That's it, just let it down," she told Sam. "Get a bucket," she said without looking away from him. "Dean!"

"Bucket..." Dean looked around the room. Closest thing to it he could find was an antique washtub Aunt Fay had on the dresser as a decoration. He grabbed it and handed it over. "What's it for?" he asked, but then Sam lurched up and immediately because hacking up a lung again, and Claire held the bucket in front of him as whatever crap she'd just given him came back up, and stuff just kept on coming up with it. It wasn't vomiting, Dean realized. Sam wasn't throwing stuff up from his stomach. This was coming from his lungs, and the realization had Dean fighting the urge to puke, himself.

"That's it, Sam," Claire said. "Get it all up, and you'll be right as rain. Well, maybe a cold, but there's no cure for that, now is there?" she smirked.

Dean watched as the flow became less intense, until Sam was just coughing dry, and then flopped back onto the bed unconscious. Dean hurried over. "Sammy?" he put a hand on his forehead as he knelt beside the bed.

"Relax. He'll be okay," Claire told him. "He's worn out. Let him sleep a few, then feed him," she said as she set the bin on the dresser. "Hopefully won't see ya later, Dean Winchester," she said as she headed for the door.

"Wait, that's it?" Dean asked, looking to her with a raised brow.

"What, you want me to make you some chamomile tea, precious?" she quirked a brow. "I did all you needed me for. Now I trust you'll keep your end. I'll get out of your hair so you can take care of him."

Dean seemed confused for a moment. "Uh...thanks," he told her, and watched her give a small smile before turning to head out again.

"Oh," she turned back for a moment. "By the way, what you boys are trying to do—it's very noble. There's a lot of bad out there, and the less the better. So what you're doing...it's great. But...keep in mind, things like that? Things like that come with a price not everyone is willing to pay."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means...Sam might be willing. But are you? When you figure it all out, when you get to the finish line, will you be willing to give up all your chips? And uh...that's not a question you need to answer to me with. I just...I see how much you love your brother. I had that once. If I could have it back... Hell, Dean, there's just some things in this world that you would trade everything to have. Even if it meant that the rest of it would be shit." She looked sad, Dean thought. Almost as if she might start to cry, and damned if he didn't feel sorry for whatever the hell it was she was saying to him. "Take care, Dean."

"Uh...yeah. You too." And she left.

Dean looked down at Sam as he sat on the edge of the bed beside him. He brushed his hair back out of his face as he appraised him, noticing his color was back and he was breathing okay now. Whatever Claire had said, he was sure had something to do with the trials, but he couldn't even let himself think about that right now. He was already pissed that Sam was the one doing them. That was supposed to be Dean's job, but he couldn't do anything about that now. He'd ride it out with Sam, just like he always did. And he would make damn sure nothing happened to his brother, no matter what fate might have lined up for him...

~End.

Prompt: Dean finally wakes Sammy up by singing to him or sings to him later on?

Prompt: How about a supernatural entity being good for a change and helping the boys? Could be anything, and help them in any way, that's up to you!

Prompt: Now, what to do to Sammy...maybe some pneumonia. The worse the better in my book