Warning- This story is rated M, for erotic content. The story deals with an adult psychic vampire obsessed with a teenage Sam Winchester, and due to the erotic nature of her feedings on a young Sam we felt the need to warn you.

Co-written by Sendintheclowns

Every Breath You Take - Chapter 20

John pulled Sam from Dean's resisting arms and hoisted him high on his chest. He could hear each breath as it rattled around his boy's chest, each exhalation a sigh of pain. Sam's dark eyelashes brushed his pale, prominent cheekbones, his head bobbing against John's arm with each step.

I hope that she-bitch burns in hell. As soon as John's mind formed that thought, Sam moaned as if in response. In his heart John wished nothing but horrific things to befall the lovely, cold Heather but his main concern, nee only concern, right now was his baby boy.

Missouri's short form moved ahead and opened the door, ushering the three Winchester men inside. John swiftly carried Sam upstairs and as soon as Dean swept back the covers, he settled the damaged boy on the double bed.

Sam's eyelashes swept up in a lazy motion, unveiling unfocused hazel eyes. "Hey, Sam. It's okay. We've got you now."

John's words netted no response from the dazed boy and soon Dean was perched on the edge of the bed, speaking softly to his brother. The sight of the blond head hovering close to the brunette, trying to coax a response, caused a swell of emotion and John fled the room.

Missouri met him on the stairs. "Dr. Harrison can be here in twenty minutes. In the mean time he said to keep Sam calm and comfortable and we're not to give him anything to eat or drink."

Sinking back until his butt met stair, John blew out a breath and covered his face. Sam was back where he belonged but he wasn't okay, not physically and maybe not mentally. It was enough to send John's thoughts racing uncontrollably.

A soft touch to his shoulder startled him from his descent into despair. "John, he's a strong boy. Stronger than you know. Just have patience."

Missouri's words lent him strength and he pulled himself to his feet. He tried to work his lips into a smile to convey to the small woman before him, his friend, how much he appreciated her words and her help. But his mouth refused to conform to the desired shape and he composed his face back into passive lines. He couldn't afford to let Sam know how scared he was or to show anything to Dean other than strength; he was under no delusions that both boys were hurting right now.

As he ascended the staircase, John thought back to all of the responsibility he'd thrust onto Dean's shoulders as a young child. Dean never complained. In fact he seemed to thrive on Sam's adoration as Sam thrived on Dean's attention.

Sam had to be okay. Anything less would crush Dean as well.

John reentered the room to find Dean leaning against the headboard with Sam cushioned against his chest. Barely raising an eyebrow in question Dean responded defensively. "His breathing is easier when I hold him like this."

He didn't doubt that Sam's labored breathing was helped by the upright position but John didn't miss the way Dean glowed as he stroked a hand over Sam's lank hair.

Heavy footsteps trod up the stairs and John whirled in readiness. Focused on his boys, he hadn't heard anyone at the door. He'd let his guard down once before and he wasn't going to make that mistake again.

A tall, black, stately looking man entered the room with Missouri at his heels. "I'm Dr. Harrison. I hear you have a special patient for me."

Immediately the soft-spoken stranger moved toward Sam and John faded to the back of the room. He couldn't help his son at the moment so he was relying on this man. If Missouri didn't personally know him, John wouldn't trust him. As it was he intended to stay in the background but maintain a strict eye on every movement Dr. Harrison made.

Dr. Harrison thoroughly examined Sam with Dean's help. Dean stripped Sam of his clothing. Dean rolled Sam over so the doctor could look at his back and listen to his lungs. Dean stood guard over Sam like a junkyard dog protecting its domain.

The doctor turned to Missouri and asked her if she had a floor lamp or something similar that he could hang an IV bag on. She returned moments later with the most hideous floor lamp imaginable. It had frilly light pink lace on the shade and the pole was a gaudy hot pink. "You boys just hush. I'm certainly not going to listen to you about decorating style."

John laughed so hard tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Missouri's questionable tastes had provided everyone in the room with an outlet for their anxiety. Everyone but Sam who was leaning against pillows and Dean, eyes closed, face scrunched in pain.

Dr. Harrison expertly threaded a needle into Sam's right arm and two bags dangled from the makeshift IV pole. "Without an x-ray it's hard to make a definitive diagnosis but I've started young Sam on an antibiotic to deal with pneumonia. He's also severely dehydrated so that problem is being addressed as well. If Sam doesn't improve in the next twenty-four hours, I think we need to see about admitting him to the hospital which is what normally would have happened. I'm going to give you some privacy but I'll be downstairs if Sam needs me."

He tried to make appropriate noises of gratitude but John stumbled over his words. He was exhausted. This last month had been torturous as they searched for Sam, not knowing what was happening.

Missouri departed the room reluctantly, the doctor in tow. John's attention returned to the sick boy on the bed. Dean was now on his left side, arm propping Sam up, looking relaxed.

Sam reclined passively in Dean's arms but his eyes drifted open and closed at random intervals.

As relieved as John was to have his youngest back, he cringed at the thought of Sam's recovery. He had no doubts that the damage went deeper than dehydration and pneumonia. John hoped they were up to the task.

-0-

Sam could hear voices. His dad and Dean. Where was Heather?

I did it out of love, and I promise someday we will reunite, but I will wait until the time is right. Until then baby, take care. I love you.

The voice in Sam's head wouldn't leave him alone. He couldn't concentrate on what his family was saying, the voice was too loud.

Thrashing his head from side to side, Sam focused on turning off the voice. It slowly abated and he tried to relax but his body twinged with pain. Every breath made him flinch as his lungs dragged against resistance to pull in air. The back of his head throbbed in time to his breaths.

"Why won't he wake up?"

Dean was speaking. Sam struggled to raise his eyelids before turning his head weakly toward this new voice. He found himself staring into clear, green eyes. "It's about time you woke up. How are you feeling?"

Sam didn't know how to answer.

Dean's hand cradled Sam's cheek. "Sam, you with me?"

He was here with Dean but not really. His eyes slid shut and he disconnected from the world again, seeking a place that was free of pain.

-0-

It had been six hours since Sam had woken up and looked around before checking out again. At least that's how Dean thought of it. For a moment Dean had seen clarity in his brother's eyes but then the eyes had glazed over.

Dean was impatient to hear Sam speak. He had his little brother back and although he knew he was sick and hurting, it wasn't really like Sam had returned. His body was with them but his mind – it was elsewhere.

Dr. Harrison had been true to his word, checking on Sam every four hours. Although Sam hadn't declined further, he also wasn't better. The doctor counseled patience but that wasn't Dean's strong suit.

Propped against the headboard, Dean listened as Sam's breathing wheezed in and out. He knew it was easier to breathe in an upright position so he shuddered to think what Sam would sound like lying flat.

Dean's arm had fallen asleep an hour ago and he'd slid it out from around Sam's shoulders and adjusted his brother against the pillows. His brother's body tensed occasionally but he never fully surfaced.

For the umpteenth time, Dean touched Sam's face and tested for fever. So far the skin remained blessedly cool. Maybe too cool. A shiver rippled through Sam's body and he groaned.

Dean settled the covers more tightly around his brother. "It's okay, Sam. Just relax. We've got you."

Tension drained from Sam's body and he tilted toward Dean, leaning heavily against his side. "Dean."

Excitement thrummed through Dean. It was just like when Sam had spoken his first words some 14-plus years ago. "Yeah, Sammy, I'm here. Dad, too."

Sam burrowed further into Dean's shoulder and he tugged his brother closer. Dean wasn't much of a toucher –that was Sam – but if that's what his brother needed then he'd suck it up and hold him.

Of course if Dean's hand kept petting Sam's hair or holding his lax hand that was just because Sam needed it. The fact that Dean had been going out of his mind with worry for the last month had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Their dad perched on the other side of the bed and touched Sam's arm, careful of the IV. "Sam, son, how are you doing?"

Dean thought Sam was going to ignore the question but he dipped his head up, eyes bright, and opened his mouth. "I'm…"

A yawn overtook his sibling, halting the scratchy, soft answer. His eyes drifted shut but he completed his thought. "…here."

And didn't that say it all. Sam was here, with John and Dean. Where he belonged.

-0-

John still couldn't believe Sam was back. It had been four long days but his son was finally mobile, able to totter to the bathroom under his own steam. He was pale and quiet, a ghost of his former self. But he was alive and with his family.

Sam had always been a talker but that was no longer the case. John and Dean had to work to pull information out of the youngest Winchester – was he in pain, was he hungry.

And then there was Heather. The first time Sam had been able to stay awake for more than five minutes, he'd asked how they'd found him. When John had explained about Heather calling them with Sam's location, his baby boy had curled up on himself.

Dean and John had both started to assure Sam that they would find Heather and take care of her but Sam's response had mystified them; he'd rolled over and turned his back to them, refusing to speak.

John had expected something along the lines of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder but now he was beginning to wonder if there wasn't an element of Stockholm Syndrome. Did Sam feel some loyalty to the woman who kidnapped him?

Sam had always seemed more sensitive to him and John always felt like he said or did the wrong thing. He didn't know how to deal with the situation other than flat out asking Sam what he felt for Heather but that seemed like the wrong move, especially since Sam was so physically fragile.

So John sat back and watched as Dean clucked and smothered Sam with attention. Dean wouldn't appreciate it, but he was in his element. He'd always doted on his younger brother, had from the moment John placed a wriggling Sam in Dean's arms. And that was before the fire and before Mary's death. Since then Dean stepped into the maternal role, seeing to Sam's needs. Bullying, nurturing, pulling Sam along.

Dean had reverted to that behavior and Sam was compliant. He didn't argue or protest or complain. In fact Sam didn't speak unless spoken to and then he sometimes stopped in mid sentence. It was weighing heavily on John's mind and he could see it was scaring Dean as well.

Sam was the perfect little Stepford child and that wasn't Sam. So John had made arrangements to visit their friend, Jim, in Minnesota. Sam had always felt at home there, enjoying the rural way of life.

Missouri had done so much for the Winchesters, helping get Sam back and letting them take over her home, but John thought it was time to move along. Surprisingly, Missouri had taken it with good grace. Although it shouldn't have been a surprise; she'd probably known it was coming since the idea had formed in his head. She was a world class psychic and a wonderful friend.

Perching against the doorframe, John watched the tableau before him. Sam, fresh from a shower and clad in t-shirt and sweatpants, was sitting on the bed as Dean shammied a towel briskly through his brother's hair.

Sam looked up and a smile threatened to twitch across his lips. His eyes held resignation.

This was the first sign John had seen that his young son was actually present and accounted for.

Once Dean had finished his ministrations he handed a comb to Sam and ordered him to use it. Thin arms lifted and struggled to maneuver the plastic through the thick hair. But he complied, handing the comb back to Dean before flopping back onto the bed.

John cleared his voice. "Sam, if you think you're up to it, I was thinking we'd leave for Minnesota tomorrow. Jim's invited us to stay for a while."

This wasn't actually John's first choice; he wanted to leave Sam with Missouri and hunt down the psychic vampire who had hurt his young son so badly. And John could tell Dean itched to do the same thing although his oldest boy was torn between tending to Sam and the need to tear Heather's head off her scrawny neck. By tacit agreement, Sam's needs came first.

Dean turned a frown on him, arms crossed tightly across his chest, telegraphing his feelings on the subject. It was apparent to anyone who looked at Sam that he was just starting to recover from some illness; thin almost to the point of anorexic with muscles weak from disuse, the boy was a mess. But John didn't want to push him past his slim reserves, he wanted to take him to the one place he could heal.

Sam's reaction was more subtle. He pushed himself upright and the color washed from his face and then slowly seeped back. His face lost some of its stiffness. "Yeah, sounds good."

Dean's head swiveled back so fast it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash. A different expression settled across Dean's face; acceptance. If this is what Sam wanted, then Dean would make it happen. "I'll start packing then."

-0-

Missouri had doled out the requisite hugs and wished them a safe journey. Despite John's arguments, Dean insisted on keeping Sam with him in the Impala. He reasoned if Sam got tired it would be easy to stretch him out in the backseat and John had finally agreed.

Dean wasn't sure how long it would take before he didn't panicked when Sam was out of his sight but he knew he was nowhere near that point now. Sam's legs got shaky when he was moving around for a while and he was already showing signs of fatigue as Dean settled him into the passenger seat.

Tucking a blanket securely around Sam's slim form, Dean was taken aback when he lifted his head and found Sam staring intently at him. "Thanks."

Sam didn't say much and when he did, Dean felt unreasonably happy. And he didn't get why Sam was thanking him – after all it was his job to take care of little brother – but it had been unprompted and for that Dean was grateful. He sensed that by tiny increments, Sam was coming back to them.

Gunning the engine, Dean pealed out of Missouri's driveway. He didn't miss the fist she shook at him and his response was a quick wave. Sam stifled a laugh next to him.

Dean tousled Sam's hair before turning his attention to the drive. He turned the radio on low and snuck glances at Sam out of the corner of his eye. It didn't take long before Sam was relaxed in sleep, his head bobbing against the headrest when the Impala hit dips in the road.

-0-

Sam couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He was eager to get away from Kansas. And his memories.

A part of Sam was proud because his plan had worked; Heather had called his family when she realized he was sick. He knew his dad and Dean blamed Heather for his condition and Sam was reluctant to explain that he'd done it to himself. He wasn't sure they'd understand and he didn't want to be committed because they thought Sam was insane.

But there was another part of Sam who was confused. He knew he couldn't keep his feelings buried forever or they'd explode and leak all over the place but Sam couldn't think too much on what had happened with Heather or he feared he'd go crazy.

Sometimes his mind drifted of its own accord to the pleasant times he had with her. Meditating. Twister. And then there were the Chakras. He remembered some of the things Heather had done to him and he shivered; Sam had liked how he felt when Heather touched him.

Sam was ashamed. He knew his family wanted him to talk about his experiences but he couldn't. They'd never trust him if they knew how weak he was, what he'd let her to do him.

Sam, sweetheart, this is goodbye for now.

An involuntary twitch swept through Sam's body at the words echoing through his head.

Calloused fingers linked with Sam's left hand. Dean was comforting him. Dean who hadn't left his side since Heather had abandoned him.

Sam succumbed to the pull of sleep, anchored by Dean's touch. He was finally safe and secure.

Finis

gidgetgal9 A/N- Wow, this has been such a wonderful experience. Writing this story with sendintheclowns was such a joy! Our beta Floralia was such an awesome support and we couldn't have done it without her. Reading the reviews from all of you, definitely made this an awesome experience. I hate to see it end. I think Heather has caught her creators in her enthrall because we are definitely not done with her. It might be a bit before we have a sequel but there will be one. I'm trying to write a sequel to The Last Night and I have another story started, but I promise you haven't seen the last of Heather!

sendintheklowns A/N - Thanks to gidgetgal9 for coming up with the idea, expanding the plot, and letting me play in her sandbox. Oh, and making Sam a teenager in this story because that's what drew me in and I had a blast! Then there's our beta who agreed to take on this two-headed monster; apparently with the right beta, two different writers can alternate chapters and still have a cohesive story -- thanks Floralia! And the last person I'd like to mention is Faye Dartmouth who helps me to navigate writing and fandom and never fails to support me...even when I'm crazy. And if you're reading this chapter, thanks for gutting it out until the bitter end.