If you walk out on me

I'm walking after you

-Walking After You, Foo Fighters

A/N: I have this song incredibly associated with The Host, but for some reason that part just popped into my head when I started writing this. So, title. lol

I know I need to write the next chapter of To Reign In Hell desperately, and I want to, really I do, I've started it and everything…but it's just not cooperating with me at the moment. I'm finding I just can't get in Dean's head and write him properly when I'm so pissed off at him, so I just haven't been able to connect with that one lately. *sigh* Also, unlike most of the Dean/Cas shippers I don't approve of Dean giving Cas the amulet. At all. So that little tidbit has made me a tiny bit ticked at Cas as well(even if that's irrational. And I know it is.). So…there will likely be more very very soon. But I need to be in the right frame of mind to do it.

Until then, apparently I am able to write Sam and Dean. So that's what I'm going to do.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

It was 3:30 in the morning when the phone rang. Sam threw his arm out to yank it off the nightstand, his heart pounding in his throat until he pulled the phone even with his line of sight.

Bobby Cell

He swallowed, felt his heart settle in his stomach. He hesitated, made sure he wouldn't sound disappointed before he answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Sam." There was a frantic edge to his voice, and Sam sat up, his hand tightening on the phone.

"Bobby? What's wrong?"

"It's your brother." Sam slung his legs over the bed and switched on the light in one move, his heart hammering against his ribs. No. no no no no no no…. "He's bad, Sam. I don't know what happened, but something…something fucked him up real good. He's hurt, but that's not the worst of it."

"The worst of it?" An empty echo, it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"He's…he's out of it. Every time he wakes up he's not really waking up; he thinks he's seeing Alistair or some other damn demon. Whatever did this to him…damned near as I can tell, he thinks he's back in hell. Not that he's conscious much to think anything. And the wounds…he was bad when I found him, but there's new ones showing up all the time like…like some of what's happening in his mind is showin' up on his body. I don't know, Sam. I've never seen anything like it."

He was on his feet then, snapping out of the numb shock he'd been in since Bobby'd mentioned Dean. He shoved his arm into his bag, jerked out his jeans and started pulling them on, balancing the phone against his shoulder. "Do you know what he was hunting? Was it a demon, something to do with the apocalypse?"

"No. I mean, I don't know what, but no, it wasn't the apocalypse. He'd talked to me before he left, just for a minute though. Said Cas hadn't caught wind of any new major demonic activity and he hadn't either. He thought he was onto a regular job, though, and he was takin' it. Springfield, Illinois." Bobby stopped, cleared his throat. "He's been keeping me up to date on where he is, his hotel rooms and all of that since he's…"

Since he's alone. Sam swallowed back the fresh wave of emotion that came with that, regret and self hatred and pain, all of it strong enough to make him sick. "And?"

"And he hadn't called in three days. I was gettin' really worried, so I tried calling him and I just got his voicemail, three times. That was enough for me; I called Cas and told him to get me out here. Found him passed out and bleeding on the floor in his room. Cas got us back to my place but he couldn't stay. I called you soon as I cleaned up the worst of this but…"

"I'm on my way."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It had been a month now they'd been apart. He could've given the time down the minute, honestly. It had all hurt just as much as he'd known it would, from the second he'd climbed in that truck to now. He'd been doing just what he'd said, working on getting himself straightened out. Except that without Dean…without Dean, he didn't feel enough like himself to be sure it was doing any real good. He'd resisted calling him every single day, kept telling himself Dean just needed time. At least, that was what he'd hoped. And it was part of what kept him from calling.

The other part…if Dean did want him gone, he didn't want to hurt his brother any more by pushing. If Dean wanted him to let him go, then he loved him enough to do it. God knows Dean had never really asked him for much. If this was what Dean wanted, then he'd told himself he could do it.

1 month, and he was still telling himself he could do it. He wasn't at all sure how long he'd make it before he was begging Dean to let him come back, but for now…for now he'd been holding out. Until now. Until he got that call, he'd been able to tell himself he was doing what was best for Dean by staying away from him but this…

He gripped the steering wheel tight, pushed the stolen car harder and hoped to God a cop didn't try to pull him over. He wasn't stopping. He could see it in his head, how it could've been. Dean all alone in a hotel room, maybe cleaning his guns or falling asleep with the TV on. He was good but he wasn't perfect, and he couldn't watch his own back. It could've come from behind, maybe gotten in through the window while he was taking a shower if he hadn't put his salt line down yet. It didn't matter that he didn't know what 'it' was, the rest of the details were already shaping themselves. It had jumped Dean, and if he'd been there, he could've seen it coming. He could've warned him, could've shot first, and maybe it would've been hard but they'd have wasted it and come out of it exhausted and Dean would be bitching about something stupid like getting blood on a clean shirt or just cause he was hungry and wanted take out. He'd have bitched right back, but he'd have pulled on clean clothes and stitched up Dean's cuts and driven out to get Dean something with red meat and as many calories as possible. More bad TV later, they'd have passed out and everything would be fine.

It hurt to imagine it, but he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. It kept playing on a loop in his head, a whisper of a reason that he should've stayed, even if Dean didn't want to him. Thinking about it in terms of Dean's safety made the thought seem just a little less selfish, but the root of it was still the same. Selfish, just like Dean had told him he was so many times before. If being selfish would've kept Dean safe, he wasn't sure he cared.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was more than a day's drive from where he'd been in California to Sioux Falls, but he only stopped once. He snatched a couple hours sleep on the side of the road somewhere in Wyoming, but he woke jittery and less rested than he had been when he'd stopped, images of Dean bleeding alone on a motel floor flashing behind his eyes. He got to Bobby's around 9 in the morning, hopped up on caffeine enough that his hands shook a little when he got out of the car. At least, he was pretty sure that had to be what it was. Bobby was at the screen door as soon as he got out of the car, wheeling right up to it to push it open.

"Sam. Good to see you, boy."

He slung his bag over his shoulder, jogged up to the porch to take the door from Bobby and slip past him. "How is he? Do you know what-"

"Slow down just a minute, Sam. Hold it, alright?" He reached out, grabbed his jacket and stopped him when Sam tried to go on to the guest room anyway. "Listen I…" Resigned, he dropped his bag and looked away from the doorway, met Bobby's eyes. There was apprehension there, pain and sympathy and something else that scared him, that he didn't want to name.

"He's really out of it, Sam. I mean, he doesn't recognize a damn thing. It's like he's been thrown back in his head to the time he was in Hell and that's all he's seein'. He really believes he's still there."

"Then let me-"

"Sam, dammit boy, wait!"

Frustrated, he threw his arms up. "What, Bobby? Look, what else worse is there that you can tell me? I know it's bad, alright? I just…" He took a deep breath, softened his voice. "I need to see him."

"I know you do, I'm wanting to make sure you know what to expect, that's all." He shook his head, looked down at the floor. "If I wasn't in this damn chair and I coulda taken care of him myself, I wouldn't have called you."

He jerked back like he'd been slapped. Worse than that. It sounded all too familiar, and he felt his stomach clench. When this is over, you lose my number.

"Sam, no! No, it's not…it's not like that." He looked up, let Sam see the honesty in his eyes before they dropped again, his head shaking once. "It's just…I'd have spared you this, if I could. Just…just remember the things he's saying…he doesn't know where he is."

Sam swallowed, blinked back sudden tears. "I think I can handle it." He wanted to say that at this point, there was nothing Dean could say to him that would hurt more than Dean letting him go. Still, he could be wrong. They were Winchesters after all, and for them he'd found that nothing was ever as bad as it could get. There was always another level of low to reach. "What's he…" He couldn't finish. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, and he knew he'd be finding out soon enough anyway.

"…you'll see. Just…he's in there. Guest room. He was sleeping when I heard you drive up."

He was down the hall in instant, pulse tripping unsteady the closer he got to the door. He hesitated, lay his hand flat against the wood to calm his nerves before he pushed it open. Dean was laid out on the bed, the sheets around him stained with blood. Bobby'd bandaged most of it but some were fresh and some were just soaking through, and Sam shuddered before he could move. He looked like he had after the hellhounds had chewed on him. Worse, really.

"Dean." It slipped out on a gasp, and he was at his brother's side in an instant, grabbing whatever he was reasonably sure wouldn't hurt. "Oh God, Dean…"

He didn't stir, and he would've looked peaceful but for the uneasy rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes flickered beyond his eyelids. He wasn't resting. Not really. Sam sank down on the edge of the bed, pressed one hand against a cut at Dean's temple that was oozing blood.

"I've been trying to keep up, bandage what I can. New ones show up all the time though, and it seems some of the old ones are healing, every now and then. Makin' room from the new, I guess."

"Are they-"

Dean jolted awake like he'd been shocked, gasping for breath, his eyes popping open wide. "Sammy!"

"Dean? Dean, I'm here, it's-"

He screamed, his whole body arching under invisible pressure. "God, Sam, please!"

He could feel the tears burning at his eyes, terror scrabbling at him from the inside out as he ran a hand down Dean's chest to yank his shirt up, watched with horror at the blood that started to pour from slowly materializing slices along his ribs.

"God, Dean, ok, it's ok, here…" Frantic, he snatched at the sheets, pressed a clean section to the wounds, made difficult by the way Dean writhed in pain against the touch.

"Sammy, please, please…don't let him-"

"Dean, I won't, I swear, I'll stop it, I'll…" His throat closed up, choking on helpless fury and horror and the ache in his chest that came from seeing the tears that leaked from his big brother's eyes as he screamed in pain. A strangled sob wrenched from his chest and he dipped forward, gripped the side of his neck. "Dean, I'm here, ok? Listen to me, it's not real, alright? It's not real. You're back home, we're at Bobby's. It's over, ok? Dean, I'm right here, look at me, please."

He was close, could feel Dean's frantic panting against his skin and he tried to make Dean look at him, watched for any sign of recognition in sharp green eyes that were practically bleeding terror. For a moment, he could've sworn it worked. His breath hitched, almost evened for the span of a second. His eyes seemed to flicker over Sam's face, and he hoped. But before he could open his mouth to speak, any hint of recognition was gone.

"I'll kill you you son of a bitch, I swear to God! I told you…" He jerked up, stronger than Sam would've ever imagined he'd be under the circumstances, and Sam didn't even try to stop him as Dean's hand closed vise tight around his throat. "I told you I'm not gonna fall for this, you understand? You can look like him all you want but I fucking told you, I know, alright? I know."

It was taking a toll on him, pushing so much energy out and it wouldn't last. It didn't matter, Sam didn't have the strength to push him away. He was pretty sure Bobby was yelling something at him in the background, but that didn't matter either. He was honed in on Dean's words with morbid fascination.

"You won't ever have him, you understand? Not ever. No matter what you do, Alistair, no matter how you look…I know my brother, you psychotic bastard. You're not him. You're not…" His hand weakened then and he jerked, hissed in pain as his wrist blossomed with blood. He muttered something else Sam couldn't hear before his body went limp, and it was all Sam could do to catch him just enough to ease his fall back onto the bed.

He was frozen, and he was dimly aware of the fact that his breath sounded raspy, his throat burning a little with the feeling of dull bruises he was sure would be more apparent later. He twitched when he felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder, relaxed when he kept it there.

Bobby cleared his throat, his voice still thick when he spoke. "See what I mean?"

He nodded, took a deep breath and refused to look up. "Is it always that bad, when he wakes up?"

"Like that? No. Sometime's its worse. But he saw you for just a minute there, had to have. Even if he didn't see you in the right surroundings, he saw you. That's something. He hasn't acknowledged me at all. Or Cas, when he was here. He just…"

Sam swallowed, slid his hand down to press against Dean's still bleeding side. "What, Bobby?"

"He's either talking to them about stuff I wish to God I hadn't heard, or he's screaming for you. That's…that's everything, so far. So just then, he was a little more coherent."

"Yeah, and it obviously helped so much."

"Hey, it was more than I expected. Not that you shouldn't try, but I don't think talking to him's gonna snap him out of this one. It's not like a coma it's deeper, more invasive."

He nodded, shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Internal illusion. We've seen it before but never anything this severe. Have you-"

"Been researching what I can, whenever he's asleep. Nothing yet."

He let out a long sigh, finally looked over at Bobby. "Keep looking. I'm gonna try to get him cleaned up a little, bandage the worst of this…maybe get some pain pills in him if I can. Have you tried?"

Bobby's jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the arm rest. "If I could wrestle him, I would've tried but this-"

"Hey, Bobby, it's-"

"it's not ok, Sam! Would all of you just quit telling me it's ok? Cause honestly, there's not a damn thing about any of this that's anywhere near 'ok'!"

He looked down, chastised. "Sorry, Bobby."

"Nah, I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry." He clenched his eyes shut against the warmth that came with Bobby's familiar hand on the back of his neck, soothing in the way only Bobby or Dad ever had been. A fact that only served to remind him that it helped, but it was nowhere near as reassuring as his brother's touch. He swallowed, tightened the pressure of his hand against Dean's side. "Listen, Sam, he…that's what torture does to a person. You…you ask for someone familiar, the person you want most, they-"

"Bobby, I know, I've seen it. I've done it." And he was trying to be that clinical, to tell himself it was natural reaction just like Bobby was obviously trying to tell him it was. But honestly, none of that mattered. Dean had needed him down there, and he'd been up here fucking Ruby and drinking demon blood, and though he'd always known that on some level he knew it now, and he could hardly fight the urge to scream until he lost his voice. Or find a way to go back in time and beat the ever living shit out of himself.

"He knew you couldn't hear him, Sam. He would never have blamed you for not saving him. It wasn't possible. You know that, don't you?"

"Sure." He looked away, coughed. "Think I'm gonna work on these fresh ones on his side first. Stuff over on the dresser?"

Bobby hesitated, and he could feel his nerves fraying in the silence. Don't. I can't talk about this now, Bobby,shit, please, I can't… "Yeah. On the dresser."

When he heard the wheels move into the hallway he sighed, his shoulders sagging a little with relief. Now, he had no front to keep up for anybody. He struggled to draw a steady breath, brought a hand down to wipe a thin line of blood from Dean's cheek. "I'm sorry, Dean." The whisper felt heavy, so weighted and yet still so very not enough. "I'm so sorry."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

By the time night came, Dean had woken up a dozen more times. Every one had been almost the same, really. None as bad as the first so far, but that wasn't saying much. He could hear the screams ringing in his ears in the silence now, the way Dean's voice wrapped around his name like it was the only hope for safety. The way he'd whispered it, almost whimpering as he passed out the last time, an hour ago. Like a prayer. The way people asked for God.

He sat on the bed beside him, his knees drawn up and his head resting in his hands. Not even 24 hours. Who knew how long this was supposed to take to kill Dean(if it ever was. More likely, he'd be left in a state of constant torment.), but he knew for certain that if they didn't find a cure soon, it would definitely kill him. Beyond all doubt.

He'd gotten used to it now, and when he felt Dean's body jerk his jumped almost in unison, his hands snapping down to pin Dean's wrists to the bed. Last time, he'd flailed around trying to reach God only knew what and busted his arm pretty bad on the corner of the end table. He was being hurt enough by things Sam couldn't contol; he wasn't about to let him be hurt by things he could.

"Not this, ok? Put me back on the rack, I can't…I can't…" The words slipped out quick, quieter than usual, almost panicked.

"Dean, Dean, it's alright, ok? Dean, listen to me, I'm right here. It's really me ok? I've got you, we're gonna figure this out, but you gotta hear me, man. You gotta snap out of it." Even if it was useless, he couldn't help it. He tried to talk to him every time.

He cried out in pain, struggled, and Sam looked down in horror as dark bruises spread under the skin where his hands circled around Dean's wrists. He jerked his hands back like he'd been scalded, his breath catching in his chest. "Dean…Dean, no, it's not me, ok? It's not…please, Dean, just listen…"

He made a soft strangled noise, something too close to a broken whimper. "Don't, ok? Just…look, put me back on the rack, ok? That's more fun for you, right? You like that better anyway, you sick son of a bitch."

Sam swallowed, stubbornly blacked out his mind and tried not to think of what he was talking about.

"I'm not torturing them. No matter what you do. I'm just sayin' don't do this. Waste of your time." He was trying to sound strong now, and God same knew that tone like the back of his hand. Dean was panicked, terrified, and Sam could feel fresh rage surging through his veins.

"Dean…I won't…" He could hardly get two words out. It was a miracle, really, he could still manage anything at all.

He yelped, a mix of pain and fear, and his body curled up as best he could in the center of the bed. As suddenly as it had started, he was out again. Sam rolled him over gently, eased his head back onto the pillow. His neck was lined in bruises, small, almost matching the dark purple of his wrists, and Sam felt sick with everything he'd already known and never wanted confirmed. He tugged the blanket up around Dean's shoulders, stumbled to the bathroom and heaved unsuccessfully until he rested on one shaking arm, collapsed on the floor.

He didn't move at the sound of wheels on the linoleum, not until Bobby shoved a cold washcloth into his limp fingers. "Here. It helps."

A laugh bubbled up in his chest, soft and slightly hysterical. "Does it?"

He heard Bobby sigh, heard the wheels inch just a little closer. "Sam? What'd he say?"

He squeezed the cloth until water ran in thin lines down his hand, the cold startling when it trickled down the inside of his arm. It helped distract him, calm his stomach when it tried to lurch again. "Alistair. I want to tear him apart, Bobby. He died too easy."

"Didn't you kill him? You and your…" He stopped, and Sam could tell Bobby was thinking he shouldn't have mentioned it.

"I did. But I shouldn't have. Should've used to Colt. But that…that's not what I'm talking about." He squeezed his hand harder, his nails digging into the fabric enough to hurt. "The things he did to Dean…I should've made him suffer. I should've-"

"Sam, you didn't know."

"Didn't I?" His voice rose, lashing out hard into the space between them. He looked up, steady. "He was in hell, Bobby! I wanted him to talk to me about it but he wouldn't much, and I let it go. I let it go cause I didn't want to know, I didn't want to hear everything that had happened to him because of me. Christ, if I hadn't been so busy trying not to think about the things that happened to him there and actually given some thought to it all, I would've realized no matter how he was acting with me, he sure as hell wasn't ok!" He took a deep breath, let his head fall back against the wall hard. "I guess…I just wanted to believe he was ok."

They fell silent, and Sam could hear the grandfather clock downstairs telling him it was 11 o'clock. Bobby coughed, and the wheels squealed as he backed up. "I need you to come get down a section of books for me."

Sam nodded, weary. "Yeah. Alright."

"You wanna help me do some research? Your eyes are-"

"No, Bobby. I would but…" He took a deep breath, felt the sharp throbbing ache already pulling him back to Dean's side. "I can't leave him. Not like this. I have to be there." He stood up, his legs a little unsteady until he caught himself against the wall. "I have to keep talkin' to him."

"Even if-"

"It doesn't matter, alright? I can't…I can't read right now, Bobby, I can't focus. I just…I need to be with him. I need to see him through this."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Around 4 AM, it got bad. He had already been awake, unable to sleep, but even expecting it Dean screamed loud enough to shock him. He was ready to check him over, find whatever wound was opening up and try to help but it didn't take long to find. His throat slashed open, sudden and sharp and Sam could hear himself screaming for Bobby, watching helplessly as Dean choked on his own blood, drowned in it as it flowed down to soak the sheets.

Then, it was gone. Healed over, not even a scab or a scar to show for it, and he was knocked out again. If not for the still warm pool of blood, Sam would have thought it was all an illusion.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby was shocked, and he sounded exhausted. He was under far too much stress of his own to need this put on him.

Sam's eyes stayed on Dean, on the impossibly solid column of his neck. "His throat. Slashed. And then it just…" He shook his head, gestured helplessly at the air. For the moment, he was done trying to understand. He slid his arms under Dean, gently, hated himself for the way Dean's breath came just a little rougher as he put pressure on his wounds. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Gotta move you, ok? Just for a minute." He whispered it against Dean's ear, let himself bury his head against his shoulder for a just a second. It was soaked through with blood, and it didn't quite comfort him like normally would have. Still, blood or not, Dean was still alive. That was something. He lifted him carefully, lay him down on a rug near the foot of the bed. "Can you watch him a minute? I'm gonna get the sheets changed."

Bobby nodded, moved in close enough to see Dean's chest rise and fall. Sam worked quick, and when he was done he hesitated, taking in the state of Dean's clothes. His shirt was the worst of it, and Sam carefully worked it off, picking Dean up and maneuvering him back into the bed without bothering with a fresh one. He talked to him quietly while he got him settled, soft words of comfort he barely realized he was saying.

When he looked up, Bobby was gone. He took his place beside Dean, up against the headboard. He let his hand fall, resting on his brother's chest, just over his heart. He could feel the unsteady beat of it under his hand. It wasn't exactly comforting, but it was connection. At the moment, it was everything.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Anything?" It came out hoarse, the effort rasping painfully at his dry throat. He coughed, looked up questioningly at Bobby.

He shook his head, grim. "Nothing. Nothing yet. But there's plenty still left to check. We have no idea what hit him with this so…"

"Witch?"

"Mm, maybe. Hell, could be some freaky kind of illusionistic creature we've never gone up against before. There's tons of those."

Sam nodded, looked back down at the cut he was bandaging over Dean's collarbone. He finished, smoothed out the edges with gentle pressure.

"Sam, I haven't pushed, but this has gotta stop."

He snapped his head up, on the defensive. "I'm not leaving him. Not like this."

"And I'm not asking you to! I just want you to eat something!"

"I'm not hungry."

"Bullshit you're not! It's been three days you've been here, Sam! You barely take any water, and if you've slept at all I haven't caught it."

He swallowed, his eyes flickering down to Dean, taking in the rapid movement of his chest, the dark shadows under his eyes. "I'll eat when he eats."

"Sam!" He wasn't as mobile as he'd always been but he did as much as he could with what he had, reaching over the bed and yanking Sam's collar to pull him closer, shaking him. "You listen to me, alright? We don't know what's going on with him. You gonna ask me to maybe lose you both at the same time? You think I can survive that?"

He sucked in a startled gasp, his hand shooting out immediately to clasp Bobby's shoulder. He hadn't thought of it, really. Not like that. "I'll…if you bring something in here I'll try to eat something."

"And you'll sleep, afterward?"

He hesitated, his eyes flickering to his brother again.

"He'll wake you, Sam. No way you'll sleep through it."

He caved, and 30 minutes later he'd managed to keep down a bowl of soup and piece of white bread that tasted better than they should have all things considered. He let Bobby turn out the lights, curled onto his side beside Dean, one arm under his pillow and the other stretched out into the space between them, his hand ready and waiting to slip onto Dean's shoulder when he woke. So far it hadn't done much, but deep down he had to keep hoping that somewhere in there, Dean could feel his presence. Somewhere, Dean had to know Sam wasn't about to let him go through this alone. Not again.

Before he knew it, he'd drifted off.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Sammy!"

He sat bolt upright, gasping for breath and springing into action like he'd been doing this for years. It almost felt like it, at this point. He pinned his shoulders gently, held him down as carefully as he could without hurting him, hoped to God he wouldn't trigger Dean into remembering something else. "Shh, Dean…I'm here. I'm here, man."

"Sammy…" His voice dropped, whisper soft and there was a tinge of something close to recognition there, but it was too dark to see Dean's eyes, much too dark for Dean to be seeing him at all. "He's…must be almost the end of the day." His words slurred together, thick and almost intoxicated off what had to have been unendurable pain.

He hesitated, decided to see if Dean could answer, now that he wasn't screaming. "End of the day?"

"Yeah. Never get you see you, not till it's almost over. Before…'fore I die and Alistair…" He trailed off, mumbling something Sam couldn't quite catch before crying out sharply, some unknown pain sparking with fresh agony. " 's nice. Kind of like really dying. For a minute."

"Every day, huh?" He fought to keep his voice steady, clean.

"You know…you remember…you're just in my head anyway." He laughed once, rough. "Still. Good to hear…" He hissed in pain, lost his train of thought. "Always the end of the day. Think Alistair's late. Should be dead already…feelin' better now."

"Yeah?" Single words, that was easier.

"Yeah." He could hear Dean gasping for breath in the dark, and he tightened his grip on his shoulder, warm and possessive. "You know I told you not to come…not to get me out…."

"Yeah, Dean?"

"I wish you would. I can't do this, Sammy. Never tell you that, but it's not really you so…" He gasped sharp, his chest seizing hard to draw in another breath. "Sammy…" In hell, it would've been his last breath. Here, he was back asleep again, and Sam could hear the sound of his breath almost even out before starting up pained again.

He let his head sink, resting against Dean's shoulder. He could smell blood and sweat and something unnatural that just wasn't his brother, and when he finally pulled away he left his skin wet with tears. It was a long time before he could make himself get up, stumble to the light and make his way down to Bobby's study.

He all but collapsed into a chair on the other side of the desk Bobby seemed to have taken up residence at, his hands falling loudly to meet the wood. "He knew me."

"What?"

"Well, not really. But I was able to have a conversation with him. He didn't know it was me…I mean he knew it was me but he thought…" He looked away, rubbed his palm against the grain. "He thought I was an illusion. He thought he was just dying."

"So you were able to break through it enough to talk to him?"

"I don't know, Bobby. I don't know if it's really more or less than he knew me the minute I came in. Hell, it could just be a coincidence, you know. That might've just been what he was reliving right then. He might've talked to you like you were me if you were there."

He pulled a book off the stack, ran his fingers down the spine before shoving it away angrily, unable to even glance at the first page.

"Sam? What'd he say to you?"

He clenched his jaw, shoved the chair back violently from the table. "I have to get back to him."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

On the sixth day, Bobby came in and dumped a stack of books at the foot of the bed. Sam met his eyes, questioning, and Bobby didn't look ready to argue.

"There's a mountain of crap in there and you're gonna start helping me sort through it. I get that you have to talk to him while he's awake, but sittin' here watching him bleed is doing no one any good." He shoved a book toward Sam, forceful. "And I'd have thought you'd have known that, considering how much of a headstart you've always had on the rest of us when it came to research."

He surged forward, fury sparking from his near non-existent nerves. "You wanna know why, Bobby? Cause I spent so much damn time wrapped up in doing what looked like the right thing, what looked like the bigger picture, and the whole goddamn time he was still suffering right in front of my eyes and I didn't even fucking realize it! So you know what I want to do now? I wanna take care of my brother." He fell back against the wall, felt the breath rush out of his chest. "For as long as he'll let me. And when he's better, I'll get the hell out."

"Sam…" His voice softened, all rough sympathy and understanding. "Just…just help me look a little, alright? Maybe you'll get lucky, find just what we need to break whatever mojo's been put on him." He turned, had almost wheeled himself to the door before he stopped. "You really leaving again when this is over?"

He clenched his hand into a hard fist, felt the skin stretch over his knuckles till it burned. "Yeah. I really am."

"You care to tell me why?"

He shifted, his hand coming down to rest against Dean's arm when he murmured in his sleep. "Cause Dean wants it that way."

One of the good things about Bobby…he knew just when to push and when to leave it the hell alone. This one, he let go. For now.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

On the eighth day, he found it. Dean had just gone through a particularly bad spell, blood seeping from below his knees and his shoulders turning purple in a way Sam didn't even want to contemplate. He'd tried to get him settled back down, had picked up a random book for what felt like the umpteenth time…and there it was.

Liconasus was indeed possessed many days by the foul spirit forced onto him by the Witch. He was inconsolable, subject to strange injuries and apparent remembrances of the time he'd served in an enemy war camp five years previous. We feared anger the Witch further by pursuit, and were at length able to devise a cure from known remedies, as well as a few Herbs of magick some of the others had known her to use.

He skimmed the list, all but hyperventilating. This? This wasn't bad. A few things Bobby wouldn't have right off hand maybe, but he might. Even if he didn't, worse case it'd only take a day or so to get them through the right channels. Brew the tea, wait 24 hours, and Dean would wake up, his mind in the right time, no memory lost. Of course, the whole 'no memory lost' part likely meant remembering the past week as well, it was more than worth it if it healed him.

He leapt out of bed, racing into the library and almost violently shoving the book in Bobby's face. "Here. It's here. I know that's it."

Bobby inspected it, muttering as his forehead creased over the more unusual ingredients. "Yeah. Sounds like it alright."

"Have you got it?"

"Got it all. Just let me get it all together and we'll get that tea started."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

12 hours later, and he could hardly look away. He'd spent days watching his brother in agony. Seeing him sleeping peacefully now seemed like such a luxury, something to be treasured and appreciated. Still…he needed to go. He stood up, brushed a hand against Dean's shoulder and hesitated, almost thinking better of it before he bent and kissed his forehead, glad to find him alive and warm but not to the point of fever. He was going to be just fine.

And by the time he was, he'd never know Sam had been here at all.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

This somehow became epically long. Good Lord. *headdesk* I swear, it's only two parts, and the second part will be posted VERY soon.