Author notes: This was written way back in 2008. Since the death of my writing partner haven't written anything new. Dusted this off and publish it.

Do not own anything. Just playing with them for fun.

Sammy's in Trouble

By Grumpymagrat and Magratconvert

"Come on, Sammy. Get up." Dean shook Sam's bed.

Sam groaned and pulled his blanket over his head. "Leave me alone, Dean."

Dean yanked the blanket off the bed. "Get moving. I'm hungry."

Sam instinctively sat up to try to grab the blanket back, but his stomach did an abrupt flip-flop. He curled up in a ball as he lay back down. Grasping his stomach, Sam moaned. "Oh God, don't even mention food."

Dean frowned as he looked at his brother. "You look like crap. What's wrong with you?"

Sam uncurled some and tried to straighten out the blanket that Dean had tossed on top of him. "I think that I must have picked up a stomach flu. I'm fighting hard not to puke here."

Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's forehead. "Well, you don't have a fever. You probably picked up food poisoning from that café last night…damn jerk-water town."

"Then you should fit right in," Sam snorted in disgust.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked in surprise.

Sam sighed as he tried to find a comfortable way to lie on the bed. "Just because Beaver Creek is a small town doesn't make it a 'jerk-water' one, and you're being a jerk by implying it. Besides, we both ate the same beef stew 'special'. So if it was food poisoning, you'd be just as sick as me. You're just pissed because your plans have gotten complicated."

"Well, we do have a job to do, in case you've forgotten," Dean replied a bit sharply. "The murders only occur every five years on June first, which is only four days from now. Call me a concerned citizen, but I really don't want to see another murder if we can help it."

Sam gave up trying to get some more sleep. He moved to a sitting position at the edge of the bed. "You go out and snoop around town, and I'll stay here and try to do some more research on the net. We can compare notes later. Hopefully, we can…" Whatever else Sam was going to say was cut off as he flew to the bathroom.

Dean winced in sympathy as he stood outside the bathroom door listening to Sam trying to expel the small amount of bile from his stomach. He began to feel a bit guilty for arguing with Sam when he was obviously sick. "Are you okay?" he called through the partially opened door.

"Yeah," Sam gasped in between what had turned into dry heaves. "Just give me a minute."

It actually was longer than a minute, and Dean's 'big brother' instincts were beginning to kick in. He was just about to force his way into the bathroom when he heard Sam move to the sink and rinse his mouth out. Dean was taken aback slightly by Sam's ashen grey pallor, while he weakly leaned against the bathroom door jam.

"God, Sam, you look like shit," Dean said trying to lighten the mood and to cover his own worries.

"I feel like shit," Sam replied as he slowly made his way across the room to his bed which he practically fell into. "I'm sorry, Dean. You're going to have to handle this hunt until I get over whatever the hell this is."

Dean helped straighten the blanket over his brother. "Maybe I should stay here just in case you need me."

"No," Sam said weakly. "You said it yourself. We only have four days to figure out what's going on. Just because I obviously can't go out, doesn't mean we can ignore what is going on in this town. So get going."

Dean nodded his head. "Do you want me to bring you something to eat? Eggs? Toast? Coffee?"

Sam groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. "God, Dean, no, I said don't even mention food. Just go."

Dean let out a small laugh. "Okay, get some rest. I'll see you later." Dean slipped out the door and headed to the café for breakfast.

Dean returned to the hotel shortly after four in the afternoon. He found Sam sitting at the small table in front of the laptop. "Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Better," Sam answered. "My stomach still feels a little rough, but at least I don't feel like I need to puke anymore. Did you find anything out?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really, but let's talk over some food. I missed lunch, and I'm starving. Do you want to go out, or do you want me to bring something back?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not really hungry, but you go ahead. I'll keep looking on the web."

"You haven't eaten anything all day," Dean argued. "You need to eat something, even if it's something light."

Sam continued to shake his head. "Look, Dean, I'm finally feeling like I'm getting on the upside of this. I don't want to relapse by pushing my stomach too soon. By tomorrow morning, I should be ready for a nice big breakfast."

"Well, at least let me bring you some coffee, "Dean replied.

Sam sighed. "If it'll make you feel better."

Dean grinned. "Great, I'll be back in a little bit."

"Take your time," Sam said distractedly as Dean left the hotel room.

It was a little over a half hour before Dean returned carrying a bag of food and two cups of coffee. "Honey…I'm home," Dean announced with a sing-song lilt. "I went ahead and brought you an apple Danish just in case you decided you wanted something to go along with your coffee." Dean set one of the cups on the table next to the laptop.

Sam got a good whiff of the coffee, and his stomach turned suddenly. He made a mad dash back into the bathroom and began to heave violently again.

Dean stood at the open bathroom door. "Sam?" he asked worriedly.

"The coffee…" Sam gasped out. "Get rid…of the coffee. The smell…"

Dean grabbed both cups of coffee and threw them along with his bag of food out the door of the hotel room. He swung the door back and forth to dissipate the smell that had already permeated the room.

Once Sam's stomach had quit heaving, he stumbled back into the room and threw himself onto his bed. "Oh God," he moaned. "So much for getting better."

"Maybe, I should go to the drug store and see if they have something to help settle your stomach," Dean offered.

"It's just a simple stomach bug." Sam replied. "It just needs to work through my system. I'll be better tomorrow. I'm sure of it."

"All right," Dean sighed. "But if you're not better tomorrow, I am going to do something about it."

Sam laughed. "So, what? Now you have a medical degree that I don't know about?"

"No," Dean shook his head. "But I'm sure that I can find someone with one."

Sam rolled over to face Dean. "Quit being such a mother hen. Now, did you find out anything today?"

Dean shook his head. "Not really, there are a lot of local folk stories about Indian raids due to broken treaties, stolen lands, defiled burial grounds, and forced relocation to the reservations. We could be dealing with an Indian curse."

"I don't think so," Sam replied. "It doesn't really fit. I did some research on the local paper's web site. According to them, the last four victims have all been from Native American decent. Usually, they didn't curse themselves."

"Maybe it's a curse between two tribes? " Dean suggested.

"I guess that's a possibility," Sam answered.

"But…" Dean prompted.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said. "There's just something about the murders themselves…stabbings, amputations, severed arteries, things that caused terminal blood loss. The victims lived for a few minutes after the initial injury, not long enough to get help, but long enough for them to suffer and know that they were going to die. To me, that sounds personal, like a vengeful spirit."

"Which is targeting Native Americans." Dean nodded his head. "It makes sense. Do we know if it's any Indians or just one specific tribe?"

Sam shook his head. "I'll have to research the victims more to determine their tribes. Tomorrow, I think we should go to the Bureau of Vital Statistics, and look up the deaths for June first every five years as far back as the records go. We can make a list of victims and cross reference them. Hopefully, we'll find a common link that will explain this."

Dean nodded. "Okay, that's if you're feeling better tomorrow. What do you want to do this evening?"

Sam laughed. "I want you to get something to eat since you didn't eat whatever it was that you brought back from the café. Then go find a place to have a couple of drinks. Maybe then, you won't hound me about being sick."

Dean laughed along with his brother. "So, sue me for being a concerned brother…geesh. All right, I'll be back later. Call me if you need me."

Sam flipped through the television channels and finally settled on a Star Trek rerun. He dozed throughout the evening, and then fell into a sound sleep once Dean had returned.

The next morning Sam woke before Dean. He slowly sat up. His stomach turned again, but he took a few deep breaths to calm it. He shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He felt his shoulders and back muscles relax under the warm spray. When he left the bathroom, Dean was awake and watching TV.

"How are you feeling today?" Dean demanded as soon as he saw his brother.

"I'm fine. I told you I would be." Sam replied. Glossing over how he really felt. "Now, if you will do your business, we can go get some breakfast."

Dean smiled. "You got it, Sammy," he said as he headed into the bathroom.

"And don't call me Sammy," Sam jokingly called through the door.

Dean stuck his head out the door and said saucily. "Okay, you got it, bitch." He then ducked back into the bathroom.

Tears suddenly sprang to Sam's eyes, and he felt totally crushed when Dean called him "bitch". Sam grabbed his bag and pulled some clean clothes from it. He brushed at his eyes. "Pull yourself together," his mind demanded. "It's not the first time he has called you bitch. He doesn't mean anything by it. Just like you don't mean anything when you call him jerk." He sat down on his bed and forced himself to calm down. "It must be the not eating yesterday. Your blood sugar levels must be off. It's making you emotional," he told himself. It must have worked because by the time Dean emerged from the bathroom Sam was dressed and ready to go.

A short time later, the two Winchesters were walking across the parking lot, heading for the café.

"Man, I can't believe that you went a whole day without eating," Dean teased his brother. "You must be starving."

Sam shrugged. "It's not that bad."

"Aw, cone on," Dean continued his teasing. "You're a growing boy. You've got to have a hollow pit in your stomach."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not like you, Dean. I don't have to eat constantly."

Sam reached out for the door handle, but Dean reached out and poked Sam in the ribs. "Look at you; you're nothing but skin and bones."

Sam yelped when Dean poked him. "That's not funny." He gave Dean a disgusted look as he wrapped his arms protectively around his waist. "I didn't lose that much weight in just one day, at least not more than I could stand to lose," he practically growled out.

Dean laughed and reached for the door handle himself. "Come on, let's get you some food. You're grouchy when you're hungry."

Sam opened his mouth to refute Dean's statement, but then he closed it again. Nothing he said would make any difference to Dean. Dean was on a roll with his teasing, and Sam would only be giving him more ammunition if he tried to argue. Sam shook his head and quietly followed Dean into the restaurant. Unfortunately, as soon as he entered the café, he was overwhelmed by the smells of a greasy spoon, cooking bacon, eggs, the sweet smell of pancakes and syrup, but the most powerful smell was the smell of coffee that seemed to supersede all the other odors. His stomach began to turn again. Sam rushed back out the door. He took a couple of deep breaths to clear the smells from his head. He was relieved when the nauseousness that had started to build began to abate.

Dean was confused at Sam's abrupt departure from the restaurant. He followed his brother out of the café. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you still sick? I thought you said that you were getting better?"

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean. "I am getting better. It's just that my stomach is still a little sensitive after all that vomiting yesterday. The smells in there were just a little much for me."

"Well, this is just great," Dean snorted. "You need to eat, and just how do you plan on doing that if you can't handle the smell of food?"

Sam shook his head. "It's just the intensity of the smells in the restaurant. Look, there's a small park in the next block. Why don't you get our breakfast to go and meet me down there?"

"All right," Dean nodded. "What do you want? Bacon and eggs? A vegetable omelet? Pancakes?"

Sam shook his head again. "No, I think that I'll just have some toast."

"Toast? Just toast?" Dean asked. "Are you sure that's all you want?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"You want coffee to drink, right?" Dean asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

Sam shook his head again. "No, actually, I think that I'd like some tea."

"Tea and toast?" Dean couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Is there a problem with that?"

Dean grinned cockily. "It's a bit wimpy. Don't ya think?"

"Whatever, Dean," Sam said disgustedly. "I'm glad that I can be a source of amusement for you."

Dean continued his harassment. "Since I'm getting it to go, I can claim it's for my little old grandmother."

Sam held his arms out in exasperation. "Why do you have to tell them anything? It's none of their business."

"Are you sure that you don't want me to get you 'milk' toast?" Dean laughed.

"Get me whatever the hell you want," Sam declared angrily. "I'll be waiting at the park." He turned and stalked away.

"Don't be mad, Sam," Dean called after him. "I was only joking." Sam ignored him and kept walking. "What a grouch," Dean mumbled as he re-entered the café and ordered their food. After breakfast, Sam and Dean went their separate ways to do more research. Dean went to the newspaper office to check out the old copies that Sam was unable to access online while Sam went to the bureau of vital statistics to look up deaths for June first.

Dean sat at a table in the newspaper's morgue. He perused the printouts in front of him. A pretty blonde brought him another stack of papers. "Here you go, Mr. Cameron. Here are the last copies of the editions for the first week of June for as far back as we keep records."

"Thank you, Karen." Dean flashed her his trademark smile. "And please call me Jim." He leafed through the copies. "How far do these go back?"

"Back to 1938," Karen answered. "The paper was started in 1919, but if they kept copies of the first editions, they were lost somehow." Karen leaned over and smiled slyly at Dean. "I find this all terribly interesting. I've never met a Hollywood writer before. Is there anything else that I can do for you?"

"You've been a great help already." Dean began to blow her off, but then changed his mind. "Have you lived here in Beaver Creek very long?"

"Born and raised here all my life," Karen replied as she sat across from Dean.

"So, you would know all the local folk lore," Dean said. "You know things like ghost sightings, haunted houses and such."

Karen nodded her head. "Of course, I do. Everyone knows that you don't go to lover's leap on Valentine's Day because of the jilted lover who jumped off there over a hundred years ago. It's said that he is looking for his 'girlfriend' to push over the cliff to join with him in death. Or there are plenty of stories of ghosts appearing in the 'old town cemetery' on Halloween night."

"What about late spring?" Dean interrupted trying to get back to June. "Like late May or early June?"

"What's with June?" Karen laughed. "First you want to see the papers for that time, and now you're asking about it."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "It's a new angle on a horror movie that I'm thinking about. There are plenty of movies about haunted houses and graveyards. My idea is a 'haunted date'. You know, one day out of the year that strange things happen: mysterious sights, ghost sightings, or strange deaths."

Karen thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No, I can't think of anything."

Dean leaned forward resting his arms on the table. "So, you don't know of any traumatic deaths that happened on June first?"

"This is your lucky day," Karen answered. "Or maybe not since it doesn't have anything to do with 'hauntings'."

Dean shrugged again. "Tell me anyways. I never know where my inspiration can come from."

"Well, first off, I don't want you to think that my family are bigots, because we're not," Karen began. "But when I introduced my boyfriend to my grandfather, he mentioned how times had changed for me to be dating a Native American."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not following you. Your grandfather doesn't like American Indians?"

Karen shook her head. "No, it's not like that. He's fine with them. It's just that his grandfather's grandfather, something like that, I'm not really sure about the generations. Anyways, he was the sole survivor of his family's massacre by a small group of Sioux Indians."

This happened on June first?"

Karen nodded. "Yeah, it was June 1, 1862. My great-whatever-grandfather was five at the time. He was the youngest of seven children, and his father was trying to get a farm going a few miles outside of town. Then one day when they were out working in the fields, an Indian raiding party attacked and murdered everyone, or so they thought. My grandfather did survive though. It was two days before someone found him, and his legs were never right after that. He had to walk with a crutch the rest of his life."

"That's horrible." Dean hoped he sounded sympathetic. "What happened to him?"

"Well, he was adopted by the town banker and his wife, who were childless." Karen answered. "He actually had a nice life. Probably better than he would have had living on a farm. But he always carried his hatred toward Indians especially Sioux. He always said that he would make them pay for what they did to his family, even if he had to come back from the dead."

"Wow, that was interesting," Dean said. "Do you happen to know his name and when he died?"

"His name was Joshua," Karen nodded. "Joshua Arthur Smith Tillman and he died in the nineteen-teens. I'm not sure the exact year."

"Is he buried in the 'old town cemetery' that you mentioned before?" Dean continued his questioning.

Karen shook her head. "No, he's buried in the Tillman private family cemetery. It's in town behind the Tillman House Bed and Breakfast if you want to see it."

"Maybe I'll check it out later," Dean said as he glanced at his watch. "But right now, I have to meet someone." He gathered up his papers and shook Karen's hand. "Thank you, Karen. You've been a great help."

Karen smiled. "It was my pleasure. Let me know if you need anything else, and let me know when your movie comes out."

"I will," Dean answered and left the newspaper office whistling.

Dean entered the one and only café in town once more. He spotted Sam, already seated in a booth. "You know, we're lucky that they've got good food here or we'd be in real trouble." Dean joked as he slid into the opposite side of the booth. He was slightly surprised by the plate of onion rings sitting in the middle of the table. "What is that?"

"They're onion rings." Sam mumbled around the one he had just shoved into his mouth.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I do know that. But I also know that you don't like onions. So why are you eating them?"

Sam shrugged. "They just sounded good." He reached for another and dipped it into a white creamy substance.

"And what are you dipping it in?" Dean demanded.

"It's mayonnaise," Sam answered.

Dean screwed up his face. "That's disgusting," he declared.

Sam shook his head. "No, it's really good. You should try it."

Dean snagged an onion ring but forewent the mayo. "I don't think so," he said as he shoved the ring into his mouth. "Where's our waitress? I'm starved."

Sam motioned to a young waitress who came over and took their order. Sam ordered a turkey club sandwich and a bowl of soup, while Dean ordered a bacon double cheeseburger with fries.

"So, did you find anything out?" Dean asked while they waited for their food.

Sam shook his head. "Nope, I turned up a big fat zero. Apparently, there was a fire at the courthouse in the early 1930s, and they lost all the death records from before that. How about you?"

"Me?" Dean grinned widely. "Me, Sammy, my boy, I hit the mother load."

Sam rolled his eyes. "IF you had already figured this out, why'd you even ask me what I found?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess I wanted to see if you found anything that would corroborate the story I heard."

Sam waited for Dean to continue, but Dean shoved another onion ring into his mouth. After a couple of seconds, Sam prompted in irritation. "So, are you going to tell me what you found out, or do I have to read your mind?"

Dean shook his head. "God, I don't know what bug crawled up your ass, but I hope you get over it soon. You sure are grumpy."

Sam threw his arms up in disgust. "I wouldn't be grumpy if you didn't insist on playing this inane guessing game. It's not funny, especially since we have a job to do."

"All right, all right," Dean held his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't get your panties in a wad. God, you're worse than a PMS-ing woman."

"So help me God," Sam snarled. "If you don't knock off this bullshit, you'll be working this job alone."

Dean could tell that he had pushed Sam as far as he could at the time. "Fine," he huffed. "There was a young woman who was helping me at the newspaper office." Dean caught Sam rolling his eyes again but chose to ignore it as he continued with his story. "Anyways, when I struck out with the papers, I began to ask her questions, and you won't believe what she told me."

Dean related the story that Karen had told him. During that time, the waitress delivered their food. Sam began quietly eating while Dean took bites in between talking.

When Dean finished his story, Sam shook his head. "Is that all you have? Just some family tale about a long ago ancestor?"

Dean looked at Sam dumbfounded. "What do you mean 'is that all'? Don't you see? It all fits: the date, the revenge against Native Americans, the five year interval, deaths caused by traumatic blood loss?"

"That's if it's true." Sam countered.

"Why would Karen lie about it?" Dean asked. "What could she get out of it?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe she thought if she impressed you, she could get a date or two out of you."

"I don't think so," Dean replied. "She's got a boyfriend, and from how she talked, they sound pretty serious."

"Whatever," Sam mumbled.

Dean dropped his cheeseburger on his plate. "What the hell is your problem? I finally got what could be the big break in this case, and you act like I got all this out of a spaghetti western or something."

Sam sighed heavily. "I just wished that we had something to 'corroborate the story', as you put it. What happens if we burn this guy's bones, and the murders still continue?"

"Then we're right back where we were two days ago when we hit town," Dean snapped. He sighed as he tempered his voice. "Okay, maybe we can find something to support Karen's story."

"Like what?" Sam questioned. "We've already checked death records and the local newspaper. Where else do you think we can find information that far back?"

"God, you're just little Miss Sunshine today, aren't you? "Dean shrugged. "I don't know. The library, maybe? Some towns had town historians that recorded all the important dates. I would think an Indian attack would be recorded, or maybe it would have something on the Tillman family. We could also check adoption records. I'm sure the banker would have insisted on a formal adoption."

Sam nodded. "Maybe, we should check out the Tillman Bed and Breakfast. They could have more information on the Tillman family."

Dean shoved the last of his burger into his mouth. "That's a good idea. I'll do that this afternoon and then hit the library, and you can head back to the courthouse to check adoption records."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know what good that will do. If they lost the death records in the fire, they would have lost the adoption records too."

"Humor me," Dean said. "Maybe, they kept them in separate rooms, and they somehow survived."

"All right," Sam replied still shaking his head. "But don't hold your breath."

Dean stood from the table. "Can you pay the bill?" To which Sam nodded his head. "Okay, I'll meet you back at the hotel when I'm done. I just hope you're in a better mood by then." He then left before Sam could form a comeback.

The sun was setting by the time Dean returned to the hotel room. Sam scowled at him from behind his laptop. Dean could tell that Sam was still upset with him so he decided to try a different tactic. "Still playing on that thing or just looking up porn?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to the computer.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I'm checking the news sites to see if hell froze over," Sam answered.

"Ha ha, very funny," Dean rolled his eyes. "Did you find out any more info?"

Sam sighed. "Well, as I figured, any adoption records for that time were lost in the fire. So I came back to do research on Indian activities during the early 1860s"

"Well," Sam began. "I found out that this area did have its share of raids, some large and some small, but they didn't give exact dates for most of them. What about you? Did you find anything?"

."I was able to scope out the family bible at the Tillman place," Dean answered, pulling a couple of pieces of paper from his pocket. "In it there was an entry for a 'Joshua Arthur Smith' born to Charles and Elizabeth Smith on March 18, 1857, and adopted by Zacharias and Adalaide Tillman on October 3, 1862."

"So, that fits our timeline," Sam interrupted.

"Yeah, it does," Dean replied.

"Did you find anything else? At the library?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "The closest that the library had to a town history from that time was a diary from the local post woman. Upon her death, she donated over 50 years worth of diaries."

"And one was for 1862?" Sam asked. "Did it mention anything about Joshua?"

Dean nodded. "There was one mention of Joshua and the Tillmans. I had the librarian photo copy the entry for me. I'll read you the important part.

December 20, 1862

Tonight was the Tillman's annual Christmas Party. I know that there are some in town that refuse to come because they think that the Tillmans are just trying to lord their wealth over the rest of us, but I know better. I have come to know Adalaide through my employment at the post office. They truly realize how blessed they are especially during these turbulent times, and they truly want to share their good fortune with other(s). This year they were even more extravagant than in previous ones. Adalaide said that they wanted to make this year special for young Joshua. I know that they meant well, but I do question the propriety of their thinking. Poor Joshua, my heart went out to the poor lad. After what he has endured this past year, they probably should have foregone the gaieties and celebrated the holidays quietly, and let Joshua acclimate to his new surroundings. The poor boy sat in a corner all night. He seemed terrified of all the people. He still has to use a wheelchair to move. Adalaide said that after the first of the new year, they will be taking him to a specialist in Chicago. They are confident that this new doctor will be able to help Joshua. I hope their faith is not misplaced."

Dean stopped reading from the diary entry. "So, Sam, do you think this is enough corroboration?"

Sam sighed. "I guess it is. It's just sickening though how you just 'fell' into the information by hitting on a girl."

Dean grinned. "What can I say? You use your brain, and I use my charm."

Sam snorted. "So, 'Mr. Charm", if you're so good, do you know where we can find Joshua Arthur Smith Tillman?"

Dean sat up at the edge of the bed. "As a matter of fact, I do. Michelle, at the Tillman place, was kind enough to take me directly to old Joshua's grave." Dean stood up. "So, let's go get dinner, and then maybe have a beer or two before we head to the gravesite."

Sam closed his laptop. "Okay, sounds like a plan."

It was shortly after midnight, and Sam was working up a sweat digging up the grave of Joshua Tillman. "You're so proud that you broke this case. You should be the one down here digging," he grumbled.

"That's why you're down there." Dean, who was holding a light for Sam, laughed. "I've already done my share of the work. Now it's your turn."

Sam leaned against the dirt wall that he had created by his digging. "Well, I think that you're going to have to take over. I'm not feeling so good all of a sudden."

"Don't give me that." Dean shook his head. "I won't fall for the sympathy bit."

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam argued. "I really feel sick." He started to climb from the hole but was overcome by a wave of dizziness and fell back into the hole.

"Sam!" Dean called out in concern as he knelt next to the open grave.

"I'm all right," Sam replied as he regained his bearings. "I just overdid it with the digging."

"Well, I don't like it," Dean said as he helped Sam out of the grave. "Here, you hold the light, and I'll finish this."

"Okay," Sam said as he sat on the ground. He picked up the lantern and shined it into the hole for his brother.

Dean had just heard the first thunk of the shovel hitting the coffin when he heard Sam mutter "Oh, God," and the light disappeared. He turned and saw the light bobbing as Sam was struggling to his feet. He reached out and grabbed Sam's pant leg. "What's wrong, Sam?"

Sam turned back towards Dean. "I'm gonna…" Whatever else Sam was going to say was lost as he began to lose the contents of his stomach into the grave and, unfortunately, also on to his brother.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean exclaimed as he scrambled out of the grave pulling his shirt off. He tried using the few clean spots to wipe his face and hair. "What is your problem?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam mumbled as he curled up on the ground. "I guess I'm not over the flu after all."

"That does it. I'm finding you a doctor." Dean climbed back in the grave and easily hacked an opening in the partially decayed coffin.

Sam shook his head. "I don't need a doctor. It's just the flu. Be reasonable. I've only been sick for two days."

Dean climbed out of the grave and grabbed the salt and lighter fluid from their bags. "That's just it, Sam. You never get sick." Dean threw a lighted matchbook onto the doused corpse. "Even the few times that you did get sick as a kid, you'd puke only once or twice."

"So, I'm getting old," Sam replied as he swung the bag over his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get going before someone spots the flames and calls the fire department."

"Don't try to change the subject, Sam," Dean argued as he picked up the shovel and followed Sam towards the car. "You're just going to make me say it. Aren't you?"

"Say what?" Sam asked in confusion.

Dean opened the trunk and dropped the shovel in while Sam threw the bag in. "That I'm worried about you. This 'be sick, get better, get sick again' routine has me concerned. It's weird for you. It's almost like a pregnant woman with morning sickness."

Sam rolled his eyes as he opened the car door. "Yeah, that's it, Dean. I'm having morning sickness."

"All the more reason that you should see a doctor, Samantha," Dean said as he started the impala.

Sam shook his head. "I'm not going to any doctor. I'm sure that I'll be feeling better soon. End of argument. Now, can we go? I'm tired and would like to get some sleep."

"We'll see." Dean mumbled as he put the car in gear and headed towards the hotel.

Dean awoke the next morning to the sound of Sam in the bathroom vomiting again. "So much for him getting better," Dean thought. "Somehow I have to convince him to go to a doctor."

Dean heard the shower turn on, and he waited impatiently for Sam to come out of the bathroom.

When Sam did exit the bathroom, he saw Dean watching him closely. "Good morning," he said in a rough voice. "How long have you been up?"

"Long enough," Dean answered. "When are you going to admit that you're sick and that you need to see a doctor?"

Sam spun to face Dean but had to close his eyes at the dizziness that hit him. He took a couple of deep breaths to ward it off. "I'll admit it when I ever get that sick."

"Fine suffer then," Dean responded grumpily. He stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He stepped under the steamy spray of the shower and tried to organize his thoughts. He was really starting to get worried about Sam. This 'getting better just to relapse again' concerned him. Call it gut instinct, but this just seems to be more than a simple case of the flu. He just had to figure out a way to convince him to go to a doctor. When he finished his shower, he stepped into the other room to find Sam curled up on his bed watching a Beverly Hillbillies rerun. Shaking his head, he said. "I'm going to breakfast. Are you coming with me?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so, but could you bring me some ginger ale when you come back?"

"I don't think they have ginger ale at the café," Dean replied.

"Probably not," Sam conceded. "But you could check out the carryout in the next block."

"All right, I'll see what I can find," Dean answered. "I'll be back in a while." He grabbed his coat and left the room.

About an hour later Dean returned. "Well, I found your ginger ale."

"Thank you," Sam said as he got up to get one of the plastic cups from the small table where the ice bucket and coffee pot sat.

"First things, first," Dean said as he reached into the bag and then tossed a box at Sam.

Sam caught the box by reflex. "What the hell?" he asked after reading the box. "This isn't funny."

"Well, we need to figure out what's wrong with you," Dean explained. "And since you don't want to go to a doctor..."

"But a pregnancy test?" Sam snorted. "What's next? A 'do-it-yourself' CAT scan kit?"

Dean smiled. "Not if that test is positive."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

Dean stared back at Sam. "Look, I can't shake this feeling in my gut that there is something really wrong with you. So, you have your choice. You either agree to go to a doctor, or you take that test." Dean was sure that Sam would be too embarrassed to take the pregnancy test that he would go to the doctor.

Sam, though, shocked Dean when he said. "Fine, I'll take the test."

"What?" Dean sputtered out.

Sam shook his head. "If it'll get you off my back about the doctor, I'll take the test, even though it's a waste of time.

Dean couldn't believe that his plan had backfired. "Fine," he snapped in disgust. "Be a good little princess and go pee on the stick."

"Hey, don't take it out on me," Sam snapped back. "This was your brilliant idea." He shut the bathroom door before Dean could respond.

While he waited for Sam to emerge from the bathroom, Dean slipped the six pack of beer he bought into the small hotel fridge. He then snatched up the bag of peanut M & Ms that he had also bought and flipped through the TV channels hoping to find something other than talk shows and soap operas. He finally settled on a rerun of Dark Angel. "Boy, that Jessica Alba is hot!" he thought. "And that guy Alex that she hangs out with…he's a riot, a smart-ass con man but who reluctantly comes through in the end." Dean shook his head smiling slightly. "Reminds me a bit of myself." Suddenly, he realized that Sam had been in the bathroom for a while. He got up and knocked on the door. "Come on, Sammy. What are you trying to do? Build the suspense?"

Dean heard the click as the door was unlocked, and it slowly opened. He immediately grew concerned when he saw Sam's ashen face. "Sam, what's wrong? Did you get sick again?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at Dean, fear and confusion radiating from his face. "It's positive," He barely whispered.