Set after "All Dogs Go to Heaven": Dean catches the flu from the kid and has a soulless Sam to contend with too.
He could feel Sam watching him. No, he could feel the thing that was Sam watching him.
"Dean?" That voice, so familiar but still so strange. "You awake?"
"Yeah." He tried to raise his head but that was a mistake. The headache that had finally died around 3am was back with a roar.
"I found us another hunt."
"Uh huh." He managed to roll over onto his back, despite his muscles' protests.
"Are you going to get up?"
"Give me a minute." His voice was hoarse. He could hardly move. He was so tired he felt like he could have slept for twenty-four hours. Never mind the sudden chills that came over him as soon as he pushed the covers off. He was sick. Damn. Must have caught it while they were questioning the sick kid. Why wasn't Sam sick? Did not having a soul prevent you from getting sick too?
"We have a long drive," Sam informed him. "The hunt's in Colorado."
The room swam and he had to keep a grip on the bed's headboard in order to get to his feet. The bathroom seemed impossibly far away. One foot in front of the other.
"Is there something wrong with you?" Sam asked.
Dean didn't have the energy to spare to answer to his answer the thing that was his brother. He felt sweat beading at his forehead.
A hot shower did nothing. He barely managed to stay on his feet. Out of the shower he was shivering and shaking so hard he didn't trust himself to shave. Unless he wanted to tear his face open trying. He got out of the bathroom. Sam was hovering there. But not in the concerned way the old Sam would have.
The real Sam would have been hovering ready to offer assistance, to try and start pawing at Dean. He would have wanted to feel his forehead and pour meds down his throat while wrestling back into bed. No, this Sam was just anxious to get on to the next hunt.
"Just give me a minute Sam," he croaked, pulling on his pants and swaying on his feet as he pulled a t-shirt over his head.
"I thought we could stop at Bobby's on the way."
"Whatever man. Here, you drive." The real Sam would never have let him even get in the car. Sammy would have asked what was wrong. No, Sammy wouldn't have had to ask. He would have just known.
"Okay." This Sam said, taking the keys and whistling as he walked out to the car.
"Dean? Dean?"
"S-mmy?" Dean opened bleary eyes. The familiar eyes, deep and worried stared down at him.
"You were talking in your sleep." No, the worry was gone. Replaced by that strange placid expression.
"Oh."
"You kept asking for Lisa. Come on, it's lunchtime."
"You go. I'm going to stay in the car." Dean wasn't sure he could even get out of the car. His fever had climbed, he was dizzy just sitting there. He didn't even hear Sam's response as sleep pulled him under again.
"Cas, come on Cas, I need you," Dean moaned. Sam was still inside. Dean was hoping Castiel could appear, cure him, and be gone before Sam got back. So far, no luck. "Right, I forgot. You have a civil war. If I was a weapon of heaven you'd be here!" Dean muttered, and pulled another jacket over himself.
It smelled like Sam. How could that thing still smell like brother? He pushed the jacket onto the backseat. He would rather freeze than breathe in Sammy.
"Dean."
The voice behind him made him jump, which made his head spin and ache. He pushed the Impala door open, gagged and spat bile.
"Don't do that Cas," Dean said, when he had managed to pull himself back into the car.
"Sorry. You called?"
"Yeah, I need some Angel mojo. Fix me up, okay?"
"I'm sorry Dean, I can't do that."
"What? Why not?"
"It's an illness Dean. I can mask your symptoms but it's a virus, your body has to fight it. It's not like there are broken bones or flesh I can mend."
"Fine, then give me a damn angel Tylenol or whatever the hell you got."
A touch.
The headache receded. The chills subsided.
"Thanks Cas." But the Angel was already gone.
The reached Bobby in the late afternoon. Cas' touch was starting to wear off and Dean was weak, and tired, and he could feel his fever climbing. He was sweating despite the coolness of the car's interior.
Bobby met them at the front door.
"What the hell happened to you?" He asked when he saw Dean.
"Nothing." Dean coughed.
"Don't be coughing on me boy. Did you really come all this way just to spread your germs?"
"We were passing through," Sam said, by way of explanation.
"You know where the spare bed is Dean. Go lie down before you fall down."
Dean didn't need to be told twice as he weaved over to the bed and collapsed on to it. He was dead to the world within minutes.
"He's sick," Sam told Bobby.
"Well no shit Sherlock."
"I can't help him."
"So you brought him here?"
Sam shrugged. "Seemed reasonable."
"It's not that hard to take care of someone. You just you know, bring him some soup."
"Except you have to care," Sam said.
A/N: Like it? Hate it? Want more? Let me know!