Season Two

Episode Twelve: Valhalla

By Irismay42 & Kittsbud

Part Two

“Okay,” Dean said at length, taking in a breath as he returned Sam’s frantic gaze. “So we’re sitting in a car in the middle of New Jersey in the middle of the night.” He cast a wary glance around the deserted Newark street before re-establishing eye contact with his brother. “I don’t see any ships, or oceans, or lakes or anything bigger than a puddle nearby, and I’m not planning on going on any great sea voyages any time soon. So how could you have seen me drown, Sam?”

Sam’s pallid face was drawn into a tight mask of something midway between pain and concentration as he bent stubbornly over the laptop balanced precariously across his trembling knees, the eerie glow bathing his face in a sickly green.

Dean wasn’t even sure where they were headed anymore as he took a corner into a dimly-lit residential street, glancing in the rearview absently, more out of a desire not to look at Sam than any other reason, squinting slightly as bright headlights reflected briefly in his eyes.

The EMF meter nestled between them beeped feebly and Sam seized on the sound with something that Dean could only equate with desperation.

“There, you see?” the younger brother burst out, voice wobbling slightly as his teeth tried to clench together of their own accord. “We – we m-must be heading the right way –”

“Sam,” Dean interrupted, sighing. “We need to get you to a hospital –”

“No human doctor can help me,” Sam choked out, eyes never straying from the laptop. “That’s what Ferinacci’s sniper said. So our best hope is to find Haris. Use the Seal. Compel him to undo this somehow… Stop you from drowning…”

“Sam, how the hell am I gonna drown on dry land?” Dean reiterated his earlier question. “Your vision’s screwed up, man. Maybe the poison…”

“No,” Sam objected. “N-not the poison. Gotta save you. M-make sure you don’t – can’t let you –” His head fell sideways against the passenger door, eyes drifting shut as Dean made a grab for his sleeve.

“Sam?” Dean pulled his brother upright, trying not to jar his injured arm at the same time as he tried not to plow the Impala into any of the trees lining the road. “Hey – Sam? You hear me?”

Sam blinked his eyes open again, a confused expression on his sweat-soaked face. “Gotta find the ship,” he said, squinting at the laptop as the screen swam in and out of focus. “Gotta find the ship from my vision. Gotta save you –”

“Sam,” Dean’s voice held more than a hint of desperation. “We need to get you to a doctor. Maybe the sniper lied! Maybe there is a cure! Maybe Ferinacci just wanted to mess with our heads!”

“No, Dean. You saw – Haris’ host. He was –”

“He was shot in the chest, Sam! He wouldn’t have survived even if he’d been shot with ordinary ammo!” Dean turned frantic eyes on his brother, barely aware of the road in front of him and the Impala’s proximity to a line of parked cars. “Please let me take you to a hospital. I’m begging you, Sammy…”

“No, Dean,” Sam ground out stubbornly. “No hospital. Have to save you –”

“Okay,” Dean conceded. “You can save me. But you need to let me save you first!”

Sam didn’t answer, falling against the passenger door once more as Dean realized he was at an intersection almost too late to do anything about it, drifting into the oncoming lane as he took the corner belatedly.

Headlights in the rearview caused him to look up as he righted the Impala’s trajectory, the same black sedan he’d noticed a few blocks back having taken the turn with them.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, glancing about him nervously, noting the vehicle behind them was the only other thing moving in any direction.

“What?” Sam slurred weakly. “Dean’s wrong?”

Dean’s attention flittered to the rearview again. “I think we got us a tail,” he explained. “Black sedan been behind us for a few blocks now. Nothin’ else on the road. Seems kind of a big coincidence he should be headed in exactly the same direction as we are – especially as we’ve been pretty much driving in circles for the past half hour.”

Sam blinked, head slumping back against the bench seat. “Ferinacci?” he hazarded, voice becoming weaker by the second.

“Well, Winchester luck being what it is,” Dean commented, “it’s a fair bet it ain’t Haris. Just ’cause we want to see that fiery asshole.”

Checking the rearview one more time, Dean began to slow the Impala, the sedan behind matching their speed until Dean pulled in to the curb and brought the Chevy to a dead stop. The driver of the car behind seemed to hesitate before overtaking them at a crawl, and Dean drew in a breath when he momentarily locked eyes with Stefan, Ferinacci’s goon who had run off when Bruno took the nosedive into his own acid bath.

Dean held his breath, mentally counting to ten as the big sedan sailed past them, crossing the next intersection before finally turning off down the next street.

Slamming the Impala into gear, Dean wasted no time in swinging the big Chevy around in a U-turn, accelerating back the way they’d just come and turning off down another darkened side street.

Dodging down street after street until he was satisfied there were no signs of trailing headlights in the rearview, Dean blew out a nervously held breath before glancing sideways at his slumped over brother.

“W-we lost them?” Sam asked, barely able to keep the computer from sliding off his lap.

Dean frowned slightly at him. “Yeah, I think so,” he managed, fingers tightening on the wheel. “I recognized the driver – one of Ferinacci’s henchman – the one who freaked out when his boss got sizzled.”

“W-why didn’t they stop us?” Sam asked, even half out of his head still able to spot the illogicality of their pursuers’ actions. “If – if they’re after the Seal – why j-just follow us? Why not jump us and take it from us by – by force? They must know I’m – I’m sick. That there’s just the two of us… We’re easy targets.”

Dean shook his head. “Beats me, man,” he said. “Maybe they wanna see what we’re planning on doing with the thing. Bet we’re really confusing them with the brilliance of our whole Drive-Around-Aimlessly-Looking-For-A-Demon-We’re-Never-Going-To-Find plan.” He brought his hand down hard against the steering wheel, causing Sam to startle and the laptop to once against slide off his knees. “Sam, we’re wasting time!” Dean burst out angrily. “Time you don’t have! For God’s sake, either let me get you to a hospital or let me summon Haris and make a deal with him – the Seal in exchange for a cure. We can worry about everything else once you’re fixed up. That’s all that matters now.”

“No, that’s not all that matters –” Sam began to protest, but suddenly bit off the rest of his argument as his eyes rolled back in his head and he began to convulse violently, clawing at his throat as he struggled for every breath he managed to drag down into his lungs.

“Sam!” Dean cried out, frantically swerving the car into the curb. “Sammy!”

Sam didn’t seem to hear him, back arching up off the seat as he kicked at the dashboard, eyes squeezed shut and lips tinged with blue.

Dean twisted in his seat, gripping Sam’s shoulders as he tried to hold him down, his own face a mask of panic and terror to equal his brother’s. “Just breathe, Sam,” he said, unsure whether the kid even knew he was there. “Sam? Is it – is it a vision? Or – or –?” Dean couldn’t even voice the other possibility. What if it was the poison? What if this was it? What if Sam’s time was finally up?

No. That wasn’t an option.

“Sam!”

Dean was on the verge of considering CPR as Sam’s lips began to turn a deeper shade of blue, but just as he was about to begin, his brother drew in a huge breath before releasing a terrified cry.

“Dean!” he screamed. “Dean, help me! Help me!”

“Sam, I’m right here!” Dean put a shaky hand against Sam’s clammy forehead, willing him to open his eyes, to see that he was only an arm’s length away. But it was as if Sam was totally insensible of his presence as he continued to thrash against the seat, screaming fragments of sentences that made little sense to Dean, but were obviously of vital importance to Sam.

“No, Dean – get away! Get away from him! Get off the ship – it’s sinking! Can’t you see it’s sinking? Dean, get off the ship!”

Dean hesitated, chewing on his lip as he watched Sam’s suffering through helpless eyes, completely at a loss how to fix this, how to fix Sam.

If this was a vision, then it was killing him.

If it was the poison, then that was killing him just as certainly.

Dean took a breath, steeling himself as he came to a decision.

He might not be able to do much to help with Sam’s visions, but whether the sniper’s pronouncement of hopeless doom was true or not, he might be able to get Sam some help with the poison.

Shifting the Impala into gear, he stamped on the accelerator, pointing the big car in the direction of the nearest hospital, face set into a grim mask of determination as his little brother screamed himself hoarse by his side.

A human doctor might not be able to help Sam, but right now Dean was desperate enough to try anything.

And if that didn’t work?

Then there was only one other alternative.

St. James Hospital
Newark, NJ

St. James had been serving the local New Jersey community since the turn of the century, but despite its age, the hospital was a hive of modern technology and activity. Somehow, as he sat perched on a chair in the waiting room, that did little to relieve Dean’s hopelessness.

Waiting was the hardest part.

All the hunter could think of, all he could see was the frail form of his brother struggling to suck down air until his lips where tinged a deep azure. Sam had remained that way on the journey to the hospital, struggling for every breath, his less than lucid ramblings striking fear into his elder brother until Dean’s hands shook as he gripped the Impala’s wheel.

Even after the sniper had given his deadly message, Dean hadn’t really believed it. He knew it was true, but until Sam began to actually exhibit signs of the toxin he had allowed himself the lie that Sammy was going to be fine.

Sammy was always fine.

Dean began to twirl the thick silver ring on his finger round and round, wishing it was the Seal. Wishing he knew how to use it to save his brother. But the real heirloom remained in his pocket, concealed, useless.

May as well be some friggin’ trinket out of a box of cereal…

Dean remembered the countless arguments he and Sam had gotten into as kids over breakfast and who was going to get the last of the Lucky Charms. Right now, he’d give Sammy every damn box in the universe if it would make him whole again.

He’s gonna die, because of me. Because I let my sorry ass get possessed.

Because I can’t figure out how to use the damn Seal…

“Dean Wilkinson?”

At first Dean ignored the voice, forgetting just what name he’d signed Sam in with. It was easy to forget the trivial things when your only brother might be dead already.

“Mr. Wilkinson?”

Dean glanced up, taking in the round features and blonde hair of the doctor addressing him. There was no comforting smile. No reassuring nod to let him know that Sammy was going to be okay.

Was this how Sam had been greeted at the hospital in Wisconsin all those months ago?

I didn’t die then. Sam’s not gotta die now!

Except somehow, Dean knew the amulet that hung around his neck had played a part in his salvation. There was no magic trinket for Sam. No last reprieve from an ancient bauble, or even a rogue Reaper.

I could give Sam the amulet.

It would be easy to slip the thick cord from his neck and place it on Sam’s. Dean didn’t care what the consequences might be, even though he knew being parted from the ornate brass talisman would eventually be fatal. The problem was, he’d learned enough about the amulet to know that it was bound to only one Winchester – the guardian – and to that end, it only protected one Winchester.

I could try…

The blonde cleared her throat, realizing Dean was the one she needed to speak with, even if his thoughts were entirely elsewhere. “If you’d like to follow me to somewhere more private-”

Dean’s head bobbed in agreement and he tugged his weary body from the small plastic chair he’d been calling home. It had been a long night already, and he didn’t want to think where it might end. He didn’t speak, not yet, for fear what answers his questions might bring.

The doctor was equally silent. Maybe she sensed his pain, maybe she was used to telling people bad news every day, every night until she was numb to the mental trauma it brought.

The pure white of her coat swaying as she sauntered into a small side room reminded Dean of purity, an untainted thing in a world of darkness – just like Sammy – and it was more than he could take.

“Doc, I need to see my brother.” The sure, cocky voice that usually flowed from Dean’s mouth was replaced by an edgy, almost fearful plea. He felt a lump rise in his throat and he swallowed, trying to drive his panic back down into the pit of his stomach – where it had been residing for the last few hours since the hanger confrontation.

“Sam’s resting.” The doctor pulled out a small padded seat, but instead of sitting she offered it to Dean, suggesting he might need to be seated for what was to come next.

The hunter shook his head. “How bad?” he dared to ask, his mind in denial despite the sniper’s jibes.

“We’ve analyzed your brother’s blood work and the contents of the unspent bullet you provided us, and we seem to be dealing with a strychnine-based poison.”

“You can fix him, right?” Dean began to pace, running his fingers through his hair as if he could will there to be a cure. “I mean, I’ve heard of that stuff. It’s pretty old. Modern medicine can deal with it, right, Doc?”

The doctor let her hands glide into her coat pockets, but she didn’t speak until Dean stopped wearing a hole in the carpet and actually looked her straight in the face. It was hard to give bad news to someone when you knew they weren’t going to accept it. In her profession, it was an everyday occurrence, but that didn’t mean it got any easier. She needed to look Dean in the eye to make sure he took in what she had to say.

“Ordinarily there are treatments we can try, depending on how the poison got into the patient’s system, how long it’s been in their body without any kind of intervention – basically depending on the variables in each separate case. But there really is no antidote, no cure.”

Dean let the explanation sink in and his legs abruptly didn’t want to hold him. He’d been driving around with Sam, wasting time when he could have been getting his brother treatment.

My fault. AGAIN!

“But you can give him the pills, the treatment, whatever, now, right?” Dean stammered, hearing the hesitation in his words and not caring. It didn’t matter that he sounded like a damn wuss.

Nothing mattered except his brother.

“We’re doing everything we can, but I’m afraid in your brother’s case it’s not that simple. Strychnine can kill in just a few hours if ingested. Even in Sam’s case where the poison entered his bloodstream via a bullet merely passing through, I’d have given him no more than twenty-four hours without medical intervention.”

Dean frowned, his brow creasing so much he had ridges a professional climber couldn’t even wish for. “Lady, I’m sensing one huge ‘but’ here?”

The doctor sighed and checked the results on the chart she was carrying just to convince her that this was no mistake. “The tests we ran show the toxin isn’t your common or garden variety of the poison. It’s been altered somehow, other chemicals added to the mix – primarily sulfur – although there are other strange organic elements too.”

“Sulfur? You gotta be kidding me.” It was one thing for his brother to have taken a tainted slug, but just what the hell did it mean when said bullet tip was filled with a heady concoction of hell’s finest brimstone?

“It sounds impossible, and believe me, it should be. My colleagues and I have never seen anything like it.” The doctor looked uncertainly at the door, wondering for one second just why her patient should have been shot with such a mixture. She was no fool, and sometimes weird things like this happened when the local gang lord was pissed at someone. Ferinacci had a penchant for poisons, and right now that made her jittery to be in the same room with someone who might be on the mob boss’s wanted list.

“How long?” Dean’s hazel eyes flashed up at her, and she instantly saw the love, the determination, the undying loyalty that lay beyond the handsome, yet rough exterior.

“Honestly, we don’t know yet. According to the results from the first batch of tox screens, your brother should be dead already. He may have some immunity to the poison, especially as we know so little about it’s makeup at this point. We’ll know more when we have the second set of results in.”

Dean pushed up from the chair he’d been given, ignoring the trembling sensation in his leg muscles. He was just over-tired, too much time behind the wheel. Maybe he was getting a cramp. Anything but admit the truth.

“Can I see him?” He looked at the nametag on the doctor’s white coat, only now putting a name to the bearer of bad tidings. It read Dr. Faith Hoffe. The moniker brought a frown to the young hunter’s features.

Faith.

He had little of that, even if Sam did.

“Just for a few minutes,” Hoffe nodded, making her way back out of the door and into the next corridor. “Sam regained consciousness a little while ago. We’ve given him something for the pain and sedatives to help with the convulsions, but you have to understand at this point there’s very little else we can do.” She stopped, pointedly waiting for Dean’s response.

Dean’s eyes danced not with despair, but with determination. He’d made Sam a promise, and he was going to keep it. All he had to do now was convince Sam to fight and stay alive long enough and he’d walk into Hell to find Haris if he had to. “Does Sammy know?”

Hoffe nodded. “Your brother is no fool, Mr. Wilkinson. He’s prepared for what comes next.”

“Doc, nobody is ever ready for what comes next, trust me on that one.” Dean pushed past the doctor and slid through the door into Sam’s room, but even Hoffe’s warnings couldn’t prepare him for what awaited him there.

Sam was propped up with a multitude of pillows, but he was lying on his side, still struggling to keep his spasming limbs motionless despite the drugs he’d been given. He was pale, and yet his brow was lined with fresh pearls of perspiration. His tall frame looked somehow withered in the thin hospital gown he wore, the monitors and oxygen cannula under his nose completing the morbid portrait of death that had been so mercilessly painted for Dean to witness.

Dean paused at the bottom of the bed, words failing him as he realized Sam looked even worse than he had after he’d been electrocuted hunting a Rawhead. It was crazy, but it was like their whole lives were carbon copies of each other.

He didn’t let me die then. I won’t let Sammy die now.

“Found any cute nurses yet?” Sam tried to smile, but even the muscles in his cheeks weren’t quite cooperating. When the attempt brought on fresh pain he tried to bite down, hiding it from his brother.

“When I find one you’ll be the first to know, bro.” Dean pulled out a chair and dragged it to the side of the bed where Sam was lying. He hated seeing his brother like this. Hated having to go through the ritual of pretending everything was alright when he could be out finding the bastard demon that had caused it.

Sam took an unsteady breath. “Yeah, well don’t take too long searching. I’m not the kinda guy who can hang around for the right girl.”

“Don’t talk like that, Sam-”

“Dean, I’m dying. Enough of the hope crap. It’s not what I need to hear right now.” Sam placed a trembling hand on the railing at the side of his bed. Apparently, the staff thought it possible he could convulse so hard he’d end up on the floor if there was nothing there to stop him. “We need to talk about you, not me…”

Dean’s face contorted into desolation. He didn’t want to talk about his future. He wanted to make sure Sam had a future. “Forget my sorry ass,” he unintentionally snapped. “I’m not gonna let you go, Sammy. It’s not your time. You’ve got to fight this thing. Give me a chance to find that freak and make him fix you!”

Sam’s lower lip quivered and he couldn’t stifle a short gasp of pain. “Dean, I’m sick. It’s over for me. You have to go on. Saving people, hunting things, remember?”

“Who says I want to?” Dean looked away. There was no going on without Sam, and yet he couldn’t add to his brother’s torment by telling him that. This wasn’t fair. Sam was supposed to find a pretty girl, have kids, grow old. If any Winchester should go out young, it shouldn’t be Sammy.

It should be me…

“Just fight, Sam, that’s all I ask. A Winchester never gives in.” Dean balled his fists, taut inner emotions making him want to punch something, anything, to gain some relief.

Sam swallowed thickly, as if even that simple task was becoming hard to control. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you promise to look after my laptop and then threaten to haunt your ass if you don’t.” His lips curled into a faint smile.

“I guess you’re not gonna bitch about daytime TV or Snuggles the friggin’ bear either?” Dean tried to smile back, thinking of how he’d behaved at the news of his own impending doom once, a long time ago. “Then again, knowing your wuss ass you’ll probably fall in love with the damn bear and live happily ever after.”

“Nah, I’m strictly a Muppet fan.”

“I always knew you had a secret crush on Miss Piggy.” Dean feigned a mock punch, careful not to actually do any damage to his already ailing sibling. “Dude, so not cool to have a pig fetish.”

“Dean-”

“Yeah?”

“Promise me you won’t go near any water?”

Dean shifted on his seat. They should be finding a way to track Haris, maybe even discussing making some kind of deal. It was against everything he believed, but for Sam it was their only option – and time was running out. “I promise not to go near any water if you promise not to stop breathing while I can some demon ass.”

Sam wriggled as every sinew in his body felt like it was going to tear in two. It was hard holding it together this long for his brother. How much longer he could stand to fight the worming, writhing sensations within him was anybody’s guess. “I don’t know if I can keep that promise,” he stammered, gripping the bar on the bed so tightly he thought his knuckles might pop with the strain. “Listen, Dean, the ship I saw in my vision, its real, and you’re gonna drown on her.”

“You actually saw me dead? ’Cause I’m telling you, I swim better than Daryl Hannah in mermaid mode.” Dean made the shape of a perfect hourglass with his hands for effect and then winked. Given Sam’s condition, it was just about all the humor he could muster.

The effort didn’t go unappreciated. “Don’t you ever think of anything but girls, sex and beer?” Sam coughed, but pushed himself to keep up a jovial expression. “Oh, wait, and cars.” He took down another ragged breath, lungs painfully fighting the poison affecting their ability to work. “I didn’t see you dead,” he eventually conceded, mirth pushed aside. “But I get death visions, Dean. And I saw you on the ship, and it was sinking fast. When she went under, there was no time…no time…”

Sam began to cough again, his back arching slightly on the bed as he fought the bucking motion his body wanted to make. After agonizing seconds he settled back on the pillows, even more drained than before. “I…kno…know the name of the ship. You have to find her, Dean. Fff…find her before it’s too late.”

Dean hadn’t missed the deterioration in his brother, the slurred words, the desperate breaths he dragged down like a hundred-year-old chain smoker. “I thought you said you wanted me to stay away from the water, Sam?” he protested, confusion giving way to impotent anger. “I don’t need to waste time on this, Sammy. I need to find Haris!” He pushed up from the chair, making its spindly metal legs scream across the tiled floor.

As he turned to head for the door, Sam’s hand shot out, catching his brother’s arm as another fit of tremors took hold.

Dean could feel the quake within his sibling like a ten on the Richter Scale, and he instantly whirled back, unsure whether to call for help or try to calm his brother. “I’ll find the ship,” he promised, slipping his cell phone from his jacket to access the built-in net browser. “Just take it easy, dude, okay?”

Working the buttons with one hand, Dean slipped the other over the top of Sam’s, hoping the physical bond would be enough to calm his brother’s racing heartbeat and flailing limbs. “I’m here, Sammy. Just breathe. Breathe nice and slow, Sam.”

Sam closed his eyes, willing his gangly body to obey him one last time. “The ship’s c…called The Last Hope,” he managed to gasp.

Dean’s eyes widened at the irony, and he wanted to ask Sam if he was sure this wasn’t some toxin-induced fantasy. But then, Sam was rarely wrong when it came to visions. Tapping in the name and hitting search he waited as the pitifully slow connection did its magic.

He rubbed absently at the stubble on his face, realizing that in only a few hours it would be morning. A new day, but what would the dawn’s radiance bring with it? Hope, like the ship’s name? Or something much grimmer?

“Well I’ll be damned, lil’ brother…”

“Is it close?” Sam didn’t wait to be told the ship was real. He already knew it was. His nightmare vision had allowed him to walk her corridors, investigate her very bowels, and it had allowed him to see his brother, and Haris, deep inside some inner chamber while the ship was sinking deep into the ocean.

Dean pursed his lips, scrolling on the tiny phone to get all the information onto the limited screen. “Says here the old girl is causing quite a stir. Seems like the local tree huggers and fish lovers union are protesting because the ship is gonna be towed out at first light and scuttled in the Atlantic. Something about the owners not wanting the ship to go for salvage even.”

“Where’s the ship now?” Sam’s words were clipped, to the point – fraught with the knowledge he could have just given his brother the pink slip to his own demise.

Dean glanced at Sam, even deeper worry lines appearing on his brow. “The Last Hope is moored in Newark Bay – Port Newark. She’s right here.” He scratched at his head. “But I don’t see how this is gonna help you. We need to find Haris not some rusted tub that’s being sent to the big shipyard in the sky tomorrow.”

“Find one, and you find the other,” Sam answered cryptically. “Just don’t go on board her, Dean, and no deals. Promise me?” He sighed, letting his head droop on the pillow so lopsidedly it looked like he was about to slip into unconsciousness again. “I just need this to end, Dean. One way, or another…”

“It will end. I’ll make that son of a bitch demon fix you, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Sam’s eyes snapped open, even though their lids had been slowly creeping to a close before. “No, Dean. Please, no deals. Don’t even force him to try and fix me. You have to banish him. For me, for everyone.” He looked up, reminding Dean of so many times when they’d been kids. It was like Sam had reverted to that now – a pleading little brother who could not be denied. “Think about it, Dean,” he begged. “If you make a deal, Haris will still be out there. He can go after the other kids. He can finish what he started. The world, not just us, could be at stake…”

Dean began whirling the ring on his finger again. He couldn’t look at Sam. It was too painful. Too real. “I don’t care about the world, Sammy. I care about you.”

“If you care, you’ll promise.”

Dean waited, unsure if he could answer. He couldn’t lie to Sam, but he couldn’t swear to something he might not go through with, either.

Luckily, the hunter was given a brief reprieve.

Faith Hoffe tapped on the room door and then entered, a fresh set of results attached to her clipboard. She smiled at Sam, but both brothers knew it was out of sympathy rather than good news. Was there really ever good news for a Winchester?

“I have the second set of results.” Hoffe pointedly looked at Dean with just enough eye movement to suggest they talk outside. It was subtle, but not covert enough for Sam not to pick up on.

Sam shifted carefully on the bed so that he could see both his brother and the newly arrived physician. “There’s no need to hide anything from me. I already know what station the train I’m on stops at.” He gulped down a breath and then fixed his gaze on Hoffe. “How long?”

The doctor looked apologetically at Dean, knowing he would have preferred Sam not to know. “From the poison’s basic chemical structure, we think a few hours at most. No longer than sunrise.” She turned to Dean sensing he felt partly to blame. “Given the nature of this poison, even if you’d gotten your brother here minutes rather than hours after his exposure, the outcome would have been the same. I’m so sorry…”

“Doctors can be wrong. Tests can be wrong-” Dean wouldn’t, couldn’t accept that Sam had just hours to live. Sunrise was just too close.

Too final.

“Dean, remember when we were kids and you tried to explain to me why we had no mom?” Moisture glistened in Sam’s eyes, but he fought it, fought the poison for Dean. “I used to think Mom had left us because I was bad or something. Then you sat me down one day and told me she hadn’t left because she wanted to; that she’d done it for me, not because of me.” Sam paused, composing what little self-control he had left. “You said she’d gone to a better place and one day we’d meet again.”

“Yeah, well I was full of crap, Sammy. You know I don’t believe in any of that.” Dean gripped his brother’s hand, but Sam didn’t even have the strength to squeeze back. The only time his muscles worked was when the toxin took control of them. “Sammy, you fight this, dammit! Don’t you dare give in. You’re not going to Mom. You’re not going ANYWHERE!” The last words built into such a crescendo of sound half the wing could have heard him, but Dean didn’t care.

“I can’t ff…ight anymore, Dean. Can’t…”

Sam’s hand began to slide from his brother’s then clenched so hard Dean thought his fingers might break. With the grabbing motion came a succession of muscles spasms so fierce they turned Sam’s body into a bucking bronco that threatened to bust loose from the corral that was a bed, despite the side rails.

Dean instantly reacted, trying to keep Sam’s flailing limbs still enough so that he didn’t do them damage during the convulsions. “C’mon, Sammy…”

It was hard to hold his brother with just the right amount of strength. It was hard to see Sam’s back arch and his body shake so hard the seizures almost stopped him breathing. It was hard watching as a thin foam frothed from the edge of Sam’s mouth, knowing that without help he could easily bite through his own tongue.

But most of all, it was hard for Dean to accept he may have spoken his last words to his little brother.

“Mr. Wilkinson!”

Dean could hear the name over and over, and he could feel hands tugging at him, trying to pull him away, but he didn’t want to leave yet. He couldn’t leave yet. What if he let go of Sam and this was it? What if the one time Sam needed him he wasn’t there because he’d allowed the hospital staff to usher him out of the way?

“Mr. Wilkinson! We need room to work…”

This time, a burly hand clamped around his shoulder and Dean felt his body virtually lifted out of the way. He dug his heels in, punching at the white clad figure that had torn him so callously away from his brother, but the six-foot-four behemoth didn’t appear to feel the impacts.

Dean attempted to spin in the man’s grasp, all kinds of crazed ideas spiraling through his dazed psyche.

“Hey, hey…he’s in good hands. Just calm down there, bro.”

Bro.

Dean stopped punching, kicking and all the other moves he’d tried on the muscular black orderly and finally looked up into his eyes. The man was older than both Winchesters, a small growth of beard encroaching on an otherwise unblemished, roguish face.

There was absolutely no reason why the hunter should have felt compelled to tell the stranger anything, and yet he felt the sudden urge to tell the man everything. It was like needing to open the floodgates on a dam before it burst. And right at that moment, Dean’s floodgates had been holding out for far too long.

Still, he held fast, fighting his emotions like he fought the supernatural.

“I can’t leave him. He needs me.” Dean dodged sideways, trying to duck past the orderly. The big guy was a deceptively fast mover, however, and easily blocked his path.

“He needs medical help. Give them room.” Big Guy crossed his arms across his chest in a Superman style pose that on any other day would have made Dean laugh.

Instead, he peered around the orderly, watching as a group of nurses tried to hold Sam while Hoffe slipped a needle into his IV. After several long, excruciating minutes Sam’s seizures began to calm and his arms became limp in the nurses grip.

A small dribble of blood intermingled with the saliva ebbing from the corner of Sam’s mouth, and it made Dean flinch involuntarily as he watched one of the medics wipe it carefully away.

Sam was dying.

And part of Dean was dying too.

A lone tear escaped from the corner of Dean’s right eye before he even had chance to register the moisture, but he didn’t try to wipe it away. He simply stood at the edge of Sam’s bed, his mind feeling like it might shatter into a myriad of pieces at any moment.

Sam was broken.

But Dean was breaking in another, far more subtle, far scarier way.

The orderly noted the change in the young man he’d been restraining and he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s always darkest before dawn, bro. But nature sometimes has a way of surprising you. The darkness always passes, just like a storm burns itself out.”

The anecdote was meant to be comforting, and maybe it would have been to anyone but a Winchester. The problem was, the storm that was coming had no clouds, no rain, and no wind, only a dark and evil militia with Haris as its leader.

To fight that – hell, to even try – Dean needed his brother.

Ignoring the still-working medics, ignoring the orderly that finally allowed him to push past, Dean stepped to Sam’s bedside. Hunching over, he looked on Sam’s fitfully sleeping form and he shuddered in sudden fear.

Pushing aside his own desolation, forcing away the nausea that hit him every few seconds, he whispered a last message to his brother, because when sunrise came he may not be in the land of the living if he succeeded.

“I’m gonna save you from this thing, Sammy. Even if it means going on that damn ship. Even if it kills me….”

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The Winchester Chronicles