Blood Brothers

18 October 2007

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters (except for the 'cruor phasmatis' because I made that up) So please don't sue me because I'm a college student and will not have any money for a very long time – if ever.

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Sam walked around the silent hayloft, certain that something moved just a minute ago. A sharp pain flashed across his forehead and something dark brushed by his face.

Sam woke on the ground with the splintered wood and scattered hay. He looked up at the barn that he was just thrown from. The decrepit building was now dark and silent. He sat up cautiously to check for broken bones. His head pounded in the same double-time beat of his heart.

He stood and drew the pistol from his waistband and knew that he'd have a gun shaped bruise on his hip in the morning. He wiped blood out of his eye and tenderly felt the depth of the gash on his forehead.

Sam coughed and spit. "Dean?"

Perfect, he thought, he suggested that they split up and it seemed like a good idea. Now he was wandering around in the thick grass at the stupid farmhouse after being thrown from the second story of a barn.

"Dean, god damn-it." Sam staggered towards the car.

As his thoughts cleared and settled, he realized that he didn't know what threw him from the barn. He remembered looking around in the lower part of the barn, he heard something move above him in the hayloft and went up to investigate. Sam leaned against the car door to stabilize himself against the shifting ground. He looked up at the rotted door he was pushed through. Yeah, he concluded, he was definitely pushed from the barn by some dark figure that he just glimpsed before he went sailing through the air.

Sam pulled his cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. The numbers blurred and shifted under his fingers as he tried to dial. A branch cracked nearby and he snapped the phone shut. He shoved it into his pocket and held his gun loosely at his side.

Dean emerged from the brush near the house. He held his left arm close to his chest.

"You find anything?" Dean asked as he drew closer.

"Something in the barn." Sam's words slurred a little.

"What in the barn?" Dean stood next to Sam and saw the blood. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, you?"

He smirked. "Fell through some rotted stairs. Help me get my shoulder back in."

Sam rested the gun on the hood of the car. He held Dean's bicep and put his other hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Ready?" Sam looked at his brother.

Dean nodded. Sam pulled Dean's arm and felt it shift into place. Dean winced a little in pain and let out a slow breath.

"What was in the barn?" Dean looked at the dark structure.

"Don't know, something dark that I didn't see."

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder as he wavered a little. "You sure you're okay?"

Sam wiped more blood from his face and struggled to blend the two images of Dean into one.

Dean looked at Sam for a few seconds. "Let's come back tomorrow, Sammy."

Sam nodded slightly. Dean touched Sam's shoulder. "You hurt anywhere else?"

"No, and I'm fine." Sam touched the car for support.

They packed up, climbed into the car and pulled out of the dirt driveway. Dean drove slower and one handed to avoid using his sore left arm. He kept looking over at Sam.

"What happened, Sam?"

Sam sat with his throbbing head against the cool window. He struggled to stay awake. "Don't really know. I heard something, so I went up into the loft. Something dark came and then I was thrown through the wall."

Sam's blinked his heavy eyes and let them stay closed. Dean saw him relax into the seat and window.

"Sam. Wake up, Sammy." Dean rested his sore arm on the steering wheel and grabbed Sam's sleeve.

Sam's eyes opened and he sighed. The pain in his head sharpened and nausea washed over him. He tasted bile on the back of his tongue and swallowed it back. Dean noticed how Sam's face paled.

"How far to the room?" Sam tried to keep his tone neutral.

"A few minutes." Dean glanced over. "Why?"

"Just eager for a shower." He looked out the window.

"Yeah, well. Just don't get any blood on my car seats." Dean tried to sound unconcerned about Sam.

Sam spent the rest of the car ride focusing on breathing and not vomiting on Dean's precious seats. Dean knew that Sam was struggling, so he kept the conversation at a minimum. After minutes that felt like years, they finally pulled into the parking lot of the cheap motel. Dean turned off the car in front of their door. Sam pushed open the door and swung his feet out onto the asphalt.

"Sam." He stopped and waited for the rest of Dean's sentence. "Do you need anything?"

"Just a shower." He stood shakily.

Dean watched him for a few seconds before he grabbed their bags from the trunk. When he slammed down the trunk, he saw Sam stumble and lean against the doorframe. Dean walked up to the door and shoved the key in the lock.

"Better let me stitch that up." Dean glanced at the blood that ran down Sam's face.

"It's fine."

Dean shoved open the door and dropped his bags inside. He and Sam went into the small room. Sam shed clothes as he walked towards the bathroom. He stripped down to his jeans.

"Sam."

He stopped and turned back to his brother. Dean followed Sam into the bathroom with the first-aid kit.

"Dean, I got this."

Dean grabbed a handful of gauze and pressed it to Sam's forehead. Sam winced and fell back against the wall.

"Are you dizzy at all?"

"A little." Sam held onto the sink.

Dean mopped up the blood on Sam's face and closed the wound with two butterfly bandages. Sam slid down the wall and sat on the grungy bathroom floor. Dean sat on the edge of the bathtub. Sam had his eyes closed.

"Sam?"

"What?" Sam replied with his eyes closed.

"Did that gash come from you falling out of the barn or from the thing that pushed you?"

Sam opened his eyes. "Don't know."

Dean held up three fingers. "How many do you see?"

"I know your holding up three."

"That's not what I asked you. Sammy, how many do you see?"

Sam struggled to focus on the fingers. "Six?"

Sam took a breath and pushed himself up to his feet. Dean stood as well.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked.

"I want to shower. Get at least one layer of dirt and blood off." He saw Dean hesitate to leave. "I'll be fine, I've had worse."

"Fine, but don't lock that door."

Sam shot Dean a look of annoyance. Dean left the small bathroom and Sam shut the door. Once alone, Sam sat on the edge of the bathtub and rested his throbbing head in his hands. The room spun sickeningly and he wondered if he would pass out or vomit first. After a few minutes he stood and turned on the water for a shower. He stepped out of his jeans and into the stream of warm water. He was careful to keep the water away from the gash in his forehead. A second before he fell, he knew that he should have sat down.

Dean heard the dull thump from the bathroom and resisted the urge to burst into the room. He listened at the door for a few seconds.

Dean knocked on the door. "Sammy?"

"I'm fine." Sam's reply was muffled by the door.

Dean struggled with the decision to go into the bathroom anyway, or believe that Sam was all right. After a few more seconds of listening, he heard the water turn off and he sat down on the bed.

Sam stepped out of the shower, dizzy and sore from his fall. He half blacked out again and caught himself on the sink. He toweled off slowly and slipped his jeans back on. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of the relief on Dean's face.

"Save me any hot water?" Dean tried to play.

"No." Sam smiled a little.

"You better be lying or I'll kick your ass." Dean shot back and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam sat on his bed and slowly leaned back. "Don't go to sleep, Sammy." Dean yelled from the bathroom.

Sam sat back up and held his head in his hands. His back was sore from the fall and the pounding in his head never really went away. He reached back and felt the bruise from the gun. His stomach lurched again and he hoped Dean would be done showering soon. Sam has had his share of head injuries and concussions, but he still never got used to the feeling of one. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that this was different somehow, but he ignored it and focused on staying sitting and not vomiting on the seventies, avocado green carpet.

The shower stopped and the bathroom door opened. Dean came out in his shirt and jeans. He looked over at Sam.

"How are you?"

"Just a little tired."

Dean sat on his bed and looked over at Sam. "You're pretty pale."

Sam shrugged and looked at the floor. Dean leaned over and pulled out the laptop. He switched it on and glanced over at Sam.

Sam almost offered to work on the research, like always, but then he remembered that he was seeing two of most things. He took a slow breath and stood. He knew that Dean's eyes were on him, but he had other things on his mind. Sam grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and walked into the bathroom.

Dean resisted the urge to follow as Sam closed the bathroom door. Dean kept an ear out for his brother as he tried to figure out what was in that barn.

Sam turned on the faucet. He had no intention of brushing his teeth. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet and gave into the nausea that he had been fighting. He retched and remembered that he hadn't eaten in a while. Feeling a little less nauseous and a little dizzier, he flushed and stood. He rinsed out his mouth in the sink, ran his toothbrush under the stream and left the bathroom.

Dean looked up at him as he emerged, but Sam wasn't about to give any information. Sam sat heavily on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Find anything out?" Sam asked without moving.

"Nothing we don't already know."

Sam listened to Dean typing for a while as he fought the desire to sleep.

"How's your shoulder?"

Dean glanced up from the screen. "It's fine." He flexed his shoulders a little.

Sam nodded slightly and swiped a hand across his eyes. Dean knew Sam was tired, but that he'd fight it as long as he could. A little color had returned to Sam's face and his words slurred less. Sam reached down and grabbed a bottle of water from his bag. He sat up and took a few drinks. The room spun a little. He leaned back on the bed with his hands under his head.

Dean let him drift off to sleep. He stood and covered Sam with a blanket. Dean worked a little longer on the research before he went to bed himself.

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Sam woke to the dark room and wondered where he was. His heart pounded in his chest and his head. He heard Dean, shift and mutter something in his sleep, and relaxed. He rested his hand on his bare chest and felt the rapid beat beneath his fingers. He felt a little feverish and slowly sat up.

The room still spun, but not as much as earlier. He slowly stood and walked into the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the light. He was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the change. It sharpened his headache and he rubbed his temples.

Once Sam had adjusted to the light, he looked at his pale reflection in the mirror. His face was a little flushed, but the gash on his forehead didn't look infected. It was a little tender to touch, but that was to be expected. He turned on the water and cupped his hands under the flow. He brought the cool water to his mouth and drank.

When Sam looked up in the mirror again, a flash of a shadow crossed behind him. He turned with his breath held. There was nothing but the door. He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the sink.

"It's just the head wound." He whispered.

Sam opened the door and flooded part of the bedroom with light. He switched off the light and felt his way back to bed. He crawled up and pulled the sheet around himself.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked groggily.

"Yeah."

Dean's even breathing told Sam that he had fallen back asleep. It didn't take Sam long to drop off again.

The room was still dark when Sam woke again. He didn't know what woke him, but he suddenly realized he wasn't alone. Whether it was fear or something else, Sam couldn't move. He watched a young girl walk towards him, she couldn't have been more than eight or nine. She wore a light colored dress that was fashionable in the 1920's and had soft brown eyes. Her hair was short and bobbed just below her chin.

She smiled sadly at him and stood near his head. She opened the drawer on the nightstand between the beds and picked up the Gideon's bible. She paged through the book, stopped about midway through and picked up a newspaper clipping that had been tucked into the book. She read the clipping and fear grew on her face.

She closed the book and turned to Sam. The front of her dress was now covered in blood, dark bruises were around her throat and silent tears fell from her eyes. She stepped back from the bed and disappeared into the darkness of the room.

Something heavy settled on Sam's chest and it felt like he was drowning. He gasped and choked on the air that he tried to force into his lungs.

Dean woke to Sam's choking breath. He turned on the light and flew to Sam's bedside. Sam's eyes were closed, but he struggled and gasped like something was strangling him.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulders to wake him. "Sam! Sammy, wake up. Oh, God. Don't do this to me, Sammy!"

Sam took a strangled, shallow breath and fell still.

Dean ripped the covers off and felt Sam's chest for the heartbeat. With a small relief he felt the rapid beat under his fingers, but no rise and fall of his chest. Sam's lips were a little blue and his skin pale.

"Sammy?" Dean gently shook his brother. "You got to take a breath, Sam. Come on, Sammy, just breathe."

Sam's back arched as he took a shuddering breath. His eyes flew open and he rolled to his side. He coughed and struggled to breathe. Sam half rolled and half fell out of bed onto the floor. He sat with his knees folded under him and his shaking arms keeping him upright. Dean had an arm around Sam's shoulders incase he fell.

Sam coughed and a line of blood, thinned by his saliva, dripped from his mouth onto the carpet. Dean held Sam for a few seconds as his arms gave out.

"I…know…who…was…in…the…barn." Sam gasped between short breaths.

Dean helped Sam lay on the carped. He shoved a folded tee shirt under his younger brother's head and gently rubbed Sam's arm to calm him. Sam tried to gain control of his breathing with his eyes closed.

"Sam, what the hell happened?" Dean needed answers.

Sam shook his head slightly. He coughed again and reached for Dean's hand. Sam squeezed Dean's fingers tightly as he seemed to be trying to cough his lungs out. Blood sprayed on the shirt around his mouth.

Finally Sam stopped and he lay still with his eyes closed. His breathing was almost back to normal except that it was about twice as fast.

Dean gently rubbed Sam's arm. "Sammy, what do you need me to do?"

"Just stay." He breathed. "Stay."

"It's all right. I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

Sam didn't let go of Dean's hand for a few more minutes. Sam relaxed into the blood soaked shirt. His breathing returned to near normal and the blue tint left his lips. He pushed himself up and Dean helped him lean against the bed.

"Sam. What happened?"

Sam drew his knees up and rested his head. "I can't explain, not yet." He focused on bringing oxygen into his lungs.

Dean grabbed a water bottle from near his bag and handed it to his brother. Sam took a tentative drink as his hands shook. He was exhausted from the struggle for air. Sleep threatened to overtake him, but he had to tell Dean what happened.

"Maybe you should go to the hospital." Dean hated to admit it, but his eyes caught on the blood stained shirt.

"No." Sam panted. "I'm okay."

"If by okay you mean that you just passed out, stopped breathing and then coughed blood. Then yeah, you're just fine."

"Dean." He took a short, painful breath. "No, hospitals. Please."

Dean met Sam's eyes. "If you do that again, I'm taking you."

Sam reached for the drawer in the nightstand, but his arm fell limp a few inches away. "In, the drawer." He panted.

Dean opened the drawer. "You want to read the bible? Sam, this is weird, even for your freakish brain."

Sam gave Dean a look that he hoped conveyed annoyance. Dean handed him the book and Sam paged through.

"If you read me a biblical passage, I swear I'll deck you."

Sam found the newspaper clipping and closed the book. Dean read over his shoulder.

'August 17, 1923 – Family of Five Murdered…husband killed wife and three children…then killed himself in the barn…the most brutal murders…'

"How'd you know that was there, Sammy?"

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed. "It's Sam."

Dean took the newspaper article from Sam's hands and read through it again. He glanced up at his little brother. Sam had his eyes closed and he was relaxed in sleep. Dean felt for a pulse and normal breathing before he gently shook Sam. He helped Sam back into bed and covered him with a sheet. Dean sat on the edge of his bed and watched Sam sleep for nearly an hour. Finally he turned off the light and caught a few more hours himself.

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Dean wasn't surprised to see that he was the first up. Sam was curled in a ball under the sheet. He was still a little pale and his brow was furrowed like he was in pain or having a bad dream. Dean went over and rested his hand on Sam's forehead. Sam was a little warm, but Dean couldn't tell if it was fever or not. Sam moved under his hand and his eyes opened.

Dean pulled his hand away. "How are you feeling?"

Sam's head still pounded and his lungs ached. "I'm fine." He sat up and held the edge of the bed against the spinning. "Let's go back to the farm."

"I don't know, Sammy. You sort of pulled a Linda Blair last night."

"I did not projectile vomit across the room." Sam stood. "And my head didn't rotate."

Sam pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt. He sat down to cover the sudden loss of balance.

"Yeah, but the spewing blood from your mouth…she'd be proud." He paused. "And I heard you puke."

"What did you find out, researching last night?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing more than before you fell asleep. You found out more than I did."

Sam looked down at the floor. "She came to me last night, the girl he killed."

"She did this to you?"

Sam shook his head, causing the pain to sharpen. He stilled the movement. "I think it's what happened to her."

Dean watched his brother. He knew Sam was in pain, but he also knew that if Sam had his mind set to something, there was no turning back. Sam rubbed his temple and closed his eyes for a second.

Dean threw a few things into a bag. "Let's go find your ghost, Samantha."

Sam shot Dean a glare and pushed himself to his feet. Dean saw him waver, but pretended that he didn't notice.

Sam kept working on the computer as Dean drove back to the farmhouse. The pulled into the driveway and looked up at the abandoned buildings.

Dean looked over at Sam. "Find out anything else?"

"There aren't even newspaper archives. It's like this town removed any evidence that four people were killed by a psycho." Sam looked at the barn and repressed a shudder.

"How 'bout we don't split up this time."

Sam looked over at Dean. "No, really?"

Sam closed the computer and climbed out of the car. Dean walked around to Sam and recognized that look of sudden understanding on his younger brother's face.

"What is it?"

Sam looked at the shadowed barn and touched the gash on his forehead. "Cruor phasmatis."

"You lost me."

Sam opened their father's notebook and flipped through a few pages. He pointed to a page of scrawled handwriting. "It's Welsh, translates to Blood Sprit."

"How do we kill it? The classic salt the bones and burn?"

"No, well that's part of it." Sam glanced over at Dean and whispered. "Blood of the last victim given willingly."

"What the hell are you babbling about, Sam?" Dean took the notebook from his younger brother.

Dean looked up from the page. He turned to Sam and suddenly understood.

"How much blood?"

Sam shook his head. "A few drops on the bones."

Dean closed the notebook and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans. "Let me get this straight. The bastard that killed his family is now a blood spirit?"

Sam nodded. "He died violent, it changed what remained."

"Millions of these things have died violent…what's so different here?"

"He drank some of their blood before he killed himself."

"Why can't these people just move on?" Dean sighed and looked again at the barn. "So, it all went down in there?"

Sam nodded a little. He reached into the bag near his feet and pulled out a vial. He looked at it for a few seconds and pulled his pocketknife from his jeans. He flicked open the blade and Dean grabbed his wrist.

"Hold it. Where are his bones?"

Sam paused, he didn't know. His shoulders slumped a little and his feigned strength faded a little. He leaned back against the car and looked at the ground. Sam pulled the newspaper article from his pocket and read through it again. He didn't expect it to suddenly give him a brilliant clue, but he hoped.

Dean looked at the barn. "You saw him in the hayloft, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Then he wanted you up there for a reason."

"To push me out, Dean. You can't push someone on the ground floor."

Dean suddenly slapped a palm to his head. "Sammy, back in the 20's most families were buried on the property."

"Would they bury a murderer?"

Dean shrugged and took off towards a corner of the property with a shovel over his shoulder. Sam followed at a slower pace and kept an eye out for any shadows intent on killing him. He found Dean in an overgrown clearing, five graves rested among the old tree roots.

"How'd you know this was here?" Sam panted.

"Saw it from the house."

Dean started digging at an unmarked grave. "I guess they hated him a little."

Sam flipped open his pocketknife and drew the blade across his finger. He winced a little and held the vial under the dripping blood.

Dean's shovel hit something solid. He cleared the top of a poorly constructed coffin and pried the lid off. The mostly dust bones lay in the bottom of the rotted wood.

"Dean." Sam tossed Dean the closed vial of blood.

Dean opened the vial and dumped the blood onto the bones. He pulled salt from his pocket and liberally shook it over the bones. Sam tossed him the lighter fluid. Dean jumped out of the hole and emptied the bottle over the grave.

He lit his matchbook and held it over the grave. A gust of well-timed wind blew out the flame.

Dean glanced back at Sam. A dark shadow materialized in front of Sam and pinned him up against a tree. The shadow's features grew sharper as his anger grew. The man, in bloodstained coveralls, held Sam against the tree by his throat.

"Sam!" Dean started to run to Sam.

"No." Sam gasped. "Finish it."

While the spirit was occupied in finishing Sam, Dean flicked open his lighter and dropped it into the grave. The man yelled with the fury of hell and disappeared. Sam fell to the ground, first on his knees then forward without trying to stop the impact. Dean was at his side in a second.

Dean turned him over. "Sam." He felt for a pulse and found it beating weakly under Sam's skin.

Sam's eyes opened.

"Sammy, what's wrong?"

He gasped a little. "Sorry, Dean."

Dean pulled the notebook from his waistband and flipped to the page Sam had found earlier. He read to the bottom and realized it went on. His face paled at the words.

…the blood of the spirits last victim is needed in addition to the salt and burn ritual. The spirit will try to take as much blood from the victim as possible on its way out. I have not found a way to counteract this action. The victim will usually become a sacrifice.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean didn't mean the words to sound sharp.

Sam almost smiled. "Because you wouldn't have let me." His eyes squeezed tight in a spasm of pain.

"What's wrong?"

"Headache." He gasped and passed out.

Dean stood and hoisted Sam over his shoulder. He carried his brother to the car and gently placed him in the front seat.

Dean ran to the driver's side and climbed in. "Sacrifice, my ass." Dean spit and pulled out of the driveway.

Dean broke the speed limit and ignored the stop signs at empty crossroads. He kept resting a hand on Sam's chest to feel the heartbeat and breath. A small trail of blood ran from Sam's nose. Dean called ahead to the small county hospital.

When he pulled up at the emergency room door, a medical team was waiting with a gurney. Dean jumped from the car and ran to the other side as Sam was lifted out and placed onto the gurney. Dean fed the doctors some crap story about Sam falling off a roof they were working on and gashed open his head.

Sam moaned a little. "Dean?"

Dean took Sam's hand. "I'm right here, Sammy. You're going to be just fine."

A nurse touched Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but you have to wait here."

Dean stood by the doors and watched Sam be taken from him down the hall. He paced the small waiting room – he hated waiting rooms. He got himself a cup of bad coffee and sat on one of the hard chairs. His knee bounced in time with the ticking of a nearby clock. Thoughts kept tumbling through his mind; he shouldn't have let Sam go alone into the barn, he should have taken Sam to the hospital earlier, he should have protected Sam from all this.

Dean was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the doctor come into the room.

"Dean Johnson?" The doctor was in his fifties and kind looking with deep brown eyes and graying brown hair.

Dean jumped to his feet. "How's Sam?" He asked, both fearing and wanting the answer.

"Your brother lost a lot of blood, but he's stabilized."

"He'll be okay?"

The doctor sighed. "We're not a big hospital, we don't have a lot of your brother's blood type on hand. He's gone through our supply." He paused. "Right now all we can do is let him be and hope that he continues to improve while I call the nearest hospital for more blood."

"We're the same blood type. Give him mine."

The doctor looked relieved. "It will just take a few minutes to run a few tests. Come with me."

Dean followed the doctor down a hall. He sat down on a chair in a lab room. An attractive nurse tightened a tourniquet just above Dean's elbow. If he wasn't so worried about Sam, he would have hit on her. He watched as she inserted a needle into his arm. His blood flowed into a bag.

"You'll be a little dizzy after, so take it slow. Let me know if you feel faint at all."

Dean silently willed his blood to flow faster. When the bag was full, the nurse taped up his arm.

"Sit here for a minute."

Dean grabbed her sleeve. "Please, can I see my brother?"

She walked him to Sam's room and brought a chair for Dean. She handed Dean a cup of juice and a packaged cookie.

"I want you to eat that so you don't pass out on me."

Dean looked at Sam. His face was pale and he was asleep. His chest moved lightly under the sheet and he looked as good as dead. A heart monitor beeped in time with his heartbeat. Sam shifted a little and sighed.

"Sammy?"

His words were faint and slurred. "I said no hospitals."

"Shut up, freak."

It didn't seem possible, but Sam paled further. His heart monitor beeped faster and his blood pressure dropped. The doctor and a nurse rushed into the room.

He turned to the nurse. "Get me that blood now."

Dean backed out of the way, forgetting his own dizziness. He leaned back against the wall. The nurse ran from the room.

Sam's eyes were closed as the monitors continued to shout their alarms. The nurse returned with the bag of Dean's blood. It was hooked into Sam's line. Dean watched the red work its way into his brother's arm.

The heart rhythm stabilized and everyone took a breath that they didn't realize they were holding. The doctor checked a few things before he left Dean alone with his brother. Dean moved back to the chair at Sam's bedside.

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Sam woke feeling weak and thirsty. The room was dim and quiet. He looked towards his left arm and saw Dean asleep in a nearby chair. Sam didn't remember anything after the spirit had him by the throat.

"Hey, Dean?" He barely whispered.

Dean woke and automatically looked over at Sam. "How're you doing?"

"Thanks."

"Yeah, well, this is the last time I save your ass."

Sam nodded. "Noted." He almost drifted off again. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"When do I get out of here?"

Dean smiled. "Maybe in the morning."

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The doctor checked Sam over and gave him a clean bill of health. He walked out of the hospital to the awaiting car. He climbed in and glanced over at Dean. They pulled out of the parking lot and took to the nearest highway that Dean could find.

Sam pulled out his notebook and turned to the section about the case they just came off of. He added a few notes to the page and closed the cover.

"Dean?" Sam looked out the window. "What happened? The blood transfusions weren't working – I heard the doctor say it."

Dean looked over and shrugged. "Don't know. You seemed fine after they gave you the blood that I gave."

Sam smiled as understanding hit him. He added a few more notes to the book and tucked it in his bag. He leaned back in the seat. Dean glanced over and smiled a little as Sam fell asleep against the window. He cranked the radio and pressed down the accelerator.