A/N: Sorry guys! This took a week longer than I thought. My sincere apologies. The next chapter will also be approx 2-3 weeks from now, as I kind of forgot... I actually have one more chapter to write. Oops. Chapter 7 & 8 are done, just got to work on chapter 6.

Dean trudged down the stairs into the basement a little while later, surprised but not, at finding his brother sitting on the cot in the panic room, the door left ajar. Taking a deep breath, Dean knocked on the iron door, catching Sam's eyes as they looked up at him. "Hey."

"Hey."

Dean took a tentative step into the room, noticing a few things had been removed: a shelf with all the books Bobby kept down there; various weapons had been pulled off the walls and taken out. It looked a lot like the last time they had locked Sam down here when he was going through his demon blood withdrawal. Hell, it was only two months ago Sam had spent nearly ten days down here, unconscious, after his soul was shoved back in by Death.

Honestly, Bobby's panic room got more use as a detox center and chain up than it did for what it was created for.

Sam was absently rubbing his ankle as Dean grabbed the lone chair in the room and dropped it in front of Sam. "How are you doing? And don't tell me 'okay'."

Sam snorted a little, still rubbing his ankle. "I think we both know I've had better days."

"Understatement."

When it seemed Sam wasn't going to say anything else, Dean tried again. "So, what? You thought coming down here was a good idea? Couch is more comfortable than Bobby's army surplus mattress that you're sitting on."

Sam just gave his brother a look, dropping his hand away from his foot. "I don't think me being upstairs is a good idea anymore."

Dean didn't necessarily disagree with his brother – but it pained him to see Sam here. When Sam was strung out on demon blood, it had been justifiable, even as Sam's screams and pleas gutted Dean's resolve. This time, it was through no fault of his own – just a hunt gone wrong. A hunt that literally came out of nowhere.

And yet, here Sam was, trying to be pragmatic about the situation and Dean was the one floundering. "Want me to bring you something down to eat, at least?" He offered, unsure what to do in this situation.

His brother shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm not really hungry, though. Thanks."

Dean grabbed Sam's hand just as he finished speaking. "Is that... blood?"

"What?" Pulling his hand back, Sam glanced at his fingers. The tips of three of them were bloodstained.

His brother was already out of his chair, hastily checking him over. "Where are you hurt?"

It took Sam a second to concentrate and then he was tugging his jeans leg up.

The top of his sock was wet with blood, even though it was hard to tell against the black color. Tugging his sock down further, Sam's thumb grazed the open wound on the inside of his ankle, blood trickling out of the wound.

Dean moved Sam's hand to the side so he could get a better look. "What the hell did you do, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, gently probing the wound. "Nothing. My ankles have been sore off and on all day, but I could say the same thing about most of my body at this point."

Sam palpated the bloody wound, feeling along its edges until he touched something firm and sharp. Wiping some of the blood away, Sam peered at the wound, pushing his brother's head out of the way so he could see.

Dean was impatiently waiting for Sam to either let him know what was going on, or move over so Dean could take a look. It took a few moments, watching Sam's fingers brush against the wound before his brother let his pant leg fall back, his brother sitting up straight and looking everywhere but at Dean.

"Oh."

Dean glanced up, noting the odd look that cross his brother's face as he stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. "What?"

Sam didn't know whether to laugh or cry at this point. "I know what it is."

His brother's face showed surprise. "You know what caused the wound?"

Sam took three tries before he found his voice, his eyes avoiding his brother as he spoke. "It's a dewclaw, Dean."

There was a heavy silence afterwards, Dean not quite comprehending what his brother just said. "I'm sorry – what?"

Sam squirmed under his brother's gaze, letting out a heavy sigh. "A dewclaw is seen in various animals – most commonly dogs and cats. It's like the equivalent of a thumb in humans."

Dean blinked, trying to process. "Okay... then why is it coming out of your ankle?"

Sam finally turned his gaze toward his brother, meeting anxious eyes. "Because sometimes animals have rear dewclaws as well."

Dean stood there, stunned. Not just because Sam, annoying geek child that he was, knew this information like it was common knowledge, but that he knew anatomically what was happening to his own body as he shifted into something... not human.

What was he supposed to say to make it better?

Sam rubbed the blood off his fingers on his jeans leg and lowered his head into his hands, rubbing his temples and trying to give himself some space to calm himself down. After a few moments, Sam dropped his hands away from his face. "Can you get me some water?"

Dean looked as miserable as Sam probably did. "Yeah. I'll be back in a minute."

Sam watched his brother turn away, quietly heading up the stairs. Dean's whole body was tight with tension.

He really didn't need the water. He needed a few moments alone to try and regroup.

Sam knew he had to come to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to get the cure in time. He knew it. Bobby knew it, and if Dean was being honest, he knew it too.

Time was running out.

It was a restless night for all the hunters.

To Dean, it felt like he'd only just laid down when the sunlight was creeping through the windows of the study. He had refused to use the spare bedroom upstairs, wanting to be closer to his brother in case he was needed. Bobby had given him a knowing look, and had retreated to his own room for the night just after midnight.

Glancing at his watch Dean groaned. It was just after seven in the morning. He had tossed and turned for hours until he fell asleep sometime around three.

Sighing, he scrubbed wearily at his face as he shucked the blanket back. Stretching his back as he stood, he slowly made his way to the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. He kept an ear out for any sound coming from down below but it was silent.

For a few moments, Dean allowed his mind to blank as he drank his coffee in relative peace, waiting on Sam's 'tea' to finish and bring it down to him.

Setting his mug down, Dean grabbed a clean one and filled it with the herbal concoction for Sam. Dean headed down the hallway and through the basement door, steps creaking as he descended.

Dean's earlier coffee bliss deteriorated as he pried open the door and walked into the panic room. He could tell just by a quick glance that Sam was beginning to change faster, even with the nasty smelling tea slowing him down.

His brother sat on the cot, one hand absently scratching at his neck, bleary eyes watching his brother. The skin on his face was stretched tight along cheekbones, the skin almost taking on a shiny appearance. His nails on both hands were all black now and appeared thicker and definitely sharper.

And did his ears look a little pointed?

Sam coughed, bringing Dean out of his mental assessment. "How you feeling this morning?" Dean asked, handing over the steaming mug over to Sam's outstretched hand, his fingers visibly swollen.

His brother just gave him a look.

Dean tried not to grimace. "Right. Stupid question."

Both boys glanced up as they heard footsteps at the top of the stairs. "You boys need anything?"

Dean caught Sam's shake of the head. "No, we're good."

The footsteps moved away, disappearing a few moments later.

Both boys sat for a while, Sam nursing his drink while Dean discussed what he'd done to the car yesterday – doing what he could to distract his brother and ignore the elephant in the room.

Dean thumped Sam on the leg. "Look – I think we could both use some air. Stay close to Bobby's, but get out of here for a little while."

Sam was already shaking his head. "Dean, it's fine for you to go, alright? I'm just gonna stay here. I think it's too risky right now."

His brother seemed to have other ideas.

Tugging on his arm, Dean hoisted his brother up. "Fine, you don't want to go outside? You can at least come upstairs for a little bit. We're all awake and alert, you'll be fine – and I'll beat you up and sit on you if you decide to check out on us again, okay?" He added, just as Sam opened his mouth to protest.

He could see Sam wanted to argue about it, but couldn't seem to find the words. "Alright then. Let's go see what Bobby will make us for breakfast. I'm starving." Dean gave him a little shove to get Sam moving, both of them heading to the door.

"You're always hungry."

Dean grinned. "What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're 32, not 16."

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Whatever. Still need to eat." Dean was through the door and halfway to the stairs when he noticed Sam had stopped following him. Frowning, he turned back towards the door. "Dude? What's the holdup?"

Sam's face had gone pale, his breathing a little labored. Dean felt his heart beat a little faster. "What's going on?"

"I -" Sam winced, the mug he'd been holding fell from his grasp and shattered on the floor as he wrapped an arm around his midsection.

"Sam?"

"Gah!" Sam dropped to his knees, forehead almost touching the floor as he rocked himself back and forth, trying to cope with the pain.

"Sammy!" Dean dropped down beside his brother, mindful of the broken shards around them, grasping a shoulder and trying to catch Sam's eye. "What's wrong? Talk to me!"

What little of his brother's face he could see was white with pain, the shoulder under his hand quivering. When he spoke it was breathless. "My...chest." Whatever else he was going to say was broken off with a guttural groan.

Screw this, Dean thought. Casting his gaze toward the open door, Dean bellowed for the older hunter. "Bobby! We need some help down here!" Turning back to his brother, Dean tried to get Sam to uncurl from the near fetal position he was in. "Sam, just breathe, okay? In and out."

Sam choked on a sob, tilting away from his brother and onto his side, feeling bits of glass crunch under his weight. The pain was blinding, unlike what he had experienced a few days ago. That was a paper-cut in comparison. He lay there on the floor, oblivious to his brother's panicked cajoling and just tried to survive.

Then he felt his ribs snap and expand in his chest and he started to scream.

Dean didn't know where he could touch that wouldn't hurt, hands ghosting up and down Sam's arm, unsure how to help. "It's okay Sammy, it's going to be okay. Just breathe, it'll be over soon." Dean was lying through his teeth – he had no idea what was happening and it was killing him that he couldn't do more for Sam.

Restless with pain, Sam had twisted onto his back. Dean's hand had just brushed against Sam's heaving chest when he heard, and felt, the first rib crack. Then another. "Damnit!"

Sam's groan turned into a scream.

Dean frantically pulled at his brother's shirt and tugged it up and watched, horrified, as Sam's rib cage shifted under his hand, breaking under his feather light touch and seemingly changing shape underneath the skin. Oh my God...

Bobby had just reached the door and stuck his head in. "What the hell is..." He paused, staring at both Sam's arched form on the floor and Dean's terrified eyes.

Dean tried to calm his brother over his screaming which was getting more hoarse with each rib that snapped. Turning anguished eyes toward the elder hunter he pleaded. "Bobby, do something!"

Bobby opened his mouth to snap back, thought better about it, and turned around back out the door.

The elder brother struggled to keep Sam from moving too much. His chest was misshapen now, more barrel chested than not, and Dean was barely keeping it together.

Sam took another rattling gasp between screams and Dean glimpsed elongated incisors. Damnit! Not now! I can't lose him now!

It felt like ages until Bobby reappeared, syringe in hand. "Hold him down, Dean." Bobby said solemnly.

Holding his brother was like trying to wrestle an alligator; his body was thrashing with mindless pain. He pinned his brother down by the shoulders, trying to still his wreathing form. "Hurry it up Bobby!"

Bobby helped to steady Sam's arm, both men wincing as the last scream was tinged with a growl that was decidedly not human. Finding a suitable vein, Bobby quickly swiped the area with alcohol before he eased the needle in, pushing the contents in as safely and as quickly as he could. "Done." He said, quickly pulling the needle out and tossing it far out of the way of the thrashing form before him.

Dean left a hand lying on Sam's shoulder as his brother twitched restlessly on the floor, waiting for the drug to kick in. It took a couple of minutes, the screaming dying down to heaving gasps of air as the medicine started to take hold, the red eyes glazing over as the pain eased.

Dean glanced across his brother to Bobby. "What did you give him?"

Bobby briefly caught his eyes before returning his attention to Sam. "Morphine."

Whether it was the tea, the morphine, a combination of both, Dean didn't care. All he knew was that the rapid transformation Sam had gone through had stopped, leaving all three men spent.

Dean idly brushed a stray tear away from Sam's cheek, taking in the lines of pain in is brother's face. Even with morphine, Sam was still feeling serious discomfort. "It's okay, Sam. You did good, man."

"We gonna move him to the bed?" Bobby asked quietly.

Dean studied Sam's face, seeing his eyelids begin to droop in exhaustion. "Yeah. Get his legs, will you?"

Together, both men carefully lifted the younger brother, both cringing at the gurgle of pain at the movement. Easing Sam onto the bed, the younger Winchester closed his eyes, too tired and in pain to keep track of the other two.

The two hunters stood just off to the side, watching the younger man sleep.

Dean's breath hitched. He could feel a swell of emotions bubbling to the surface: anger, fear, sadness, pain. All without an outlet. He turned to the older hunter. "Bobby..."

Bobby, thank God, seemed to understand. "Go, Dean. I've got watch. I'll ring you if anything changes." When Dean still hesitated, Bobby inclined his head toward the door. "Go."

With one more long look at his brother, Dean strode out the door.

Dean dropped the crowbar in the dirt, breathing heavily as he leaned both hands against the car whose windows he'd just destroyed.

It had been a few years now, since he'd last taken a weapon to a bunch of busted up vehicles. Last time, he didn't even spare the Impala from his wrath. This time, he was in a little more control, but only just.

Four vehicles had their windows smashed out. Two of them had a smattering of dents in their trunks and on the hood.

Feeling spent, Dean leaned his back against the car and slid down until he was sitting on the dirt, using his teeth to pull one of his gloves off and toss it beside him, resting one arm on a bent knee as he surveyed the damage.

He closed his eyes and just breathed in the cool Dakota air, hearing faint chirping coming from the trees just off the property. It was peaceful, soothing.

It was a lie.

His life right now was anything but peaceful. Sam screaming in pain, drugging him into blissful unconsciousness as his body continued to shift into a supernatural wolf hound.

God, his life was written like a bad horror flick.

Taking one more deep breath, Dean opened his eyes and tried to summon the energy to go back into the house and face his failures head on. And make no mistake – what was happening to Sam was all on Dean. He wasn't fast enough, smart enough, tough enough to protect Sam, his Sam, when he'd just got his brother back. And now he might lose him to something Dean can't protect him from.

Himself.

Dean slowly pushed himself up off the ground and made his way towards the house. Sam needed him – and that trumped everything else.

Sam's breathing was labored with pain.

His whole body ached and burned, his head heavy with fatigue. Sometimes the pain was sharp, making his breath hitch with the sudden jolt. The morphine dulled the pain, but couldn't block it out.

Turning his head to the side revealed his brother, sitting only a few feet away, lost in thought. He looked sick too, face drawn in a different kind of pain.

Sam wasn't sure how long he'd been down here since he'd collapsed – probably a couple of hours anyways. It was hard to keep track when he was in and out of consciousness.

He vaguely heard Bobby call from upstairs, felt a hand touch his shoulder in tacit apology before Dean was out of his meager range of view.

Dean was gone no more than a few minutes when Sam felt a strange tingling sensation in his back. The tingling changed into an sudden eruption of pain so sharp it stole his breath.

The scream was sub-vocal, even as he felt his vertebra protrude sharply outward under his skin, starting from the back of his neck down to his tailbone.

A few tears blazed down his cheeks, physical manifestations of pain that were beyond his control as his body continued to contort itself into a new, more monstrous form.

His swollen hands clamped down on the bed, feeling the material shred under sharp nails as he tried to ride out the pain despite the morphine in his system.

He felt more than heard his brother's return, as a gentle hand touched his forehead, a thumb wiping the tears away, the other hand resting on his shoulder. There was a sharp prick in his arm and the pain eased a minute later, allowing him to drift – not quite awake, but not asleep either.

"Easy Sammy. I gotcha. Gonna set up an IV for you, make sure you stay hydrated, okay?"

He wasn't sure if he nodded or not, but was sure Dean would understand anyways.

He was asleep again before Dean even got the needle in his arm.

He and Bobby took turns watching Sam throughout the day.

Bobby didn't comment on the smashed cars when he came back from outside, just told him to put the crowbar back where it belonged next time.

Dean almost smiled at that as he tossed the used IV supplies in the garbage.

Bobby made another phone call to Dr. Brown in the afternoon, getting a progress update on Sam's cure.

Dean tried not to get his hopes up, but still felt his stomach bottom out when Bobby hung up and shook his head. "They're going as fast as they can, Dean, but it's still probably 2 to 3 days away from being ready. We have to hold on until then."

Dean tried not to sound bitter. "Sam doesn't have that much time, Bobby."

The older hunter just looked at him sadly. "I know. I know that, Dean." He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It don't mean we just give up." Face grim, he waved off the elder brother. "I'll keep lookin'. You just keep an eye on your brother."

Dean glanced out the window at the fading sun and nodded absently. Right now, that's all he could do for Sam.

He didn't think if he faded out again he would be coming back.

Sam was sure he was nearing the end of his transition. His mind was catching every so often where he seemed to miss time, his body changing a little more, even as he fought and strained against it.

That cajoling pressure in his mind had changed to a roar, pulling, tugging on him to let go.

The pain would stop, wouldn't it? Then he could be free - to run, to hunt, to kill...

He shook his head sharply, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts, earning him a concerned glance from his brother.

Air inhaled into his lungs seem to echo in his head, his senses feeling overloaded. His mind started to waver again even as he railed against it.

He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Sam's sweaty head, catching his brother's eyes occasionally before they drifted away again.

Dean had been sitting at Sam's bedside for a few hours now, wanting to spend what time he could with his brother. There was nothing else he could do – but he could at least be there for Sam.

He glanced at the half empty IV bag sitting on a pole above their head, helping stave off dehydration as Sam was no longer coherent enough to drink.

The bloated chest hitched with each painful wheeze, which echoed in the room, Dean's eyes tightening with each one.

With every hour it seemed, Sam's body looked less and less human. His hands were so swollen Dean had no doubt Sam wouldn't be able to hold anything. The shirt he had on was stretched tight over a chest that earlier this morning had been human shaped. Now it protruded painfully, giving Sam an unnaturally cylindrical torso. Coupled with a dark greyish mottled skin color that was creeping up towards his face, Sam was certainly not looking remotely himself.

Dean blew out a tired breath, rubbing his face with one hand. It had to be close to midnight, although Dean didn't bother to check his watch to confirm. It had been a long day.

He sat there a while longer, lost in his own thoughts, until something caught his eye. Frowning, Dean cast a glance at his brother.

Something shifted in Sam's eyes, Dean was sure of it. Concerned, Dean leaned over his brother, palm on Sam's chest. He could feel the fine tremors all the way up his arm. "Sammy?"

Even as he watched, the eyes seemed to dull, the chest under his hand decompressing with the long drawn out exhale of air.

Dean felt dread chill him down to the bone. He shook his brother gently. "Sam?"

Sam let out a strangled gasp, head tossed back as his back arched, dislodging his brother's hand.

"Sam!"

Sam didn't or couldn't answer.

His body convulsed a few times on the bed, before a particularly hard tremor tipped him over the bed, the bed itself pulled over onto its side from Sam's seizing limbs. The pole with the fluids was knocked over by the bed, the IV torn from his hand .

Dean reached for his brother but suddenly felt arms tugging him back, pulling him away from Sam. "No! Let me go! Sam!"

"There's nothing you can do! We have to close the door!" Bobby yelled, straining to get Dean out of the room.

"Bobby, let me go! I gotta help him!" Dean struggled, distraught, seeing one of Sam's feet banging repeatedly against the floor.

Bobby shut his eyes for a moment, feeling pain for both brothers. "You can't help Sam now. We have to leave. Now Dean!"

The two hunters finally made it to the door, Bobby literally dragging Dean through and shutting the door behind them, locking it in place before opening the iron latch so they could see into the room.

They couldn't see much of Sam, as the bed was blocking much of their view, but they could see a portion of his legs and hear the thumping of limbs hitting the cement floor.

Dean strained to keep his eye on his brother, fighting to keep it together. "Sammy..."

The horrible gasping noises were more muted against the sound of bones breaking, Dean wincing with each one. One guttural groan was accompanied by the sound of a shirt ripping, his now disfigured feet pawing uselessly against the floor.

It wasn't long afterwards that the pants followed suit, ripping at the seams as muscle and bone reconfigured, dark fur covering what was once tan skin - his body no longer human.

It took only a few minutes, even though it felt like forever for Dean, when it was finally over.

Dean stared, transfixed, as the last vestiges of his brother disappeared behind claws and fur. "Sammy?"

The wolf that was once his brother finally appeared over the tipped over bed. The looming wolf shook itself from snout to tail, it's dark fur almost shimmering in the overhead lights.

Dean swallowed hard, face pressed against the door as he gazed through the iron bars into the panic room. "Sam?"

The wolf sniffed the air, sharp claws scraping against the floor, letting out a low growl as it turned its massive head toward the door.

Dean tried one last time, looking hard into scarlet eyes. "Sammy? Are you in there?"

The wolf stalked closer, teeth bared. A moment later Dean lurched back from the door as his brother slammed into the iron with such force, it seemed to rattle the entire panic room. His brother continued to attack, snarling and slashing at the door.

Dean slammed the iron flap closed, banging his fist in anger on the door a few times before he turned away, hands fisted in his hair. They were only a few days away from having a cure in hand, and now...

Dean wiped his eyes on his sleeve, gritting his teeth at the snarling and banging going on on the other side of the door behind him.

He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder and Dean glanced up at Bobby, whose face probably mirrored his own. "Bobby." Dean's throat was tight with emotion, struggling to keep it together.

Bobby's grip tightened. "I know kid, I know."

They both turned their heads toward the door as a long howl echoed throughout the panic room.

A/N: Hope this will tide you over until the next chapter!