A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! Special thanks to Nana56 for reminding me of the story of what a brother's devotion can do. I'd like to remind TraSan she asked for a little schmoop.

De Miraculis Sui Temporis

Chapter Five

The TV stopped on some kind of cop show. Sam could hear the narrator talking about the "death defying crash" as he rested his head against Dean's shoulder. Sam had been trying to talk to his brother about what was happening. Not surprisingly, Dean wasn't listening.

"Nope," Dean said, Sam heard the desperation, the panic and fear in his brother's voice. Sam reached out, twisting his fingers into Dean's shirt, holding on, trying to offer some comfort to his brother. Dean wrapped his arm around Sam, pulling him close. Suddenly, completely against his will, Sam's hand relaxed.

"Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam felt him shift, he knew Dean was looking at him

Sorry, Dean, I can't hold on, it's too hard. I'm afraid, Dean. He took a breath to say it all, but what came out was a half sob and "Can't… Dean…"

"Hang on, Sammy. Please." Dean picked up Sam's hand and pressed it against his chest, Sam could feel the beat of his brother's heart under his hand.

"I'll…" Sam took a shuddering breath, "try."

"Please, Sammy," Dean said softly. Sam heard tears in his brother's voice.

"Yeah." I'll try, because I'm afraid of what you will do.

Dean's arms tightened and he rested his cheek against the top of Sam's head. "I'm here. I won't let you go." There was such calm assurance in that statement, the fear suddenly left Sam, the pain even got a little less. He felt his body relax against Dean. "Sammy?" Dean whispered.

"Here," Sam said. It was getting hard to talk with his tongue swelling. He could still breathe through his nose, but it was frightening, feeling his tongue growing larger each moment. "Is this a good show?" he asked, trying to distract Dean a little.

"What?"

"You stopped flipping, is the hunt over?"

"The hunt is never over, Sammy," Dean said with a choked laugh. "You want me to move so you can see?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said. Dean shifted around until Sam was propped on his brother's shoulder, Dean's arms still around him, but set so he could see the TV. "What's on?"

"Let's see." Dean started flipping through the channels. The hotel subscribed to expanded cable service and Dean had more than one hundred channels to go through before the round started again.

"Hey. Let's watch this," Sam said when Dean stopped for an instant on a documentary about "What the Romans Did for Us." Dean was silent for a count of three. Sam counted it off in his head, waiting for the expected response. He wasn't disappointed.

"Oh, no. No way in hell, Sammy," Dean said, flipping to the next channel.

Sam smiled. As long as Dean was denying him documentaries, he knew it was at least partially okay. That or Dean was in denial, but either way it made Sam feel better. Sam had heard Dean arguing with their father about John leaving. He listened to the angry exchange until his brother had finally given in. John had played the trump card, bringing up the year before when Sam had been lost, taken by a demonic force. The hunt saved me last time, dad killed it and I came back. He's hoping the same thing will work this time. I think he might be wrong.

John leaving didn't bother Sam nearly as much as it seemed to bother his brother. Dean was there, that was all that mattered in the long run. Sometimes, Sam thought of their father more like a grandfather or uncle. Someone who loved him, cared for him, but wasn't there all the time. The person who was there was Dean. It had always been that way, even before Sam knew what lurked in the dark, Dean was there driving away the horrors of the night. Sam knew they were closer than most brothers. We're even closer than the twins. But he didn't think Dean minded much. His brother had told him repeatedly over the last year—after those days when Sam had been gone—that he didn't mind having Sam around.

"What do you think about this?" Dean stopped on a show.

"Oh, no. No way in hell, Dean," Sam said, watching the opening credits of "Spinal Tap" scrolling over the screen.

"Fine," Dean huffed, then chuckled. "Check it out, Sammy, bad sci fi. Whatcha think?"

"What movie is this?" Sam asked, frowning at the TV. Dean was quiet for a minute, watching the movie.

"It's… I think it's 'Monster on Campus.' Oh, yeah, it is, there's the coelacanth."

"Coelacanth, Dean?"

"I know stuff, Sammy." Dean moved around, settling another pillow behind them. "This is a great film. Cavemen, giant dragonflies, all good."

"I doubt it's good," Sam said, suddenly coughing. When the attack passed, Dean wiped his face.

"You just don't know good when you see it."

"Sure," Sam said, leaning back against his brother. It was getting hard to talk, the effort taking everything. "Dean…"

"What do you need, Sam?" Dean asked. "You need another pill?"

"Can I have one?"

"Yeah, it's been long enough." Dean grabbed the pill bottle, dropped the bitter pill in Sam's mouth and held the cup so Sam could take a drink. Sam managed to get a look at his brother's face—Dean's eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Dean, I…"

"I won't let anything happen to you, Sam. I promised, remember?" Dean said firmly. A memory from the year before—Dean finding him, tears on Dean's face as he checked Sam for injuries, drifted into Sam's consciousness. "I've got you, Sammy. I've got you, I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe. I promise." It wasn't the first time he'd promised, Sam doubted it would be the last, but it always made him feel safe, wrapped up in a protective force that nothing could breach.

"I know," Sam said, leaning against Dean. "I remember."

XXX

The TV was droning in the background, the music indicating a major event in the storyline. Dean sighed. Sam was leaning against him, tiny tremors running through his body. Oh, god, Sammy. When he'd given his brother the pain pill, he'd gotten the chance to see just how swollen Sam's tongue was, Dean wasn't sure how his brother was managing to talk at all. But of course, that's one thing I can always count on, Sammy talking.

"What's happening?" Sam asked quietly, his words slurred.

"The mosquito sucked the coelacanth blood and it's infecting things with it."

"Thought you said this was good."

"It is good." Dean shook his head. "We need to work on your education."

"Yeah, right," Sam said. Dean felt his brother's muscles tensing. He picked Sam up and ran to the bathroom, getting the toilet open before Sam vomited. When Sam was finished, Dean pulled the bloody shirt off his brother and carried him back to bed. "Thanks, Dean."

"I need to get you another shirt." Dean propped pillows behind Sam so his brother could sit up a little.

"Dean?"

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean said, rummaging through Sam's clothes looking for something his brother could wear. He's growing so fast, nothing fits.

"Can I…" Sam stopped. Dean looked over at his brother.

"What?" Dean frowned, then smiled as he closed Sam's drawer and opened his own. "Oh." He pulled out his favorite sweatshirt. "This one?" Sam nodded and Dean helped his brother into the too-large shirt. He always wants it when he's sick. "Sorry, I should have thought of it sooner," he said, sitting down on the bed and sliding his hand behind Sam, pulling him against his shoulder so he was supported. Sam seemed to breathe a little easier.

"It's okay," Sam mumbled around his swollen tongue. "I'd've just barfed on it."

"Probably." Dean fidgeted, making sure Sam was as comfortable as possible. His brother sighed, Dean reached over and wrapped his other arm around Sam. "It's okay, Sammy. Hey, did I ever tell you…?"

"What?"

"Never chew a wart off your finger."

"You didn't?" Sam chuckled.

"And, you know what? They bleed. A lot. And leave a weird looking hole."

"You did. You actually did it, didn't you?"

"Maybe," Dean said, smiling.

"That's what the Band-Aid on your finger is. Isn't it?"

"Uh…"

"Ew, Dean. Gross." Sam sighed, relaxing. "Just gross."

"Sammy?"

"Sorry, it's getting hard to..." Sam stopped, but Dean heard the unspoken "hang on" in his brother's quiet statement.

"I'm here, Sam. Sleep if you need to, okay?" Dean said. Oh god, is this the end?

"No, I don…" Sam stopped.

"Sam?" He gave his brother a little shake.

"Don't want to." Sam took a breath. "It's getting hard to talk."

"Yeah." Dean swallowed the lump tightening his throat. "I know, I can hear it." Dean was silent for a minute. What do I do? How do I make this easier? "Did I ever tell you about that time I got separated from you and dad in the Olympic Rainforest?"

"No. You never said." Sam was a dead weight against him, even the small tremors were gone. "You were a bloody mess, too."

"I didn't even realize at first I was lost." Dean shrugged. "Okay, I wasn't lost. Something wanted me to get lost—separated from the two of you."

"What?' Sam mumbled, the word just a sound, but Dean understood.

"I didn't know what it was until…" Dean kept talking, when he finished that story, he started another, and another, always aware of Sam's mutter responses, always aware of how his brother was slowly cooling off, like he was already dead. "Monster on Campus" ended, "It Came From Outer Space" started, the night wore on. Sam had been quiet for more than an hour, not responding to questions. Dean lifted his brother's hand and stuck a fingernail in the palm. Sam's fingers curled a little in response to the pain. Dean took a breath and kept talking.

"No, please. I don't want to," Sam suddenly whispered around three in the morning.

"Sammy?" Dean snapped to wakefulness.

"No, I don't want to go. Please."

"You don't have to go anywhere. I won't let you go. If they want you, they have to come through me to get you." Dean tightened his grip on his brother. "You hear me? If you want him, come for me. I've got you, Sammy," Dean set, resting his cheek on the top of his brother's head. Dean sighed, then started talking again. Every once in awhile adding "I'm here, I've got you" to the story, letting Sam know he wasn't alone. Sometime, just before dawn, exhaustion caught up with him.

Light on his face woke Dean from an uneasy sleep. His neck was aching, his back had a knot in it the size of the Impala. He stayed still for a moment, letting the day form around him. He'd been dreaming, a vague nightmare, Sam screaming his name, being pulled away into the dark by a laughing voice. What the hell was that all about?

That thought brought it all crashing back—the illness, the werewolves, the demon. Sam. His brother's body lax and cool against his, the long night, Sam's cries. Oh, god, Sammy. Dean shifted, trying not to wake his brother when he realized it was a pillow resting against his shoulder. He opened his eyes.

Sam was gone.

Dean sat up, glancing around the room. "Sammy?" he said, panic blossoming in his chest as his heart began slamming against his ribs. "Sammy?" he called louder, getting off the bed. "Sam?" He heard the toilet flush, a moment later the bathroom door opened. "Sam?" Dean shouted.

"Don't yell, my head hurts," Sam said from the hall.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dean growled, his fear coming out as anger.

"I had to go, I didn't want to wake you." Sam smiled, swaying on his feet. Dean was across the room and into the hallway before Sam could fall. He pulled his brother against him, Sam's arms went around his neck.

"You should have," Dean whispered.

"You haven't slept much." Sam leaned into him. "Thank you."

"How do you feel?" Dean asked, not daring to hope.

"Better, Dean. It's gone. Something happened…"

"Dad must have killed the thing."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Can I have some coffee before dad gets back?"

"Sure," Dean said, swinging Sam up and carrying him into the kitchen.

"Do you think Rod would mind if we took another drive and went to see Ziggy?"

"No, I think it would be fine." Dean turned his back on Sam, fussing with the coffeepot, trying to hide the tears that were coursing down his cheeks. It's going to be okay. He's going to be okay. He scrubbed them off his face and turned around, smiling at his brother. Sam met his eyes with a knowing look. "Shut up, Sammy."

"Dean? Sammy?" John's voice came from the front door.

"In the kitchen, dad," Dean answered.

"Okay," John said, coming into the room. He froze. "Sammy?" he said softly before racing to his son and pulling him into his arms. Dean smiled at Bobby as the other hunter walked in. "You're okay!" It wasn't a question. John pulled away to look at Sam. "You're better!"

"Yeah, dad. Thanks to you and Bobby," Dean said, filling coffee cups for all of them. "Killing it was the answer."

John looked over Sam's head at Dean. "What?"

"Killing it. It saved Sammy."

"But Dean…" John began.

"What?" Dean looked from Bobby to his father.

"We never found it," Bobby said quietly. "Traces, but nothing else. We checked by the hospital, the other children all died at three this morning."

"They all died? At three?" Dean dropped into a chair. "If you didn't kill it… Why is Sam…?"

"I don't know," John said, setting Sam gently back in the chair.

Dean looked at his brother. Sam smiled at him—it was a secretive smile. Sam knew the answer even if no one else did. "What?"

"Hmm?" Sam sipped his coffee. "Nothing. When can we go see Ziggy?"

Ten Years Later

The car was silent, the silence had stretched for miles, for three long days. It simmered between them. Now and then, Dean would steal a glance at his brother. Sam would be staring out the window every time, jaw set, tense, anger in every line of his body. Dean sighed. It had been a bad hunt—made much worse by Sam's near fatal encounter with the thing. They managed to kill it, but Sam had been hit during the creatures death throws.

He'd almost lost Sam.

In those seconds of frantic CPR, in those long, long minutes Sam had hovered on the edge of consciousness Dean had thought he'd lose his mind. When Sam opened his eyes and made an off-handed crack, Dean lost it. Fear and guilt, as always, turned to anger and he'd vented it, then and there in the dark woods, rain pouring down on them. He'd shouted out fear and frustration and utter panic, trying to stop every word, but unable to once his mouth started going. Sam reacted to the anger—and it had been silent since then.

Dean had tried to apologize. He'd tried to explain. Surely, his brother knew it was just a reaction to nearly losing him. Again. How many times? How many close calls? It was all starting to wear on Dean. Of course, Sam's response would just set him off again.

"It's not your fault, Dean," Sam would say. "Not everything is your responsibility."

Dean would explode, Sam's calm could have that effect on him and then it would get silent, again. Miles now of nothing but silence. Dean was steaming, berating himself, hating himself. Sam nearly died. My fault. The fact the Sam took it so calmly, that he just accepted and moved on was driving Dean slowly insane. How can he do that? How can he…

"Pull over!" Sam's voice startled Dean.

"What?" Dean looked over at his brother.

"Pull over, Dean," Sam said, a smile lighting his face.

"What?" Dean asked again, glancing out the window. It can't be. Dean pulled into the fruit stand's parking lot. Sam was out the door before Dean could say anything. I can't believe it, I didn't realize… Dean put his head in his hands for a moment. The past suddenly there, right in front of him, the drives in the Lotus, the long night waiting for Sam to die in his arms. All of it. Suddenly there like a long healed wound opened afresh. I nearly lost him then, too. He got slowly out the car, walking into the stand. The stool was still by the cash register. Dean heard his brother's voice and bright laughter from the back of the stand. Dean walked past the fruit and out to the field behind the store.

Ziggy was joyfully whuffing into Sam's face, making soft murmuring sounds as he nibbled Sam's hair. Dean stopped and watched his brother. Sam's ability to grab happiness where he found it continually awed Dean.

"Nice to see you boys," the owner said, he was older, but Dean remembered the man's smile and his kindness all those year before. "Oh, customer. Take as long as you'd like." He walked back into the stand with another smile at Sam.

"He remembers me," Sam said, his hand on Ziggy's neck.

"You think?" Dean asked, stepping up to the fence.

"Maybe." Sam shrugged, the smile fading from his face.

"I didn't mean…" Dean began. My foot- in-mouth disease is acting up more these days. I wonder if I can get a shot for it? "Damn." He leaned against the rails, watching Sam pet the llama. Sam looked over at him, frowning. "I'm sorry, Sammy."

"For?" Sam's frown deepened. "You aren't going to start again?" he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Start? What?" Dean ground his teeth together. Don't yell, let it go. You just apologized, don't open your mouth.

"Dean…" Sam looked away across the field where he and Ziggy had played ten years before. His brother was silent. Dean glanced at Sam, a tear dropped down his brother's cheek. "You have to forgive yourself, Dean. It wasn't your fault, what happened in the forest. Besides…"

"What?" Dean instinctively moved closer to Sam. "Besides what?"

Sam shrugged. "I knew I'd be okay."

"Your heart wasn't beating, that's about as far from okay as you can get."

"I never told you what happened, did I?" Sam said, turning to him.

"What?"

"That night."

"Sam? I said I'm sorry, it doesn't mean I won't murder you in a minute."

"Right," Sam laughed. "I meant that night—with Fincelius, the night I should have died."

"I always thought you knew more that you were saying. Dad must have asked me a thousand times what protection I used to save you, what I did." Dean sighed. "I didn't do anything. I told him that."

"But you did," Sam said softly.

"No, Sam, I didn't. You know that. We didn't even know where to begin. Fincelius wasn't deterred by salt, holy water couldn't save the other children… Nothing."

"He came for me, you know." Sam's eyes searched Dean's face, looking for a reaction.

"What?" WHAT??

"He came for me that night, Dean. To take me."

"No."

"It's true. He was there. He tried to take me."

"No." Dean was shaking his head. It was that close? No.

"You saved me," Sam said simply. Tears were on his cheeks, sparkling in the sunlight. Ziggy rested his head on Sam's shoulder. "You, Dean."

"Sam?"

"He couldn't take me. You wouldn't let him. I was almost gone, he was pulling me away and you said I didn't have to go, that Fincelius had to go through you. I believed, Dean. Every time I thought I was slipping away, I'd hear your voice 'I'm here, I've got you'. And I knew."

"Knew what?" Dean said around the ache that was suddenly in his chest. Sam could occasionally say things that seemed so obvious to Sam, but could shake Dean's world apart.

"He couldn't take me. You were there, I was safe." Sam sighed. "Fincelius finally gave up. And he told me, Dean. You saved me. Your—don't gag on the word—love and my faith in you." Sam shifted so he was leaning against Dean. "It's still there. That faith, that trust. It's why I didn't worry the other day. I knew you were there." Sam smiled. "It's not you fault if something bad happens. You aren't responsible for everything, Dean, you can't always be there when something happens. But…"

"But what?"

"I…"

"Sammy? What?"

"It'll sound a little stupid."

"Like I haven't said anything stupid the last few days."

"Okay," Sam said. "I guess I always know you'll be there, somehow, in time to stand between me and whatever is there."

Dean leaned against Sam. Ziggy reached over to nip at his hair with prehensile lips. "I always will be," Dean said softly. "Always, Sammy." He looked out across the field at the golden light playing with specks of dust, making the air sparkle. Dean wiped the tears off his face.

"What?" Sam asked, Dean heard the smile in his brother's voice.

"That has got to be the chick flick moment of the century, Sammy. Should we bake cookies now?"

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Neither moved for a long time, the silence between them now comfortable and warm. They stood watching the sun slowly drop below the horizon, then turned as one and walked back to the Impala.

The End