the prompt was: heat
"Sam! What the hell are you --" Dean snapped, and slammed on the brakes. The Impala came screeching to a halt and Sam finished shoving open the door.
Sam stumbled out onto the street and ran off the highway, into the woods.
"Dammit, Sam." Dean said, under his breath, and followed him. Since his wall came down, Sam had had his moments. He'd see things and react -- sometimes in ways that put him (and anybody with him) in danger. Dean didn't hold it against him -- he couldn't. It wasn't Sam's fault. Dean knew exactly whose fault it was, but he wasn't going to think about him, because that would only make him angrier. Right now, he had to figure out where Sam had run off to.
The trees were dense, and there were only a few ways Sam could have gone. Dean followed his instincts and soon heard footsteps crashing through the underbrush. "Sam!" he yelled, and then he started coughing. There was smoke, and it was everywhere. "Sam!" he yelled out again, cupping his hand over his nose.
He pushed forward, as his eyes started to tear, and then he saw Sam. He was standing completely still just a few feet from the edge of the forest -- the burning forest.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, and grabbed Sam by the shoulder. The fire was consuming all the trees in front of them -- and it was spreading, fast.
Sam wouldn't budge. He wouldn't take his eyes off of the flames.
"We have to get out of here, Sammy. The fire --"
"The fire was mine before. I burned. The fire was mine to -- "
Sam fell to his knees and as he hit the ground, all the flames died out.
Dean put a fresh, ice-cold washcloth on Sam's forehead and bit down on his knuckle again, deep in thought. Sam had been unconscious, and running a fever -- a fever that had been getting higher every hour.
Somehow, Dean had pulled Sam all the way back to the car and into the back seat. He'd driven them down side road after side road until he found an empty warehouse, with, incredibly, running water in a nearly abandoned old industrial section. They were somewhere in northern California, Dean wasn't even sure where.
"Come on, Sammy. Wake up. Stop being so friggin lazy." Dean said gruffly. He swallowed down the panic building in the back of his mind again and closed his eyes trying to think of something. There had to be something he could do. He knew a hospital wouldn't help -- what was he gonna tell them? 'My brother swallowed a forest fire. How? I don't know, probably has something to do with the fact that he was in Hell for 180 years.'
Dean got up and started pacing. His eyes fell on Sam's duffel bag and he had a thought -- a bad one, but he couldn't shake it.
They'd found a library back further south that had made Sam's eyes light up. It had belonged to a well-meaning, but naive coven of witches that had all disappeared a few months earlier. Some of the books were several hundred years old, and half of them were written in languages Dean had never even seen. Sam wanted to bring them back to Bobby -- and look them over himself, Dean figured. They'd taken about a dozen of the books with them, and Sam was working his way through each one.
The book Sam had been reading earlier in the week had caught Dean's eye because it was an entire book about healing and purification. There was a time when Dean would have teased Sam for picking a book like that to pore through, but now-- now he understood.
He rummaged through Sam's duffel and pulled it out.
It was a spell book -- handwritten and brittle with age. He turned page after page and nearly hurled the book against a wall in frustration when he realized how little of it he could read.
Sam moaned softly on the blanket Dean had put him on, and Dean ran over to check his forehead. He was even hotter than before. Dean didn't want to know how high the fever had gotten, but he knew it was getting dangerously high. He got another washcloth, placed it on Sam's forehead, and then started stripping off what he could of what Sam was wearing. He pulled off his shoes, socks and finally his jeans. Sam didn't react to any of it.
Dean took his own jacket off and realized he was sweating. It was probably just his imagination, but it felt like the room itself was getting hotter. It was a huge room though- the main room of the warehouse, so that couldn't be...
Half an hour later, Dean found a page in the book he couldn't stop staring at. His Latin was pretty good, and if he had read it correctly, this spell had to do with putting out fires, or at least with moving them. He needed wood anemone or boneset though, and they didn't have either. He covered Sam's calves and forehead with more cold, wet washcloths that he'd cut out of one of their towels, and left to go find the herbs -- taking the book with him in case he couldn't find either.
Dean had been gone for no more than ten minutes when the door to the warehouse opened slowly.
"Well, hell. We thought it was you. We weren't sure, but..." the voice laughed, "Sam Winchester, the devil himself."
Walt aims his gun at Sam and walks closer. When Sam doesn't react, Walt walks closer still -- right up to where Sam is lying on the floor. He nudges Sam's side with his foot, and laughs again.
"Well in that case, lets be absolutely sure you don't come back this time." Walt pulls out a dagger from his hip sheath and kneels next to Sam.
Dean found boneset growing not too far from where they were hiding, and drove back to the warehouse as quickly as he could. Clutching the boneset and the book in his arm, he rushed for the door. He was so desperate to get to Sam right away that he almost didn't see Roy, or his baseball bat.
Walt cut open Sam's shirt and started to cut into his skin. Sam didn't react, and Walt found himself smiling -- this couldn't be going better.
Dean dodged the bat aimed at his head at the very last second, and rolled underneath Roy's swing. He came to his feet, and his eyes locked on Roy. He felt an all-consuming rage flow through him and asked, "Where's Walt?"
"Making sure your brother stays dead this time." Roy said, and swung for Dean again.
Walt stared in distaste at the blood welling up where he had cut into Sam's chest, "Reggie told us about you. You ain't even human. You got demon blood in you. Sick freak."
"SAM!" Dean yelled, as loudly as he could, and knocked Roy's legs out from under him.
Walt pushed the blade deeper, and heard Dean yelling from outside.
Sam's eyes opened.
Roy came crashing to the ground and Dean straddled him, slamming his fist into his face over and over again.
Walt took a step back when Sam woke up, but Sam made no move towards him.
Sam stayed where he was, lying on the floor and whispered, "Burn."
Roy heard Walt screaming inside the warehouse and flinched.
Dean heard the screaming and said quietly, "I swear, if your brother hurt a hair on Sam's head I will rip your guts out and feed them to you."
Roy opened his mouth to answer, but started choking on smoke instead.
Dean jumped off of Roy a split second before he burst into flame. He pushed open the warehouse door and ran inside.
Sam was standing next to his blanket. At his feet was a pile of ash.
Dean walked over to Sam and looked him over. The room was cool again, he noticed.
Sam looked at Dean, smiled and said, "The fire was mine to give."