The Fan Fiction website has taken it upon itself to remove 'Winchester Vs Clarkson' due to some crap about 'scripts' and actual persons. Which is nonsense; I've read fan fics involving actual living people (including the actors that play Sam and Dean, and even the actors' parents) but they aren't removed.
And there are no scripts involved in that fic, just parts of the story that take place on the set; rather like some of the scenes in Hollywood Babylon.
As the story was completed months ago, I can only assume that someone read the story, and instead of having the guts to send me a message, took the cowardly route and made a complaint.
So all those months of hard work, all 15 chapters and the wonderful reviews have come to nothing. And as result, the sequel I had been planning has been scrapped.
I have requested that this website send me a copy of the story so that I may make some readjustments, but I doubt very much I shall hear anything back.
Many thanks for all your support over that story; it is such a shame that it's to come to this.
On with the story...
He Thinks It's All Over Chapter 4
Warning: Implied physical relationship between John and OC.
"Sam? How did you get here so fast?" Dean watched as his brother slowly turned to face him.
Sam stared at him in bewilderment. "I...don't remember...Dean you have to go. You can't be around me."
Joey glanced at Dean. This could be tricky.
It was about to get lots worse as Sam raised his arm and Dean found himself on the business end of a .45. And judging by the terrified look on Sam's face this time the damn thing was fully loaded, one in the chamber, safety off and raring to go. Dean saw Sam's finger shaky against the trigger guard, noted the sweat pouring from Sam's hairline, and the tremors running through Sam's body.
He's fighting it this time, fighting Ellicott.
The hand holding the .45 was shaking slightly.
"That's it Sam. Keep fighting. Don't let that bastard win!"
Sam flinched at Dean's words and blinked rapidly as though trying to focus but failing.
"Dean... please go... I don't know how long... I can hold him off!" Blood spilled from his nose, over his lips and down his chin, and Sam let out a strangled cry of pain.
Sensing that Dean wanted to go to his little brother, but fearing what might happen, Joey shifted slightly, taking a less threatening stance. "Sam darlin'." She called softly. "Where are the journals? What did Ellicott make you do with them?"
Sam's gazed shifted to Joey and he squinted, head tilted to one side, listening. "I know you..." he whispered breathlessly.
Joey stepped forward cautiously and smiled gently. "Yeah, ya do mate. Long time no see eh?"
Sam stared hard at her and Dean could see the terrified confusion in his eyes.
"I helped you, remember? After the accident when you were sixteen?" Joey could see recognition dawning on his face. "Come on sweetheart, tell me where the journals are. Let us put a stop to all this."
Sam appeared to be in some considerable pain as he tried to get the words out; something was trying to stop him. "Ellic...told me..." his breathing came in short ragged gasps and the gun wavered a little as he fought to regain control over his own body. He screamed in agony; it felt as though his head was being ripped apart and warm blood flowed once again from his ears.
Dean swallowed hard as the white lightening, Ellicott's psycho signature, attacked his brother yet again, only this time it was far more powerful. Much more of this and Sam was gonna collapse. He was already on the verge but Ellicott wouldn't let him go until he'd used Sam to kill Dean, and after that...
"Sam, tell us where the journals are." Joey repeated, a little more desperately. Like Dean, she could see that if this carried on Sam might never recover, permanently damaged by the spirit's torture.
Sam whimpered and wrapped his free hand round his skull, staggering a little as his balance came under attack.
"Sammy, come on." Sam heard the desperation in his brother's voice and gazed at him, frightened eyes pleading for help. Dean reached out a hand to him. "You can do it Sam, tell us so we can help you."
Sam took a step towards him and Dean could see that he was fighting to lower the weapon, but Ellicott's hold was too strong. "Dean...RUN!" A shot fired off but Sam somehow
managed to swing the weapon slightly to the left and the bullet bounced harmlessly off the wall dangerously close to his older brother, chips of plaster raining down and dust hanging in the air.
Dean didn't even flinch just stayed still, his eyes never leaving Sam's. "Ya see little bro? You won't let him win. I know you won't. Now tell us about the journals...please Sam." Dean took a small step towards him, hand still stretched out in front, offering Sam a lifeline.
Sam glanced at Dean's hand and so desperately wanted to take it, wanted to reach out to him. But Ellicott wouldn't let him.
Sam's frustration was warring with his guilt, the two emotions circling each other like wolves, each waiting to see when the other would strike. And that damn spirit was hovering right in the middle, orchestrating it all. And that's when Dean finally understood. The dynamics had truly changed.
"Basement!" Sam rasped out and Ellicott punished him cruelly for his disobedience. Sam dropped to his knees and screamed out long and loud until blood flooded his mouth, and he choked violently. More blood poured from his ears as the spirit upped the stakes.
Holy shit! His eyes are bleeding! Dean thought in despair and made to grab his brother, but Ellicott was watching and the .45, which had merely dropped a little when Sam fell, now swung upwards, aiming straight between Dean's eyes.
"D...Dean...no..." Sam spluttered through the blood, trying to get his brother to understand that he had to leave.
"Joey?" Dean called out sharply. "Go to the basement. The journals are down there somewhere. The bastard made Sam go to the same spot this happened last time, probably to boost his control over him."
Joey pulled a canister of salt and a can of lighter fluid from her jacket pocket along with a Zippo. Without a word she raced from the room, down the corridor and into the dilapidated reception area. She pivoted round in the gloom until she spotted the door to the basement. Kicking it open with her foot, she barged through and virtually leapt down the stairwell, landed on both feet and immediately stood still, scanning, watching, waiting.
Her instincts were rarely wrong and as soon as they told her it was safe to proceed, she started searching the entire basement, knowing all the while that time was running out.
Watery eyes stared up at him. Sam was still on his knees, .45 raised.
Dean took a step closer. "Sammy?" He could hear Sam's shaky breathing, rasping in and out through the blood, and he didn't like the desperate gleam in his eyes.
"I'm so...sorry I h...hurt you."Sam choked out in anguish. "I n...never meant tho...those th...ings I said...y...you're my br...brother." That desperate gleam took on an intense edge, and Dean knew. He just knew.
"I'd die for you."
Those last words were the clearest Sam had spoken since this nightmare began days ago. But Dean was ready.
As Sam swung the .45 and jammed the barrel against his own temple, Dean lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and yanking it away. But Sam was still surprisingly strong and fought to keep hold of the weapon.
Sam was still on his knees and Dean was trying to use that against him, but clearly he'd taught his little brother well because Sam soon had him off balance. The two of them rolled around the grimy floor, each fighting for the upper hand, for control of the weapon.
Dean's purpose was simple, as he tried to slam his brother's hand against the floor, attempting to break his grip on the weapon. To save Sam from himself. His heart had nearly stopped at the sight of the barrel tucked tightly against Sam's head, seconds away from blowing his own brains out. And if it meant breaking his brother's hand in the process then so be it; at least he'd be alive.
Sam felt as though he were going crazy. One moment he was trying to get his brother to leave, to run to safety. The next he heard voices whispering to him, telling him that killing his brother would make him better, would make everything better.
But he knew the difference between fantasy and fiction. This was his brother! And Sam would rather take his own life than allow any harm to come to Dean.
Joey was getting desperate. She still hadn't found the damn journals and she had the steadily growing nasty feeling that something really bad was going to happen if she didn't put a stop to all this right now. Aside from the fact that she'd loved these boys since the first moment
she met them six years ago, if anything happened to either one whilst in her care, Joey knew she wouldn't be able to look John Winchester in the eye ever again. Yeah, they were adults now but that didn't mean every time their father looked at them he didn't see the little boys they'd once been.
And she had to make sure these boys survived; John was more than just her friend, and he'd lost way too much already.
The muffled sound of gunfire far above had her pausing in her movements and she raised her eyes fearfully to the basement ceiling.
"Sam, let go of the damn gun!" Dean tried to wrench the .45 away but Sam clung on determinedly. "I'm not gonna let you do this!"
"Got no choice...I don't wanna hurt you." Sam rasped out. He managed to push the gun up to his chin but Dean used his own brute strength to push the barrel away just in time as a loud retort sent a bullet thumping into a nearby rotting mattress. Both men winced at having a gun go off so close to their ears, but all powder burns went unnoticed as the struggle continued.
She'd already found the entrance to the hidden room, having been trashed by the boys during their Ellicott- induced squabble a few days before.
Joey scrabbled around until she spotted a recess in the wall. It looked like there was some kind of hidden panel, and judging by the disturbed dust and cobwebs, someone had been messing with it recently.
She plucked at it desperately, trying to find a way of opening the damn thing, but it was wedged too tight. Glancing around desperately searching for something to give her some kind of leverage, she spied an old scalpel lying discarded on a dusty work surface and prayed it would be strong enough.
Trying not to think about what it might have once been used for, she grabbed hold of it. "Ok." She spoke aloud, as she wedged the blade of the scalpel into the seams of the panel. Joey often talked to herself because she claimed it was the only time she got a sensible answer, though there were times it drove John nuts; he often said it felt as though he'd walked in halfway through a conversation. "Here we go. And OPEN SESAME!"
She yanked at the blade, pulling it down with as much force as she dared and two things happened.
The blade snapped, flying upwards and caught Joey a glancing blow just above her left eyebrow, cutting deep, and she felt warm blood drip down into her eye. The second thing that happened was that the handle of the now broken scalpel slipped, cracking the wood and driving a three inch splinter into Joey's hand. She couldn't say she was entirely surprised; it was a stupid instrument to use. But it didn't stop the mild rant that followed.
"Bugger!" After hopping around the basement room for a few seconds and generally turning the air blue, she went back to the panel and eyed it warily. Glancing from her now badly bleeding hand to the panel, a small smile grew. "Eh! Idea!"
The panel wasn't wedged as tight as it was before so Joey's vandalism with the scalpel had obviously helped, not to mention the cracked wood meant that the structure was now compromised. She smeared her own blood all over the panel's seams, using it as a kind of grease. Then grabbing at the panel once more she gave it a huge tug.
The wood gave way with a mournful groan and Joey peered inside.
There were two large leather bound books.
Bingo! She scattered the journals liberally with salt and lighter fluid, but just as she opened the Zippo, the sound of more gun fire reached her ears.
Sam managed to get some leverage and threw his brother off for a second, but like a bad penny Dean was instantly back, launching himself at Sam and reaching for the gun. Sam had that split second to turn his hand and as his brother landed on him, pinning him to the floor, the gun went off.
Both boys jerked just once and stared at each other, Dean's eyes wide with fear, Sam's pinched, brows drawn down.
"Sam, what the hell have you done?" Dean whispered. He raised himself shakily onto his hands and stared down at his abdomen.
There was so much blood, but it wasn't his. Eyes swivelling to his brother's body, he wanted to roar with grief and anger. "Oh God! Sam!"
He rolled off and immediately clutched a hand to the wound in Sam's stomach and pressed down hard. Sam let out a stifled yell and his back arched, eyes scrunched shut in pain.
"Easy Sammy. I've gotta slow the bleeding so you have to stay awake, ok?" Dean eyed his brother frantically until Sam nodded sharply. Sam was crying silently, but the hitched breathing and small grunts told Dean just how much pain he was in.
Dean had never seen a gut wound before, but his dad had told him enough stories from his time in Vietnam that he knew the likely outcome. Such wounds often resulted in a slow and agonising death, the victim usually dying from shock or blood loss. But at point blank range...
And right now Sam was going into shock.
Gently pulling Sam's trembling body into his arms, he settled him in, arms tight around him so that Dean could take full advantage of the position to press even harder on Sam's stomach. Sam jerked and blinked rapidly, trying to hold in a scream of pain.
Dean clenched his teeth and felt salty tears trickling down his face as he tried to keep Sam warm. "I'm sorry Sam," he whispered. "I gotcha kiddo, I always gotcha!"
The journals caught instantly, which was surprising given how long they'd spent in this damp, draughty old building. Joey watched them disintegrate just to make sure, then raced back up to find the boys.
The sight that greeted her caused a wave of pain to wash over her.
Sam lay in his brother's arms, trembling and covered in blood. Judging by the way Dean was clutching both hands to Sam's stomach, Joey had a pretty good idea what happened.
"Dean..." Joey moved over and sank to her knees by the boys. "I'm so sorry I didn't find them in time."
Dean raised his tear stained face to hers. "Can you help him? Please Joey."
Joey shook her head uncertainly. "I've never been faced with anything on this scale before. I just don't know mate. I could end up makin' it a fuck sight worse."
"Please! You have to try!"
Joey glanced down at Sam's pain filled gaze. "The journals are destroyed Sam. Has he gone? For good?"
When Sam gave a shaky nod, Joey leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead, running her hands through his hair.
Sam felt a familiar overwhelming sensation of peace and safety, and his eyes fluttered a little in response. The pain seemed to move like the flow and ebb of the tide until he felt nothing.
Dean watched in amazement as Sam instantly relaxed and seemed to go into a trance.
"How..." Dean tried again. "You have so got to teach me how to do that!"
Joey smiled briefly. "Not sure how it works mate. Now come on, we have to go. All I've done is slowed things down. Keep him warm and calm, and I'll drive us." Meeting Dean's gaze she added in a firm voice "he could still die 'cos that bloody bullet has to come out. And that truly is beyond my skills."
"John, it's me mate."
"Joey? How's Sam? Dean ok?" This was said in rapid fire.
Joey was silent for a moment. "They're gonna be fine, though it was touch and go for Sam. But they need to see you. Dean's already asking questions and I just don't know what to tell him."
"I figured as much."
A worried silence followed.
"Seriously John m'darlin'. I wouldn't normally push this hard, but your sons need ya right now."
A huge sigh came down the phone. "Yeah, I know. But that bastard's watching my every move and I can't risk leadin' 'im to my boys."
They were adults and their relationship was mostly platonic, but that didn't mean that they didn't over step the boundaries from time to time, didn't mean they didn't care for each other.
John's anguish broke Joey's heart. John was still deeply in love with Mary, and Joey was still very much in love with her late husband.
Neither of them were normal. It was something they had in common.
"You sure Sam's gonna be ok?" John spoke again, hesitantly.
"Yeah. I mean he's the early signs of a fever but his doctor has that in hand." Joey replied.
He gave out a soft growl. "If my sons are truly safe then get ya ass back here."
Joey felt a small shiver of anticipation up her spine and she stood up straight as her interest sparked. "You're thinking of those handcuffs again aint ya?"
There was a brief pause.
Joey smiled. "You dirty little..."
"Darlin' you know damn well I aint so little..."
Joey smiled down at Sam and Dean. They weren't her boys, but at the very same time they were. She respected Mary's memory in her quest to help keep them safe.
Sam was asleep, still drooling in that way she remembered from sixth years ago. And Dean...well he was gonna wake up with a sore neck at the rate he was going.
Joey still didn't have a full grasp of what she could do. But she knew how to procure a warm comfortable bed for the older brother, and that was mostly achieved by threatening violence to the bitchy fat ward sister, whose glare of defiance quickly turned to one of fear.
Just before she left Joey placed a gentle kiss on both boy's foreheads, and tucked an envelope into Dean's jacket pocket.
"Sweeter dreams m'darlin's."
Dean woke feeling somewhat puzzled. Last he remembered he was sitting in a hard plastic chair, which was likely designed by a complete sadist, next to his brother's bed, but now he was laying on something soft and gazing up at the ceiling.
He sat up abruptly and glanced over.
Sam was still too pale but at least he was breathing, and courtesy of the nasal tube his lips were no longer blue. His brother shifted restlessly and let out a small groan.
"Sam?" Dean called out sharply, nostrils flaring. "Wake up!"
Sam's eyes snapped open at his brother's command. He looked scared and confused as his head rolled towards Dean.
Yeah, you'd better be scared after what you tried to pull! Dean thought to himself. He was angry...no, furious as hell. Sam had tried to kill himself and damn near succeeded.
"Dean..." Sam gazed at him sadly. "You ok?" He whispered.
Dean stared back, face hard. "Oh I'm just peachy. My brother shoots himself, nearly dies, and I couldn't be fucking happier Sam!"
Sam swallowed nervously. "I'm sorry...I just didn't..."
"What Sam? Didn't what?" Dean demanded. A small part of him was telling him to shut the fuck up, stop giving Sam such a hard time and let him explain, but his fear at nearly losing Sam had bubbled over and now anger was in the driving seat. "Didn't stop to think about what it would do to me if you died?" He jumped down off his own bed, crossed over to Sam's and grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Don't you realise that I would've died too? Huh Sam?" Dean stared at his brother for a long moment, then suddenly hung his head in defeat and let go. "I gotta get outta here for a while." He backed up, feeling nauseous, and found that he couldn't even look at Sam.
"Dean, wait!" Sam reached out a shaky hand "Please don't go!"
"I'll be back later. I just can't be around you right now." Dean turned on his heel and strode from the room, ignoring Sam's pleas. As soon as he was out of the building and he could breathe the fresh air, he felt himself start to relax and the hideous nausea that had attacked him in Sam's room gradually faded.
Heading for the hospital gardens, Dean trudged along trying his hardest not to think. About anything.
If Sam had felt anxious when Dean's grip on his shoulders tightened momentarily before his hands dropped away, he felt full on panic when his brother left the room.
I just can't be around you right now.
Sam's breathing grew erratic and the pain in his stomach became unbearable. All kinds of irrational thoughts ran through his mind.
Supposing he doesn't come back? Supposing he's so disgusted with me that he leaves me here? I tried to kill myself; he must think I'm so weak. And he's right.
Before the traumatic events at Roosevelt Sam wouldn't have entertained those thoughts, would've laughed at them even. But Sam had changed since then; he could feel it. He no longer felt confident or rational; Ellicott had taken away control over his own body, his actions and thoughts, tried to force him to kill Dean, and Sam had never felt so worthless. By trying to kill himself instead he had attempted to claw back some of the control that Ellicott had stolen.
I was trying to protect him.
He hates me.
Sam couldn't just lay there. He had to go find his brother and explain, apologise, whatever it took to stop him walking away. Pulling the nasal tube off, he reached for the IV line and ripped it out, then did the same for the rest of the monitoring equipment. Ignoring the pain and the blood that dripped from his arm, Sam pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the bed until his feet came to rest on the floor. Groaning in pain he forced himself to stand
but a bolt of agony shot through his stomach. It felt as though the stitches had been pulled, and the flood of liquid warmth saturating his hospital T-shirt confirmed it. Bent almost double and clutching at the wound, Sam managed to stumble a few feet towards the bedroom door, towards Dean, before pain, exhaustion and dizziness caught up with him. The last thing he remembered was the sound of running feet and a worried, unfamiliar voice calling for assistance.
Dean sat back on a wooden bench and pinched his nose. He'd had time to calm down but it still rankled at him that his brother would do something so stupid.
"Sammy...what am I gonna do with you little bro?" Dean smiled to himself sadly and made to stand up again when a rustling in his pocket caught his attention. Frowning, he pulled out an envelope and saw his name scrawled across it in beautiful old fashioned writing. Oddly enough it was the first time he'd thought about Joey since he woke up in Sam's room and he wandered about that.
Taking a deep breath he ripped open the envelope and started reading.
Sorry mate but I had to go. Duty calls, and you know how much I hate goodbyes. Your Dad asked me to let you know that he will catch up with you both soon enough, and you're not to worry about him
As for Sam. He's gonna be in a bit of a state after what Ellicott did to him. He's gonna need your help. A lot. Right now he doesn't trust himself and he probably thinks you don't trust him either. And I know you're feeling pretty angry with Sam at the moment but just try to remember that what he did, he did to protect you. If anything had happened to you by his hand Sam would never have forgiven himself. I'm only sorry I didn't find the journals before things got out of hand.
Now go. Be with your brother. He needs you more than ever now. Give him back some sense of control and peace of mind, and most of all let him know that he's not alone.
Because right now I'm guessing that's exactly how he feels. Scared and alone.
Take good care of each other, and I'm sure I'll see you again soon.
All my love,
Dean sat up straight and re-read the letter. How the hell does she do that?
The woman never ceased to amaze him. She knew what he was feeling and understood why, but somehow she'd also known that he'd walk out on his brother.
He stared at the letter until the words swum before his eyes, then leapt up and took off at a run. Barely pausing to wait for the electronic doors to open Dean dashed at full speed to
Sam's room, coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway. Fear and panic slammed what felt like a massive overdose of adrenaline through his bloodstream.
Sam's bed was empty.
Whirling round, breathing hard and fast, Dean scanned the hallway.
"SAM!" He roared, then began searching every room possible, barging in on worried relatives and startled patients.
Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and damn near took the owner's head off.
"What?" Dean rounded frantically on the tiny doctor. "Where the hell's my brother? He's not... oh god please don't tell me..."
The doctor smiled sympathetically. "Let's go sit down and I'll explain."
Dean found himself herded gently but firmly back into Sam's room. Dr Malik gestured gracefully to the chair. Dean did as he was told, careful not to glance at the empty bed.
"Your brother was found unconscious on the floor a little while ago" Dr Malik took off his glasses and gave them a quick buffing on his white coat. "He got out of bed, ripped away his IV and collapsed. His movements broke the sutures and re-opened the wound, but fortunately our staff were alerted by the monitors at the nurse's station and help arrived before Sam could bleed out. He's had to go back into surgery to repair the damage".
Trying not to panic, Dean took a deep calming breath. "So he's gonna be ok?"
Dr Malik stared at him for a moment. "Sam's developed a post-operative pyrexia, an infection." He added at Dean's puzzled expression. "He's in recovery right now, but we'll
be bringing him back to his room shortly. At the moment its...precarious, but I think you should know that he was asking for you." Dr Malik perched on the edge of the bed. "Sam's been heavily traumatised by the shooting and he needs support. You mentioned to the police that he was dragged off the street by muggers?"
"Yeah." Was Dean's short reply. At least, that's what I told them.
"Then perhaps I could suggest post-trauma counselling?" The doctor smiled sympathetically when Dean looked shocked. "I'll leave you with that thought. But in the meantime, Sam's fever is my primary concern. As soon as he's settled I'll instruct his nurse to bathe him in cool water. Try to bring down his temperature." He smiled. "I'm a little old fashioned in that respect. Sometimes...well, the old remedies are the best?
"I can do that." Dean pleaded. "I've looked after him most of his life. Please, let me do it." I owe him that much.
Dr Malik paused to consider his request but not for long. He nodded. "Fair enough."
Dean stayed there deep in thought long after the doctor left the room. Sam was traumatised all right. How could he not be? He'd spent almost the entire week being mentally and physically tortured by Ellicott, and all Dean could do was yell at him when he was sick and walk out. How could he not have realised that?
Oh God! I'm so sorry Sammy. It was me that made this all the worse for you by refusing to talk about it, and even now I haven't learned my lesson. Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration before speaking aloud to the empty room. "And it's always you that ends up paying the heaviest price."
"Ahem." Dr Malik appeared in the doorway clearing his throat respectfully. "We're bringing him in now."
Dean nodded and stood as Sam was wheeled into the room on a gurney. He stared at his younger brother; Sam looked...was desperately ill. His hair was darkened with sweat and his skin was chalk white, except for a faint flush of red high on his cheek bones. At least he looked peaceful though the doctor reliably informed him that Sam was still out of it from the anaesthetic.
Once Sam was settled, Dean sat on the edge of the bed, his little brother's hands both encased in his own. He sighed a little in relief at seeing the oxygen mask fogging up every few seconds.
"Hey Sam. I'm back. Done some thinking. Look...dude you had me so scared, wonderin' where the hell you were." Dean rubbed soothing circles on the back of Sam's hand and smirked at himself. "Christ, I've spent the last week worryin' 'boutcha. Why the hell did you get outta bed when you were so sick, huh?"
He realised he already knew the answer to that, and Joey's letter had made a point. Sam had panicked when Dean walked out, the fever already starting to take shape, and thought Dean was leaving him. He recalled his harsh words, spoken out of fear, and cringed.
"Ok. Yeah, I get it." He watched as a nurse brought in some wash cloths and towels. "Now this is gonna take me back. Can't remember the last time I bathed you." Dean stroked a few damp strands of hair from Sam's forehead. "I think you were like four at the time...let's get that fever down huh?"
Sam remained peaceful for most of the night as Dean bathed his chest, face and neck with the water, but when he eventually started fretting, Dean ran the wash cloth down his arms and bathed his clammy hands.
"Ya know it's gonna be ok right? Sam?" Sam was whimpering again through the mask, obviously trapped in his fever-induced nightmare.
Damn Ellicott! He's gone, Joey and Sam had confirmed it, but the bastard was still being allowed to torture Sam. And there was nothing Dean could do about it. It was just Sam, the fever and a real bad fucking dream prison that Dean couldn't break his little brother out of until his fever lifted.
Eventually Dean drifted off as his own exhaustion took hold once again.
The first thing that woke him was a soft noise of distress, and he snapped awake. Eyes swivelling to the bed, Dean nearly whooped for joy.
Sam was staring at him, though rather subdued.
Dean had so much to say but all he could get out was "I know I've said it before but I'll say it again. It's gonna be ok Sam. I promise."
All Sam had the strength to do was nod slightly, his eyes still watery.
But that was all either of them needed.
Need ya bitch.
"No word from Joey?"
"You think we'll hear from her again?"
I think she and our dad have a thing goin' Sam, so what're the chances? Not to mention she pulled some freaky shit that, now that I come to think of it, isn't far off what you can do...
Instead Dean tightened his jaw, then remembered his promise.
And that was all Sam could get out of him. But he'd learned.
Sam knew the answers before he'd even asked the questions.
Not sure if I went too far with the whole relationship between Joey and John. Have I?
Also wondering if I went too far with the whole 'fever' thing, but it's done now and I enjoyed it so sod it! Hope you did too.
Let me know what ya think everyone!