Hi guys … this is the final chapter. Hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I did writing it ;0) – let me know what you think about me doing the exact same story but from Sammy's POV. It will fill in the missing bits from a different perspective (I'm pretty sure I can squeeze a little more angst out of Dean and Sammy - grins) but if you'd rather leave it up to your imaginations that's also good ;0)

Here's chapter 6 - enjoy ;0)

P.S: Thanks again to everyone for the wonderful, marvellous, fantabulous reviews - you really warm the cockles of my heart ;0)

Warning: Mild langauge et al

Holy crap … I'm hot! I'm seriously friggin' hot for some reason. Ow! Ow! ... and my chest hurts! I try to shift my aching body, but I just can't move. It feels like someone's thrown a huge bear rug over me. I can't begin to explain the relief of actually finding 'heated' packs under my neck, arms and yes sir on 'Mr Frank and the Bean Brothers'. Warm beats freezing cold any day of the week. But there's an added weight on top of all of this … and it's snoring?

I open my eyes tentatively … turn my head … and look straight into Sammy's drooling face. Dr. Octopus over here has managed to get his entire lanky frame onto the small surgical table … damn he looks uncomfortable. He's definitely exhausted 'cause he usually sleeps lighter than a nervous rabbit in a fox hole. But here he is … oblivious to the world … while doing a seriously hazardous balancing act. Even asleep his one arm is flung protectively over my waist while his head rests awkwardly on the other. He's tightly pressed up against my side, his right leg thrown over mine more intimately then I ever wanted to be with a dude.

I grin tiredly. He was probably trying to get my temperature up with his body heat after my near death experience. Thankfully someone put a pair of sleeping shorts on me and Sammy's wearing his sweats … 'cause if he were naked … I'd rapidly have become an only child! I can't really remember much, but I think it was pretty bad. I still have this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that something's out there, waiting to get me. I swallow nervously.

I vaguely recall teasing Sammy about being stiff, which I am, every muscle in my body seems to be working against me, and now to add to my discomfort I'm hot … shit I'm uncomfortably hot. Beads of sweat drip from my hair onto my pillow but I just don't have the heart to wake Sammy. Poor kid looks beat, dark circles hang like crescent moons under his eyes ... he looks almost as bad as I feel.

Lord, what part of me doesn't hurt? I strategize my options of shifting out from under the blankets again, it's like trying to move a half ton boa constrictor. Sammy wriggles closer, mumbling something into my neck. I'd roll my eyes if I didn't think it would make me dizzy. Oh great … now I feel dizzy, nauseous and I think I may need to pee. Typical. I try to take stock of my condition. It feels like my ribs have been taped but the pain in my chest is beginning to intensify, throbbing with every breath. I'm not sure whether I've made a noise or whether it's the slight hitch in my breathing, but instantly his eyes open.

"Hey? Hey! You're awake!"

He untangles himself, hops off the table, stretches, yawns, hollers for Bobby and begins fluffing my pillow all at the same time. I grin at my little Ms Nightingale.

"How ya feeling?"

I try to focus on his blurry face. There's no point in trying to hide it.

"Chest hurts … hot!"

His hand immediately flies to my forehead, a look of panic on his face.

"Shit … you're burning up Dean!"

I gaze at him suspiciously while he quickly removes the heat packs and blankets.

"Sammy … were we … just … spooning?"

He snorts in amusement, "Maybe in your dreams dude … you're far too frigid for my liking!"

I snort back while he measures my temperature. A disheveled looking Bobby makes an appearance, he was probably also catching up on some beauty rest.

"Hey kiddo, how ya doin? … shit you look like crap!"

I grin again, trust Bobby to say it like it is, he doesn't exactly beat around the bush.

"Bobby, he's heart rates elevated, and his temps up to 101° …"

"Shit boy, you're more hot and cold than a woman going through the menopause!"

He begins removing the plaster covering my stitches, "Dammit … looks like he's gone and gotten himself an infection."

Why's everyone blaming the 'laid up' dude? My face creases as he prods the inflamed skin … shit … hurts! The words slip out before I can stop myself, "… owie, owie, owie …"

Sammy hurriedly wrings out a wet cloth and starts wiping down my sweat slick body.

"We're gonna have to remove the stitches and clean out the wound."

"Oh … that's just … thrilling." I try to rein in my enthusiasm.

My eyes are starting to drift shut when I suddenly remember, "where's … Hal?"

Bobby squeezes my arm reassuringly.

"He went back to sort out a few things at his office. He wanted to make sure that the trail leading to you two boys has run cold … he said it's the least he could do. He's a good man, and I think he's gonna be a great ally. It's good to have a lawman on our side for a change."

I smile. Who would have thought we'd make a friend out of this frigin' mess. Sammy's gentle ministrations with the wet cloth are helping to cool me down. I'm still in agony but I just can't keep my eyes open. So they drift shut.


I can feel Sammy leaning over me, his Emo hair is tickling my nose as he puts his ear near my mouth.

"Yes … I'm breathing Sam …" I peek at him through tired eyes. He jumps guiltily, probably scared the crap outta him. Grin.

"Just checking …," he frowns as he looks down at me, "… how the pain levels?"

I feel goddamn awful, so on a scale from 1 to 10 … I'm at 11, but instead I mutter, "about … 5."

He looks at me knowingly … can't put anything past Obi Won over here … but he doesn't say anything as he administers a painkiller to my drip.

My voice croaks, "Where's … Bobby?"

"He went to meet Hal at the farmhouse. He's gonna tow the Impala … they should be back any minute!"

Oh thank god! I feel better already … maybe they can park her outside my window so I can keep an eye on her, or maybe they can move me into the garage. Hope she's okay. Unconsciously my hand moves up to feel the plaster covering my sore chest, but Sammy stops it before it reaches its target.

"Leave it alone Dean!"

The little shit is actually giving me orders … but he looks worried. The blood drains from my face.

"How bad … Sam."

He rubs the back of his neck as he sits down next to me.

"Some of your stitches tore while we were resuscitating you. We tried to keep the wound clean but your body is so run down you've managed to get yourself one hellava infection. Bobby had to clean out the wound … it wasn't pretty … and I don't want you touching it. We've used up the last of the antibiotics and your immune system is fighting overtime to beat the infection."

Alrighty then … no touching of the plaster.

"Do you think you can manage a few ice chips?"

I nod my head.

He holds my head as he carefully spoons them into my mouth. Crap, this is one of the reasons I hate being sick. A man needs to be able to look out for himself dammit … but I also know that no matter how stubborn I am about it, I can't do this on my own, so I keep my bitch'n to myself. I let the bits of ice melt before I swallow. The cool liquid soothes my parched throat … it feels good.

"Sammy … what happened … with the Lich?"

I don't expect the Reader's Digest version so I half wiggle into a comfortable position for the story, he knows I like the details. I listen wistfully as Sammy begins describing the speed and agility of the Lich as it made its almost predictable window entry, seeing as every other nook and cranny was lined with salt.

"Well you know our plan was to take aim and just shoot this thing right …" I nod my head "... but that didn't go down so well. One moment it was right in front of us, the next moment it was across the room, and all before we could get off a shot. This thing was so erratic we had to switch tactics and fire randomly. Shit Dean … at one stage I thought you were gonna get caught in the crossfire."

Ah crap, that's definitely gonna add to some more sleepless nights for Sammy. I'll have to find a way to help him get rid of the guilt … he tends to carry that kinda unnecessary baggage around.

"Anyway, it all ended fairly quickly when Bobby managed to wing it with a blast from the shotgun. Luckily it wasn't quite prepared for us bringing it here … the battle really could've swung any way. That thing put up an impressive fight … I've never seen anything like it and that's saying a lot … we had to duck out of its reach a few times … but when my shot finally hit meat every other bullet seemed to hit the mark. It felt like forever … and then surprisingly… it flopped to the ground like a dead fish. I almost expected to get up again … like in those horror movies you watch … it didn't. Seriously Dean … I really don't want to meet one of those things again in a hurry."

I know what he means … me too.

"Bobby and Hal moved the carcass outside cause it started decaying almost immediately … man it was disgusting … you're lucky you missed it. But the best part was when Bobby tried to put a match to it outside, he says it flared up like a flame thrower ... Bobby managed to get away clean but it definitely singed someone's nostril hairs …"

He's probably embellishing the story a bit, but I don't mind. Grin.

"Bobby says he couldn't stop laughing, but he managed to escape just before Hal broke loose … excuse the pun …"

I chuckle … then cough … then wheeze … god I think there's an invisible yeti sitting on my chest. I try to suck air into my starving lungs … shit it hurts.


Sammy hurriedly lifts me into a sitting position, "Shit Dean …I'm sorry man … just take it easy … breathe … are you okay? … please don't do this to me again … just breathe!"

Sitting up helps and I manage to catch my breath, I huff into Sammy's shoulder and he soothingly rubs my back.

I must've blanked out for a few minutes 'cause Sammy's not next to me when I come round and I find myself lying slightly elevated. Damn chest is cramping up with every breath I take … Ouch! Still hurts! My nerve endings are on fire and I'm hot. Oh Lord … I think I'm dying. I can hear someone arguing, my head feels fuzzy, seriously confused over here. Can't think straight … want to tell them to stop … stop fighting … but I'm too drained. Ah crap … I could really be dying … again. Where's Sammy? I look around in dread. The three of them are standing on the other side of the room in the middle of a heated debate. I try to focus on their blurred figures. I'll just ask him … he'll know the answer … what's the question again? Oh yeah! I can barely hear my voice through the ringing in my ears.


He looks over at me and instantly rushes to my side, "Hey there … you okay?"

"… am I dying?"

His face turns red …

"NO DEAN! SHIT NO! … don't … don't you even say that … you're not gonna die …and you're definitely not dying … you hear me!"

Bobby places a calming hand on Sammy's shaking frame. My fevered brain can't understand why he's shouting ... what did I say? Damn he's upset … and angry … why's he so angry? I'm actually feeling way too sick to care … so instead of trying to figure out Sammy's weird mood swings … I just nod my head.

"SHIT Bobby, we have to get him to a hospital."

"We can't move him Sam, he's too weak, he won't survive the trip!"

"Well then what the hell are we going to do, he's ill … he's delirious … he needs antibiotics … and he needs them right now!"

"We'll just have to break-in to a hospital pharmacy and get some supplies … Bobby and I can do it, shouldn't be too hard, I can act as a distraction … besides we don't have any other choice!" It's Hal's voice … it's always the quiet ones.

They seem to come to an agreement because Bobby and Hal leave and Sammy sits down next to me. He replaces a cool cloth on my forehead as I struggle to keep my eyes open. For an instant the look on his face is so full of love it makes me uncomfortable … I have to fight the urge not to run. He sits quietly watching me breathe and then hesitantly puts his hand on over my heart.

"I'm sorry Dean … didn't mean to go all postal on you like that … it's just ... I can't lose you again."

I'm not going anywhere Sammy.

"It's okay … just rest … I know you're tired. Close your eyes … I'll keep watch."

I smile, he's taking care of things … and I am pretty worn out …

I drift in and out of consciousness. Don't think I've ever felt this sick before. Sammy sponges me down gently, the cool cloth moving over my entire body and bringing relief from the raging fever.

I don't know how I got here, but I'm standing in a dimly lit room ... I can see Sammy … he's directly in front of me … if I reach out I can touch him … he's smiling at me with sad eyes … I want to go to him but I can't move … and then I see it … it's the Lich … she's hovering just behind him … I try to call out, to warn him, but I can't move and I can't make a sound … oh shit … another woman moves out of the shadows, wearing black leather, her black eye's pierce my soul …she's holding a knife … NO! … SAM LOOK OUT! … he doesn't hear me … oh god it's happening again … I have to get to him … I struggle to break the numbness that is immobilizing my body … don't let it be too late, please god, don't let it be too late … they're both reaching out for Sammy, he doesn't see them … NO!

A raw … "NOOOOOOO!" … tears from my throat as I bolt upright on the surgical table, sweat pouring from my body.


He's not here, he's not with me, oh god, they've got him. Those bastards have my Sammy. I push myself up … I rip the wires and tubing as I stumble to my feet. I need to get out of here, I have to save him … I'm not gonna let him die … not again! Adrenalin pushes me forward and just as I'm about to reach the door … it swings open. A stunned Sam, Bobby and Hal look at me in shock. Hal is carrying a box full of medical supplies. My fevered brain is trying to tell the difference between dreams and reality but I'm pretty sure it's my baby bro ... he's okay … he's standing in front of me … I grin … he's alive … relief floods my system and the last thing I see is Sammy rushing forward to catch me as I pass out.


There was this girl that I met once in Jersey. Can't remember her name, know she had a pair of knockers to die for, but the thing I remember about her most was her tongue. I remember the way she devoured my mouth while I rocked her world against the headboard. I was fascinated by it. I think it was the longest, most nimble tongue I'd ever seen. The things that tongue could do. I remember her licking me all over, it was almost as though she wanted to eat me up from head to toe.

It feels like that same tongue is licking my fingers now.

I swear to god ... if it's Sammy ... he's a dead man!

I open my eyes cautiously … and sigh with relief!

It's just Bobby's mutt. I'm lying draped across Bobby's old couch, my hand hanging over the edge which was obviously an invitation for Rumsfeld. I rub him affectionately on his huge head. I can hear Sammy clanging around in the kitchen. He's been fussing non stop over me since I let is slip that I felt hungry and can actually keep something down. He gets all 'mother henny' when I'm not well, it's his way of coping with stress. There's the definitive smell of Bobby's home made soup wafting around the place (and the aroma of fresh popcorn?). It smells delicious. My tummy growls with appreciation.


Rumsfled's head quirks to the side as he watches my stomach. I give him a withering look.

"What? Give me a break, I haven't eaten anything since lunch!" he whines as though he knows that lunch was only 2 hours ago. I give him another withering look.

Yup, Sammy … my very own Martha Stewart … he's probably getting me a bowl of that mouth watering soup as we speak. I look over at Rumsfeld's slobbering mug and snorkel.

"He, he, he!"

Plans begin to form in my evil brain. I wait for a few seconds for Sammy's return. Pretending not to notice as his worried face pops around the corner carrying the tray of tasty goodies, I start patting Rumsfeld on the head while he wags his tail enthusiastically.

"You're still a way better kisser than Sammy …yes you are … yes you are!"

Sammy stops short, looks at me and the mutt, and burst out laughing. I can't suppress a chuckle of my own. Sammy is laughing so hard he nearly drops my tray of thick creamy chicken soup and oven warm corn bread.

"Sammy, don't you dare mess with my grub, get over here! I'm on the verge of starvation!"

I wave my hands at him impatiently.

"Sorry Dean, you just really crack me up sometimes!" Sammy is wiping tears of laughter on his sleeve as he puts the unsteady tray down on the table.

"Yeah, I think I need to take my act on the road!"

He's suddenly very serious.

"Don't start! You're not going anywhere until you're 100. Bobby says that it's gonna take at least another week before you're even on your feet!"

I sigh miserably in acceptance. Just because it's true, doesn't mean that I've got to like it. I shift slowly, my ribs still hurt like a mother. I give Sammy a look of warning just in case he tries to help me (he's already hovering). I manage to get myself up into a fairly comfortable sitting position. There are pillows and blankets everywhere. It's a miracle there's any room for me.

I've been drifting in and out of consciousness for two days. My panic attack caused a bit of a setback, what with me passing out and Sammy nearly having a hernia. The new batch of antibiotics worked like a bomb though, infections gone and Bobby says I even have some color in my cheeks. I'm ignoring the fact that he was giving me a vitamin B injection in the ass at the time. Today is the first day that I'm strong enough to sit on the couch. And now it's become my base of operations. It's close enough to the kitchen, the bathroom and more specifically the TV. I've been watching re-runs of The Thundercats, The Six Million Dollar Man and in a few short minutes 'NFL Football' … god I love cable.

Sammy scoots in next to me … he smells squeaky clean … probably had a shower … but he hasn't brushed his tousled hair yet. I look at his wet hair … I look at Rumsfeld … I grin evilly. He shifts pillows and blankets to fit his long-limed frame, a huge bowl of popcorn cradled in arms. I'm definitely having me some popcorn as soon as I've worked my way through my own cuisine. My hand shakes slightly as I lift the warm spoon to my mouth. Sammy's worried sideways glance doesn't go unnoticed as I take another flavorful mouthful.

"Oh man … this … is so … good!"

Juices are dribbling down my chin as Bobby and Hal walk in the front door.

"Holy cow … he eating again?"

Oooh cow … I could do with a juicy steak.

"Got to … build up … mfff strength," I say as I stuff another huge piece of butter melting corn bread into my already full mouth.

Bobby and Hal chuckle.

"He's definitely on the road to recovery!"

"Maybe we should steam you up some vegetables, you'll need the vitamins!"

I snort disgustedly, "vegetables aren't food …they're what food eats!"

Sammy snorkels and shakes his head. Don't know what he finds so funny.

"Dean's diet consists mainly of animals or their by-products. If it doesn't moo and have horns … he won't eat it!"

"If we're not supposed to eat animals, how come they're made out of meat?" I wiggle my eyebrows. Sammy chuckles.

My tummy is pleasantly full but my hand still snakes out every minute or so to steal some of Sammy's popcorn. He doesn't seem to mind. Bobby and Hal grab some beers as they join us to watch the match. Sammy takes a sip of his own cold brew while I give my glass of orange juice a dirty look. Damn … I really, really, really hate being sick! Somewhere just before the end of the 2nd quarter I make a move to get up.

"What the hell are you doing Dean!"

"Gotta pee … do you mind?"

"Let me help you …"

I give him another warning look but that doesn't stop him from helping me to my feet. I sway slightly but I manage to stay upright. Ooh … ribs absolutely still hurt … I hiss through my teeth. I quickly brush Sammy's arm away before he scoops me up and carries me to the toilet seat.

"I can do it …" I begin shuffling slowly to the bathroom, Sammy cussing under his breath about stubborn, stupid older brothers. He watches me like a hawk all the way to the bathroom door.

"If you're not back in 5 minutes … I'm coming in!" He means it.

I give him a victorious smile and the thumbs-up as he reluctantly sits down again, Bobby and Hal nodding their heads in agreement at Sammy's remark about me being a jackass.

Good. There attention is back on the TV … and Rumsfeld has followed me … smart dog. Grin. I let him follow me into the bathroom as I close the door. I shuffle over to the toiletries … there it is … Sammy's 'non-tangle/extra volume' hair gel. I smirk again as I look down at the dogs sticky, slimy, drooling mug … I'm definitely goin' straight to hell!

I make it back to the couch just before the 3rd half and we watch the rest of the game with enthusiastic gusto! The Dallas Cowboys win by 6/1. I collect my winnings from Bobby and Hal … Sammy snorts in amusement.

He ruffles his fingers through he's now 'dry' hair and gets up to go to the bathroom.

Oh yeah … here it comes! I sit back and wait. Grin. I haven't forgotten about the ice-packs.

"OH HOLY SHIT … WHAT THE HELL … DEANNNNNNN! …. god you are sooo friggin GROSS … SHIT … I'm gonna kill you!"

Bobby and Hal look at me with raised eyebrows.

'He, he, he!"

Maybe I should start my own reality TV show … 'Pimp my Hair' … paybacks a bitch … snorkel!

Fin ;0)