Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. They belong to Eric Kripke.

This is my newest story. I am still working on "Oglethorpe House," although I've given "Wrecked" a rest. I feel enough people have done a wonderful job on telling what happened after the crash.

Hope you enjoy the story.

John looked into the rearview mirror for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. He regretted the decision to put both of his boys in the backseat, but they needed each other. Having one of them in the front would have increased his anxiety more than he could afford. It had been days that had been sick, and while the Children's Tylenol was helping Dean, Sam was getting worse. His fever continued to climb, and there were gasps in his breath every few minutes. At least in the backseat, Dean could hold on to him, tell him if something wasn't right.

Noticing how little and vulnerable they looked, he sped up a little bit. He had made the decision sometime last night, when Sam's temperature had spiked to 102 degrees, that he needed more help. After waking Dean up by gently shaking his shoulders, he grabbed little Sammy up in his arms and walked as quickly as possible to the car. Dean got in, and he handed the younger child to him, instructing him to "watch out for Sammy." It was an old routine by now, but never had it been more important than that night.

After driving for a little bit more, listening only to the soft sounds of his sons breathing, he knew he needed to make sure they had a place to stay. He stopped at a payphone off of I-90, somewhere in the quiet northern part of Wisconsin. Dialing the number to one of his oldest friends, Jim Murphy, he waited with knots in his stomach. He had this feeling that they were running out. This was something that couldn't be fought with holy water, but at least it would be a soft bed and a familiar presence for the boys.

"Hello?" A familiar voice, but not one that he had expected, answered the phone.

"Caleb?" He asked. "I'm sorry. I must have dialed wrong. I was trying to reach Pastor Jim."

"You did. I've been staying here. What's going on?" The younger man asked, and John felt relief. His boys really liked Caleb, because he was the closest in age to them out of all his friends.

"The boys are sick. Can you go get Jim for me?" He didn't intend for it to come out sounding impatient, but his boys needed him and he didn't have time to sit here talking to Caleb.

"Sure. I'll go get him." The background noises of the house filled his ears and he after several long minutes, Jim picked up the phone.

"Hello?" He asked groggily and John glanced quickly at his watch. It was just after two in the morning.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but I need a place to stay. The boys are sick, and they need-"

"What's wrong, John?" Jim's anxious voice filled the air.

"I don't know. I left them alone at the hotel for a few days, and when I came back, they were both sick. Sammy's real sick, but the medicine I gave Dean seems to be working. I just need a place for us to stay that's familiar while they're sick." John explained, not bothering to tell him the minute details, like the fact that he had been gone for four days when he told Dean he'd be back by the next afternoon.

"You know you're always welcome here. Anytime you're up in this area, you're more than welcome to stay in my home." He glanced back to the twenty year-old who sat in a chair in the kitchen, and lowered his voice when saying. "After all, Caleb's been here for a few weeks, and he doesn't seem to want to leave."

John chuckled, remembering what the other man was like and shaking his head. "Thanks. We'll be there in an hour or so."

"Just take care of those kids, John."

"I will." He sighed heavily as he looked back at the Impala sitting in the parking lot. "Bye, Jim."

He hung up the phone and walked back to the car, yanking open the backseat door. Dean was hunched over in the seat, with Sammy closest to the window, the tiny one wrapped in a quilt in his big brothers arms. His oldest son looked up at him with huge eyes that still glowed with a slight fever. Swallowing the feelings of fear, John knelt down on the ground so that he could see his youngest more clearly. "Is everything all right, Dean?"

"I don't know. Dad, what's wrong with him?" Dean asked, wanting his father to fix this, wanting this to be as simple as something that they could hunt.

"I don't know, but we're going to Pastor Jim's house, and everything will be all right." John's stern voice reassured his older child. He pulled the quilt closer to Sammy, making sure both boys were secure before closing the door.

In less time than John had anticipated, they made it to Jim's house. It was almost three when they pulled into the cleric's driveway. As soon as the Impala came down the driveway, both of their friends came up to the back door. John got out, grabbing Sammy from an exhausted Dean. When he turned around, panic striking his heart at how weak his baby was, Jim was right there. Pastor Jim took the youngest, who was plastered in sweat and struggling to drag in each new breath, from his worried father.

John turned back to help the still slightly sick and weak nine year-old from the car, and both men heard the same sound at almost the same time. Sammy had started a low whining noise, and his body tensed up. Jim was torn between setting the child down on the ground or running him into the house to set him on a soft surface, but the decision was already made for him. His father had already spun around, swiftly grabbing him and lowering him to the ground. Sam's body shook in a febrile seizure, as his father struggled to make a soft barrier around him.

"Sammy?" John pleaded, not knowing what to do. Sammy's temperature had to be around 104 degrees for this to be happening. "Come on, son. It'll be all right."

Dean had slid off the car seat and had gone to stand next to his father and Pastor Jim. Even though he was sick, he knew that the four year-old was much worse off. Tears of fear rushed down his face at the urgency in both grown-up's actions. It had been almost a whole minute before Sammy finally stopped shaking.

"Caleb," John called, remembering now that the crisis had passed that his oldest son was ill, too. He could get help now that there was more than just John to take care of him. He turned around for a moment, and their eyes met. "I want you to go with Caleb. Let him take care of you while we see to your brother."

"Yes, sir. Will Sammy be all right?" Dean asked with pleading eyes. He looked so frail, so tiny, and Dean fought to keep his own tears in. It was his fault that Sammy was sick, that it had gotten this bad.

"Yes, son. We'll make sure that he's okay. Go with Caleb, Dean." John ordered, noting the younger man's presence near them. He shot a look to Caleb, telling him what would happen if the child wasn't taken care of. "Take care of my boy."

Caleb came close to snickering. 'Just like a Papa Bear.' He thought. "Yes, John." He said aloud, knowing that the man was stressed out, and he did not want to irritate him.

When Dean and Caleb had gone, John turned back to Sammy. He looked dehydrated, weak, and he was making little moans of pain. After the seizure, he had completely lost consciousness. This was bad.

Thanks for reading this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to comment any way that you'd like, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or a question.

Happy hunting.