Lean on Me (Missing Scene for 4.06) 1/1 PG, Gen

Author: Swanseajill
Rating: PG, Gen
Characters: Sam and Dean
Pairing: None
Word count: 1,605
Spoilers: No rest for the Wicked, Yellow Fever
Disclaimer: n't own them, making no money from them.

Summary: A missing scene from Yellow Fever. It takes place at the motel, just before Sam leaves to meet Bobby. "Sam wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the façade. Deep down, he was beginning to feel more and more out of his depth."

Author's Note: I had some issues with this episode, and this is my attempt to fix some of them – a form of self-therapy I've decided to inflict on unsuspecting readers. Many thanks to my beta, iamstealthyone, who made some very insightful suggestions and helped me gain some perspective after reading the first draft. Any mistakes or inconsistencies of character portrayal in the end result are, however, 100% mine!

Sam was in the bathroom when he heard the scream – loud, urgent and terror-filled. He dropped the towel he was holding and rushed back into the bedroom.

He'd left Dean sitting on the edge of the bed watching TV, muscles rigid with tension, picking distractedly at the edge of the bandage Sam had wound around the bloody gouges he'd cut into his left forearm.

Now Dean was on the floor, curled in a protective ball in the gap between his bed and the wall. He'd pulled the bandage off and was furiously scratching at already bleeding skin, trembling like an animal frightened by a clap of thunder.

Damn it. He'd only been out of sight for a few minutes, but he should have known better. The sickness had progressed so far that the slightest thing sent Dean into a state of terror.

Sam dropped to his knees in front of him and wrapped a hand reassuringly around his brother's neck. With the other, he took a firm hold on Dean's wrist to stop him from inflicting any more pain on himself.

"It's okay, Dean," he said, speaking calmly and softly; any harsh sounds would be rewarded with a flinch and a flash of panic in Dean's eyes. "You're okay. Whatever's scared you, it isn't real. It isn't real."

"They're here." Dean's voice, usually so strong and certain, was shaky and hesitant. "The hell hounds. They're trying to get me."

Sam's mouth went dry as his mind conjured a vivid memory of Dean writhing in agony as powerful claws ripped deeply into his flesh.

What could have provoked this nightmarish hallucination?

The TV caught his eye. On the screen, two men ran desperately through a dense forest, hotly pursued by a pack of vicious wolves. His jaw tightened as comprehension dawned. He'd left Dean watching Nickelodeon; he must have switched channels. Quickly Sam snagged the remote lying on the floor beside Dean and hit the standby button. "They're gone now," he soothed. "You're okay. They're gone."

Dean clutched at Sam's shirt, white-knuckled. "Sam, no, they're still here! Can't you see them? They've come to take me back."

Sam bit his lip. It hurt so badly to see Dean like this — out of control, a helpless victim of the fear-induced adrenaline surging through his body.

The past two days had been nothing less than surreal. At first, he hadn't connected Dean's odd and decidedly irritating behavior to the case. After all, Dean was a master at the art of annoying his younger brother. Only when the EMF meter began shrieking did Sam connect the dots and realize that Dean had been infected.

Even then, he'd found it hard to take the threat seriously, stubbornly refusing to accept the idea that his brother could die. Yes, the situation was serious, but then, it always was. That was how they lived, and this was just another tight corner like many others.

Nothing, though, had prepared him for Dean's rapid deterioration. Initial cautious behavior had quickly morphed into full-blown fear of the most unlikely things. Then the hallucinations had started.

It was so wrong, so totally out of character that Sam had no idea how to handle it. He'd opted for the calm, matter-of-fact approach, reasoning that any overreaction on his part would only fuel Dean's fear. It had worked, so far at least, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the façade. Deep down, he was beginning to feel more and more out of his depth.

He took a deep breath and pushed his emotions ruthlessly aside.

"Dean, look at me," he said firmly. "Look at me!" He squeezed his brother's neck and waited until Dean looked up uncertainly and made eye contact. "It's all in your mind," he went on, keeping his tone confident and calm. "There are no hell hounds. You're safe now. There's nothing there."

Dean vigorously shook his head. "I can see them!" He was shaking violently now, breath coming in short pants, terror-filled eyes shooting frantic glances around the room.

Under Sam's hand the pulse in Dean's wrist pumped abnormally fast and he knew he had to calm his brother down quickly. This was how the others had died, their hearts literally giving out from fear.

"Dean, you have to calm down," Sam said, introducing a note of authority into his voice. "You're going to hyperventilate. Slow breaths, okay? Look at me. Breathe with me."

Dean's eyes locked on Sam's, and Sam held his gaze steadily. After a long moment, Sam was relieved to see his brother begin to copy his own long, slow breaths.

When Dean's breathing had slowed to near-normal, Sam said more softly, "That's good. You're doing great. Now, listen to me. You're sick, Dean, you know that, right?" After a slight hesitation, Dean gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Okay," Sam went on, encouraged. "So you know that nothing you're seeing is real. I need you to trust me and try to believe that, okay? You have to fight the fear. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise, and I'm going to fix this. But I need you to trust me."

Something flickered in Dean's eyes, and he nodded again, more firmly this time.

Sam blew out a long breath and let go of Dean. He wanted to give his brother some space now that the crisis was over, knowing how much Dean hated to be crowded. He leaned back against the wall.

After a moment Dean shifted position, slumping heavily down beside him, tremors still running through his body. Sam was a little surprised when he silently edged closer, pressing against Sam. Sam straightened a little, taking some of Dean's weight, silently acknowledging his brother's unspoken need for support.

An uncharacteristic need that was a clear indication of the extent of Dean's sickness.

In that quiet moment Sam finally faced the truth and it shot an arrow of fear through him.

If he and Bobby didn't find some answers fast, Dean was going to die.

Again.

Sam's body tensed as he fought back the paralyzing fear that had his own heart thumping as hard as Dean's must be. Is this what Dean was feeling — this debilitating terror that blocked out every coherent thought until all that was left was a raw, physical response?

Sam shook himself mentally. Dean was sick; he couldn't control his fear. Sam could, and he had to, for his brother's sake. Dean needed him to be strong and clear-minded.

After a while, Dean's trembling eased and he pushed himself away from Sam, creating some space between them. He kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

"Dean?" Sam prompted. "You okay?"

Dean glanced at him. The fear had faded, giving way to an expression of anxiety mixed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said quietly. "I know I'm pathetic, but I can't… I can't control it…"

"It's not your fault," Sam said firmly. "This isn't you Dean, it's the sickness. But you're going to be fine. Bobby will know what to do." He glanced at his watch and was alarmed to see how much time had passed since this latest hallucination had started. "We're meeting him at the mill in fifteen minutes, so we have to leave now."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not going with you."

Sam frowned. "What? Yes you are, Dean. I'm not leaving you here on your own." If Dean had another hallucination, and Sam wasn't there to calm him down … No. Not going to happen. "You can stay in the car. You'll be safe there. I won't let anything happen to you."

Dean snorted. "Dude, look at me. I'm scared of my own freakin' shadow. I'll be a liability, and you'll be distracted looking out for me. I'll be okay. Go."

Sam closely studied his brother's face. The underlying fear was still there, but now it was laced with resolve. He felt a surge of pride for Dean's determination to fight against the constant, paralyzing terror. Still…

"I don't want to leave you here."

Dean smiled weakly. "I don't want you to leave me here either, but we're out of options, Sammy. Go. Clock's ticking."

Sam nodded reluctantly. He didn't like it, but he knew Dean was right. He stood up and reached down a hand to help his brother up.

Dean allowed Sam to pull him to his feet. He picked up the remote, sank back down on the bed and switched on the TV.

Sam nodded at the screen. "Stick to Nickelodeon this time."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It was driving me insane."

Sam gave Dean a pointed look, and held out his hand. "Fine. Give me the remote. I'll find you a nice chick flick on the Lifetime Channel."

Dean shot him a comical look of horror, which was so not funny under the circumstances. With a sigh he switched channels and settled back against the headboard as the screen filled with animated penguins engaged in a frenzied line dance.

Sam picked up his jacket and moved toward the door. He paused, and Dean looked up.

Sam felt his emotions threatening to well up again. If he didn't get the job done… He choked back his fear and schooled his features back into a mask of confidence. "Just hold on, Dean," he said. "You keep fighting until Bobby and I work out how to stop this."

Dean nodded. "Go, Sam," he said softly.

Sam squared his jaw and with one last long look at his brother, walked out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

The End