A/N: Here's my premise…yes, there are 3 Winchesters in this story, but this AU isn't about that. When I daydream, I like to be a part of the story, not just watching it. This AU lets the reader be in the story…so in effect, YOU are the 3rd Winchester, giving and receiving H/C with the boys. I wrote this for me, so if it flies, YAY, if not, that's ok – I like it. This is my birthday gift to myself – first story ever written, first public post ever. Go me!

A/N 2: Aaaand...since this is my first post, I'm still figuring out the formatting. It looks nicer in Google Docs or Word...but hey, the words are the same, so...

Disclaimers: I own NADA, I just like to play with other people's stuff. I also reserve the creative right to mess with fictional and real timelines to fit my story. In other words, so what if iPods and texting weren't around during Season 1…they worked, so I used 'em.

Coughing. Again.

I looked up from my iPod and squinted at Dean. God, he looks so tired. He was rubbing his eyes, as if that would help make the pain in his head go away. I sighed softly, trying to figure out the best way to get him to stop for the night. We'd been on the road since early morning, and it was now approaching dinnertime.

I twisted in my seat, trying to see Sam. He was resting against the passenger window, hair falling into his face. Christ, I wish he'd get it cut. Rolling my eyes, I sighed again, and worked on sitting up so I could persuade Dean to, for once, do the right thing for himself. As soon as I moved, the wound in my side spasmed and I inhaled sharply at the pain. I could feel the stitches pulling and I grabbed at them, as if that would keep the hole closed.

I felt Dean's eyes on me.

"You ok?" His voice sounded rough, raspy. He was watching me from the rear view mirror.

I froze for a second, seeing my opportunity. I licked my lips and looked at him, hoping that I conveyed more pain than I was really feeling.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Wait for it.

"Right. I'll look for a place to stop for the night...get some dinner and get you in a real bed."

I worked very hard to keep the smug smirk off my face as I finished sitting up all the way. Sam sat up blinking, and looked at me, eyes questioning.

You really ok?

I flicked my gaze towards Dean and then rolled my eyes. Sam stole a quick glance at our brother, then back at me, understanding reflected on his face.

I reached out and ruffled his hair.

Snip snip, Sammy…

Sam shot me a warning glance. Fuck off.

I snickered. That's my boy. "Where the hell are we?" I asked, resting my chin on the front seat.

Dean spared another quick glance at me from the rear view mirror. "If you took your nose out of that iThing while lounging back there, and actually looked out a window, you'd know that we are in lovely Nebraska."

I snorted to myself. It's not like I had a choice of where I sat for the countless hours we drove around. I knew my place, and it was last in the pecking order. Besides, I liked sitting back here. When you travel for a living with others- and guys no less - there is no privacy. Ever. But in the back seat - I have my own little world. There's space - in more ways than one. Plus, I can observe what's going on without getting involved. I learn a lot that way.

Before Dad got his truck and gave Dean the Impala, Sam and I shared the backseat. That was pretty cool, too. We played games, hung out, and shared secrets. Being only 2 years apart and having mostly each other for company probably helped that relationship along. When Dad left, Sam moved to the front. I can't understand why he prefers it when it's obviously uncomfortable for him. Maybe it has something to do with feeling important. You don't get to choose the music, but it feels like being second in command.

Second in command of what? The three of us? Whatever. I'll take the space, thank you.

"Yeah, well," I started, "this scenery is fucking boring. I have digital candies to crush and solitaire records to topple." I waggled my eyebrows at him. I'm doing my part to save the world, Dean, one app at a time.

"Whatever," Dean answered, but I could see a small smile on his lips.

Sam shook his head. "So," he said, "how far to Bobby's?"

Dean answered, "About another ten h-h-hours-" He stifled a sneeze into his wrist.

I don't ask if he's ok. I know better. I also know that once I get him into a motel, I can get him to lie down and rest. Sam is not as always as wise when it comes to Dean.

He looked over, frowning, and asked, "You ok?"

Wait for it.

"I just sneezed, Sam. Shut up."

Scowling, Sam turned his gaze back to the window. I mentally shook my head. Sam just wasn't capable of hiding when he's worried. I'm the only female, but I'm not the chick in this group.

I reached out and rubbbed Sam's neck. He hates it when Dean snaps at him for showing concern. It makes him feel like a useless little kid. We both know that this is Dean's way of showing strength and that he doesn't really mean it, but it stings all the same. I just learned not to ask.

Sam's still learning. He let out a breath.

I found a knot at the base of his neck and worked at it. You knew he was gonna be an ass, why'd you ask?

He sighed and leaned into my hand. It came out of my mouth before I could stop it. It was stupid, I know.

I laughed softly and stared through the windshield at Nebraska.

About a half-hour later, we left the interstate and pulled into a small town that had a couple motels and a few restaurants. Holy fuck - even a Walmart. Nice.

Dean parked near the front entrance of a motel - not a shabby one, either. I was a little surprised. We weren't strapped for money, but we didn't want to blow it either. We were only staying one night.

Putting the car in park, Dean opened his door and said, "I'll get a room...be right back." His voice sounded rough, and he spoke quickly, as if he were trying to get the words out before coughing. He firmly shut his door and walked into the front office. I could see his shoulders shake as he finally unleashed the coughs he was holding inside. Sam turned in his seat and faced me, bitchface in place.

"Awesome. He's sick, and gonna be a pain in the ass for the next few days. He's gonna keep pushing himself even though he feels like shit, and then he'll get grumpier and crabbier..."

"It'll be ok. We'll be at Bobby's tomorrow."

"Of course you're not worried - he doesn't mind you when he's sick. I'm the one he'll snap at."

"That's because you won't stop hovering. I know you're worried, but back off, dude. We'll get him food, some pills, and he'll pass the fuck out tonight. You know how he is."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I know, but you're hurting. You can't take care of him alone - you have to rest, too. We'll check your bandages when we get inside. You probably need more Tylenol, too. Fuck, when was the last time you had some?"

I blinked. Crap. "Um. Earlier?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Christ, you're as bad as him, I swear to God."

"Pfft. Please. No one is a bad as him. I was half out of it all day - I wasn't paying attention. If it was bothering me, I woulda taken something. Chill out." I flashed my most winning smile.

Sam scoffed, "Yeah, whatever. I'm still checking when we get inside."

I started to answer, but was interrupted by a fit of coughing that actually rocked the Impala. Dean was leaning on the hood, bent over, letting loose a string of barking coughs that racked his whole body. Before I could stop him, Sam got out and went to Dean. Did we not just have this talk? I watched incredulously as Sam reached out to steady him.

Dean swatted his hand away.

"I'm fine, Sam. Just … breathed funny." Dean's face was red and he was sweating a little. He quickly turned to the side, brought his hand to his face and sneezed twice. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and stood still, catching his breath.

Breathed funny. Quick and clever, that's my big brother.

Sam huffed, and threw his hands in the air. "Fine. You're fine. That's….fine. Great. Fine." He stomped back to the car.

After he slammed his door, I raised my eyebrows at him. "Was that even a complete thought?" That earned me a death glare, so I raised my hands in surrender, and sat back against the seat. Sam huffed and stared straight ahead as Dean got back behind the wheel.

"Room 15...round back," was all he said, as he started the engine and drove the car around the building.

The room was actually...nice. Clean, neat, functioning tv, and probably not-yellow water. A palace. We all stood in the doorway and collectively sighed in appreciation. I felt a light shove on my back, pushing me towards a bed.

"Put your shit down and let me see your side," Dean grumbled.

"Oh, yessir," I shot back, dumping my duffel on the bed and turning around. Dean was clearly not amused by my attempt to treat him like Dad. His face was still flushed from the fit he had out front, and I could now see dark circles under his eyes. Humor was clearly lost on him.

I dropped my shoulders in obedience and raised my shirt so he could see the bandage. Sam set his bag and the first aid kit on the table, and came over. Like this was an exhibit at a museum. Dean pressed down lightly on my shoulders until I sat on the bed, then slowly kneeled on the floor in front of me. Gently, he began to peel away the gauze. I hissed as it caught on one of the stitches, and he stopped, checking to see where the material was catching.

The stupid angry spirit we were hunting a couple days ago launched anything and everything it could at us as we dug up his grave. Luckily, it was only stray twigs and pebbles from the ground. Unluckily, one nicely sized twig ended up going through my side, ruining my favorite shirt. Once the bones were burned and things settled down, it began to rain. Truly awesome night.

"Still not infected...stitches are holding together ok. I'll clean it, change the bandage and then give you some more painkillers. It's gotta be sore." Dean grunted as he hauled himself to his feet. He rested his hand on my shoulder for a second, then leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

Whoa.

Ok….

Dean showed affection? Yeah...he was out of it.

Wait - shit, he felt warm.

I looked up at him, startled, but he was already moving towards the first aid kit. I stole a glance at Sam, who also had a look of disbelief on his face.

Sam cleared his throat and said, "Uh...ok, should I go get food or do you want to go out?"

Dean rummaged through the kit until he found what he wanted. He shrugged his shoulders, coming back to the bed with the supplies. He looked over at Sam, his face impassive. "Bring food back. I want her to lie down." He began to clean my side.

I raised my eyebrows, "I don't get a vote?"

"No," came two voices as one.

Yeah…..I figured as much. The injured never gets a vote. "Get … whatever. I don't really care."

I looked up at Sam, and while Dean was engrossed in taping up my wound, I mouthed soup while glancing at Dean. Sam got the message and nodded briefly.

"Want anything special, Dean?" Sam tried to sound casual. He pulled it off, but for a second I thought he was going to actually ask Dean if he wanted soup. Again...we just had this talk.

"Nah. Not that hungry. Get me whatever you get her. Pie would be great, though." He paused to look up and give Sam a small smile.

I'm sorry I snapped earlier...thanks for getting food. Don't fucking forget the pie.

Sam huffed a smile and said, "You got it." I breathed a sigh of relief that Sam simply left it at that. He grabbed the keys off the table and went outside. I could hear the rumble of the car as it pulled away from the motel.

When Sam left, Dean seemed to sag a little. I knew he was trying to hold it together in front of Sam, and once Sam left, he just let go. He leaned against the table and rubbed his eyes, dragging his hand down his face like he always does when he's tired. Or worried. Or pissed. God, I guess he does that a lot.

I walked over to him and placed my hand on his shoulder.

"Hey…" I said, turning him to face me.

Weary eyes looked at me - weary eyes that...weren't really focusing on anything. They had a glassy look to them. He blinked a few times.

"Hmmm?" was all I got.

Frowning, I put my hand against his forehead... then his cheek. Dean just closed his eyes and sighed softly. His skin felt warm - not hot, but definitely warm. He bent down and lay his head on my shoulder.

I reached up to massage his scalp. "Ok you - get in the shower and then to bed. If we work together we can both be clean, laying down and doped up on meds before Sam gets back, 'kay?"

Taking in a deep breath, Dean stood back up. His eyes had a vacant look to them and his mouth was slightly open. Twisting away, he promptly sneezed twice.

"Niiiiice. Go. Now." I knew when to wait and when to be bossy. This was bossy time. I even shoved him a little.

Dean just nodded, picked up his bag and shuffled to the bathroom. I stood still, listening for the sound of running water. As soon as I heard the shower start, I pulled out my phone and texted Sam.

hes in the shower. will get him in bed.

thank god.

for fucks sake bring pie tho. and kleenex.

lol

I could hear Dean coughing and sneezing throughout his shower. I guessed that the steam was loosening whatever was in his sinuses, and he was just letting himself release...whatever needed releasing. This was going to be a long night.

When he came out of the bathroom, he was in boxers and a clean t-shirt. His nose was red and his face flushed. He grabbed a clean sweatshirt from his bag and pulled it on.

"Your turn. Be careful," he said, gesturing to my side. Dean slowly walked to the bed, tossing his bag against the wall, followed by the towel. He sat down and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sneezed once, then twice. I could hear him thinking from across the room. I want to lay down. But Sam is coming back with pie. But I really want to lay down. But...pie….

I chuckled as I grabbed a bottle of Tylenol. "Stop thinking. This isn't hard….just lay down." I brought him a glass of (not-yellow..yaaaay) water, and shook out two pills. "Take these and relax. I'll be right out."

Dean blinked at the pills and swallowed them, followed by half the glass of water. "Thanks," he mumbled, leaning back against the headboard. He shivered a little and closed his eyes.

"Get under the covers," I ordered. As I pulled the blanket over his shaking body, I looked closely at him. He wasn't that bad.

Yet.

He's been worse.

But...

I was still a little worried. With Dean, too many illnesses or injuries started simple before rapidly morphing into a raging mess. "I'll be right out, ok?"

He opened one eye and looked at me, "You said that already."

I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but promptly closed it, realizing I had nothing. Dean just snorted and closed his eyes again, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

By the time Sam got back, we were both clean and propped up in bed, inwardly smiling over the wonders of painkillers. We were watching some action movie on tv when I heard the Impala pull into the parking lot. I probably should have opened the door and been ready to give Sam a hand...but Dean was half asleep, almost-but-not-quite leaning on my shoulder, and I didn't want him to wake a second before he had to.

Then he had to.

I could hear the key fumbling in the lock, the clank of metal hitting the concrete, some swearing, and then the door pushing open. Sam's hands were full of plastic bags, a newspaper was tucked under an arm, and the keys were jingling against the plastic. He looked like he was about to drop everything.

I knew I had to get up and help before either a rush of naughty words came out of his mouth or everything went on the floor. Maybe both. Dean jumped slightly at the sound of the door, and I crawled out of bed and made my way to Sam.

"Here...gimmie these.." I grabbed one handful of plastic bags. I almost dropped them - the unexpected weight catching me off guard. They were a lot heavier than they looked.

"Thanks," he said breathlessly, smiling gratefully. He checked the door to make sure it shut, and put everything else he was carrying on the table.

I put the bags down and began to look through them. Water...Gatorade...tissues...more Tylenol...socks (huh?)...and all the food. Dean came up behind me.

"What'd you get?" he asked. Where's the pie?

Sam rolled his eyes. "There's pie - I didn't forget. I just also got other stuff, too. Turkey dinners, chicken noodle soup…. "

Dean rolled his eyes. "Nothing else matters, Sammy. Just piiiiie."

Dean rooted through the bags until he found his prize. Smiling, he ignored the containers of soup and turkey and went back to bed, clutching his pie, and a plastic fork. He was coughing as he slid back under the covers.

Sam looked at me, raising his eyebrows. How is he?

I shrugged. Eh...getting worse.

Sam let out a sigh and dug out a box of tissues and a container of soup. He handed them to me with a big smile. We did just have this talk. You give it to him.

I laughed, and put the tissues on the bedside table. I held the soup out to Dean. He barely paused between bites to glance at the soup then up at me before turning his attention back to the movie. "Maybe later...this is good for now."

"Alright, let me know when you want it." I got a grunt in reply.

I took the soup back to Sam who was shaking his head. I just shrugged. Soup could be heated up any time. It wasn't a big deal. If pie made a sick Dean happy, then by default, pie made all of us happy.

Sam nodded at me asking softly, "You take some pills?"

"Yep - we're all good."

"Good...good...ok." Sam ran his fingers through his hair and looked around the room. "I'm gonna … shower...before I eat." He gave me a brief smile before heading into the bathroom with his bag.

I watched him disappear behind the closed door. Something wasn't quite right. Why would he shower before eating? I quickly dismissed the worry - he's taking a shower, for Christ's sake - and pulled my food out of the bag. I realized I was starving, and the food smelled amazing.

"Hhhh-eh-itschh! Heh-tschoo! Itschh! Etschh!"

Startled, I almost dropped my dinner. I turned to find Dean clutching his container of pie desperately in one hand while the other hovered in front of his nose.

Aaaaaaand one more.

"Hih..hih-TSCHEW!"

Taking a deep breath, I walked over to Dean and took the pie, handing him a bunch of tissues from the box near the bed. He grabbed for them, sneezing yet again.

"Shit….ugh.." He sniffed and looked up at me. "Thadks...albost lost by pie..." He briefly smiled before blowing his nose and launching into another coughing fit.

I noticed that despite taking several bites, he barely ate the pie. I crammed the container on the nightstand and carefully sat down on the bed. As the coughing slowed, I could see small beads of sweat on his forehead. I gently wiped them away, feeling more heat on his skin than before. "I think maybe you're done for the night," I said softly.

* Sniff * "Yeah..yeah...I'm done." He yawned, eyes watering from the effort, and scooted to the other side of the bed. No argument - not a good sign. Sliding down into the blankets until his head was resting on the pillow, he closed his eyes and swallowed, wincing. Sore throat, too. Fantastic.

I brushed my fingers through his hair.

"Night, Kate," he rasped.

"Night, Dean."

A short while later, Sam emerged from the bathroom wearing sweats and towel drying his hair. I just finished dinner and was cleaning up my mess from the table. I took a long drink from my bottle of water and gestured with it to Sam.

"How'd you like the water?" I asked softly, not wanting to wake Dean.

Sam ran the towel over his dripping head one last time. "Not yellow - I feel spoiled."

"Right?" I said, nodding my head at Dean. "He must really love us tonight."

Sam chuckled and tossed his towel on the floor next to Dean's. He put on a clean shirt and pulled it down over the top of his sweats. "I sat in a fucking car all day. Why am I so tired?" He sat down heavily at the table and opened his container of food.

"The highway sucks the life from you." I carefully stretched and really looked at Sam. He did look tired. His eyes drooped as he ate his food and he looked a little pale, but not so bad that I was worried.

Too much.

I took another sip of water, propping my feet up on another chair. "So...how long do you think we'll be at Bobby's?"

Sam shook his head, water dripping off the ends of his hair and soaking into his shirt. "I dunno," he said around a mouth full of turkey. "Few days? A week?" He swallowed. "We need to regroup and figure out what the hell we're doing. No word from Dad in weeks, signs of demon activity in multiple parts of the country...we can't be everywhere at once and I don't know which location holds the most importance. I think we should stay put for a bit, see if we can get some direction from Bobby and get a hold of Dad. Plus, with Dean sick, we definitely need to just...take some time." He sighed and turned his attention back to his dinner.

I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry - I know you want to keep moving and get the bastard. But I think you're right. We've been hunt-jumping for a while, and even though I know we're helping people, I feel like we're just keeping busy. These past few hunts have been so involved, and a truly fantastic distraction, but we're just going through the motions and in the back of our minds it's like...'where the fuck is Dad...' and we're moving all the time, but I don't feel like we're moving … forward….you know? If that made sense..."

"Yeah...I know what you mean." Sam sighed and closed his almost empty container, licking his fork clean. "But I have this really shitty feeling that even if we get the demon and avenge my mom and Jess, it won't be over. Whatever... IT is. Something else...something...bigger? I dunno...is just waiting there. So sometimes, I hope we never find it, because I think I'm more afraid of what's to come than I am of what we're doing right now." He leaned back in his chair and uncapped a bottle of water, avoiding my gaze. "Then, of course I feel guilty for not wanting to find it, so….yeah." He took a long drink and stared at the table.

I felt awful. Sam now had this really fucked up connection to Dad and while on one hand it brought him a weird sense of comfort, it also dragged their differences into the light. Even though Sam had Dad's focus for hunting the demon and getting revenge, he was also considering a bigger picture...something Dad wasn't capable of doing. Not when it came to Mary.

It's been about a year, and Sam's been getting better about Jess. The hurt, while still there, was less intense. Sometimes, I'll catch him staring at something with a haunted look on his face. His eyes will start to water and he'll shake his head a little, trying to erase the memory that's consuming him. Blinking rapidly to stop the tears from falling, he'll close himself up and lock it all down so he can continue with whatever we're doing.

I hate when he does that.

I hate that he feels like he has to do that.

I hate that he does have to do that.

Right now, though, he just looks really tired.

I nudge his knee with my foot. "Gonna turn in early or what?" I ask, knowing what his answer will be, even though he's rubbing his eyes and fighting a yawn.

"I'm gonna get in bed, but I think I'll look up some stuff on the Internet for a bit." He looked at me critically and said, "You should get some sleep." He stood up and threw the styrofoam box in the trash. Stretching, he reached for his bag and pulled out his laptop.

"Yeah. Well, don't stay up late. It's you and me driving tomorrow...I'm not letting him near the wheel."

Sam barked out a laugh. "Good luck with that one," he said as he crawled into his bed.

"Mmmmm.." I hummed, making my way back to Dean. I usually share with Dean anyway, but tonight I knew I had to in case he needed something.

Over the years, I tried sharing with Sam. But Sam has nightmares.

When we were kids, they were about monsters. Then they were about school and the prospect of Stanford, until they were about Stanford - the workload, worry over us, and his then "normal" life. Now it's Jess and still monsters, and the loss of Stanford, and it only took several split lips and waking up to being shoved onto the floor before I decided that it would just be easier to share with Dean on a regular basis, and I'd share with Sam when it was necessary.

Tonight it wasn't necessary.

I put my almost empty bottle of water on the nightstand and moved the remnants of Dean's pie to the table. I brushed my teeth and settled in bed next to an overly warm lump. He was on his side, facing away from me. Once I turned off the light and scooted under the covers, I could hear his breathing - there was a faint rattle every time he exhaled.

I rolled over and wrapped my arm protectively around him, feeling him unconsciously move towards me for warmth.

" 'Night, Sam," I whispered over my shoulder.

The tapping on the laptop paused. "Goodnight, Kate."

I woke up thinking, I'm shaking. Why am I shaking? I couldn't think straight, and I tried to force my eyes open. Blinking against the sleep that was still pulling at me, I started to realize what was going on. The whole bed was shaking - and Dean was shaking it. He was coughing into the blanket, barely able to take a breath.

I came awake instantly.

"Whoa...easy….easy…"

I grabbed my water bottle, wincing at the pain in my side, and managed to somehow grab some tissues. I turned back to Dean and rubbed his back, waiting for the fit to pass. Finally he stopped, and I could hear his ragged breathing, the rattle now sounding much louder and more loose. Suddenly, his body froze, and I could feel his chest expand as he took a deep breath. I quickly reached over and pressed the tissues against his face. He frantically grabbed my hand and held it to his nose.

"Heh - heh - Itchoo! Ahh-tschew!" He sneezed twice, the force pulling him (and me) into a tighter ball, and he groaned softly. He took the bundle of tissues from me and blew his nose. I continued to rub his back ...easy...it's ok…. He glanced over his shoulder at me, started to say something, but snapped his head back around as another round of sneezing rocked him forward.

When he finished, he sagged against his pillow. "Fuck…." He was panting from the fit, and he swallowed thickly. I remembered the bottle of water and handed it to him.

"Here...slowly. Wait...slow, Dean!"

He ended up choking on the last swallow, water dribbling down his chin. "Shit...classy fucker all the way….that's you." A rude hand gesture was all he could manage since he was too busy coughing again into the blanket.

I took the bottle back and waited until he was finished. Plopping back against the pillow, he closed his eyes and sighed. " ...'m good now...go back t'sleep."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me, and dropped the empty bottle on the floor. It wasn't time to make a fuss...soon, but not yet. He wasn't ready.

I laid down and cast a sideways glance at Sam. I couldn't see him in the dark, but the sounds of soft snoring were coming from his bed. At least he didn't wake up.

I was trying to get comfortable when Dean sighed again, rolled over, and pressed his head against me. I looked down, startled, then gave him a small smile.

I guess he was ready.

I wrapped my arm around him as he nestled against my shoulder. His arm was flung across my stomach, careful not to touch the stitches.

I feel like crap.

I know you do.

Please make me not feel like crap.

C'mere…..

I ran my fingers through his hair and he moved even closer, shivering. I pulled the blankets up over his shoulder and just held him, stroking his hair. After a while, his breathing slowed and evened out, telling me he was asleep.

I soon followed.

The second time I woke, there was an explosion. I jumped, heart beating frantically against my chest. Then I froze, my hunter's senses straining to figure out what the hell was going on. I soon became aware of Dean, sweating against me, face in my neck. He was breathing through his mouth, and I could vaguely feel something wet trickling down my neck and onto the pillow.

Grimacing, I attempted to wipe away whatever it was when I heard Dean's breath hitching. Before I could move, a sneeze ripped from him and onto my neck.

Oh….ok...

I dropped my hand to the bed and just stared at the ceiling. I knew he wasn't done. Dean sneezed again, and again, groaned, and rubbed his nose against my shoulder in his sleep. He mumbled something I couldn't understand, but I could hear the congestion in his voice.

I managed to grab a couple tissues and wipe my neck. Thankfully, he couldn't see the expression on my face as I dropped the now wet tissues on the floor. Sighing, I wrapped my arms around him and drifted back to sleep.

The things I did…

The third time I woke up, Dean was no longer next to me. I blinked and sat up, wondering where he was. The wound in my side was throbbing, probably from Dean pressing against it and the meds wearing off. I looked around the room trying to get my bearings, when I noticed the bathroom light on, shining through the bottom of the closed door.

I glanced at Sam, who, thankfully, was still passed out. From the tiny sliver of bathroom light, I could see the laptop resting on the pillow next to Sam's head. Yeah, that was going to end up on the floor.

I pulled myself up and leaned over Sam to grab it. "Owwww…" I softly whined as I picked up the laptop. Time for more pills. Maybe that's what woke Dean - he probably needed some, too. I carefully placed the computer on the table, making sure it wasn't hanging off the edge, and looked around for the Tylenol bottle. Finding it, I let a small "Yesssss…." escape from my lips as I fumbled with the stupid child proof cap. I shook out three and downed them with a fresh bottle of water.

I was starting to wonder when Dean was going to come out of the bathroom, when the door opened and out he walked. No, wait, out he stumbled.

It was almost worse than after a six-pack. He made it to the table and was leaning on it before he even realized I was standing there. He looked at me in complete confusion, then at the bed, then back at me.

"Heyyyyy…." I cheerfully waved at him.

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Goin' back to bed…" he muttered. Before he could walk past me, I gently took his arm and said, "Meds…?"

He paused, "Mmmm...yeah...yeah, ok."

Dean ran his hand down his face as I shook out three pills for him. He dry swallowed them, even though I was holding out my water bottle, and shuffled back to bed. He slowly crawled back under the covers.

Watching Dean like that just tugged at my heart. He was always the strong one, always the one in charge and taking care of everyone and everything around him. Sam topped Dean's list of "Things To Take Care Of", which is why he simply refused to let Sam help him. It wasn't supposed to be a two-way street.

Our rules were simple. Dean took care of Sam. I helped. I took care of Dean. The Impala helped. Sam had his hands full trying to take care of himself, yet he worried and fussed over everyone. They both took turns bossing me around. We had a nice system.

More than once, I wondered…. if Dad ever re-enters this picture, how will the rules change?

Someone cleared their throat. The sound pulled me out of my thoughts and I realized Dean was staring at me. He raised his eyebrows.

Hellllooooo…..waiting here….

Right. I made my way back to the bed, carefully sitting down. I waited a few seconds for the throbbing in my side to ease up. A hand was on my back, guiding me back down to the pillows.

I looked over at him, and I could see that his eyebrows were still raised.

Need me to check it?

I shook my head. I knew the Tylenol would kick in soon. Just go back to sleep.

He nodded once and settled back against me. I drifted back to sleep once more.

The fourth time I woke up, I thought I was going to punch something. I suspected I was doing most of the driving to Bobby's and I just fucking wanted to sleep. I tried to figure out what was going on with Dean this time. But...there was nothing. He was still sleeping, now on his own pillow rather than my shoulder and I could hear his congested breathing.

What the fuck….I wasn't hurting, I didn't have to go to the bathroom, sooo….

"Jess…..no…."

Aww…..Dammit...

I couldn't be mad when Sam had a nightmare. He always sounded so sad and so broken. I went to his bed. He was restless, but his head was in one spot, face up at the ceiling. I could see him by the light of the bathroom which Dean (probably unintentionally) left on. Sam's eyes were pinched closed and his mouth was moving.

I rubbed my eyes and gingerly sat next to him. Last thing I wanted was to get kicked or punched. "Sam….Sam….hey...you're dreaming...it's ok...Sam…" I tried to speak softly so I didn't wake Dean, but I needed to be loud enough for Sam to hear me. I placed my hand on his forehead. His body stilled a little and he turned his face towards my voice.

"Everything's ok...it's just a dream, Sam…" I kept talking in a soothing tone, and ran my fingers through his hair. I wasn't quite awake, but I knew the drill. This was something I did a lot, and I could definitely do it in my sleep. As I became more alert, though, other details were seeping into my consciousness. Sam's forehead was clammy, slightly warm, and he was shivering.

Fuck….this nightmare sucked. It was really upsetting him and -

" Itschhh! Het-schew!" *Sniff*

…..Shit.

Shit.

Now, I was wide awake. Sam turned his face back towards the ceiling and sighed. He was getting sick - I just knew it. I closed my eyes and sent a soft curse out to the universe. One was bad enough. Two was...ugh.

Bobby's. I had to get us to Bobby's tomorrow.

Now I knew who was doing all the driving.

I stroked Sam's cheek, willing him to dream something pleasant, then straightened the covers from the tangled knot they were making around his legs. I tucked him in, and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. Rubbing his temple with my thumb, I said, "Go back to sleep, Sam. I'm watching. It'll be ok."

"Itschew!" was my reply. He rolled away from me sniffling and mumbling "..love you…"

I smiled, despite the growing sense of unease in my stomach.

"Htsch! Itschh! Heh-TSCHHH! Hih-TSCHEW! Hp-TSCHEW!"

That's what woke me next. I knew it was morning, but I refused to open my eyes. Instead, I listened to the noise, trying to figure out which brother was having the fit. I felt the bed shift as Dean leaned over me to reach the Kleenex. Well, that answered that.

The curtains were open a little, allowing the rully risen sun to light up the room. I rolled over and squinted, taking in the sight before me. Dean was sitting up, clutching the box of tissues, pressing a handful over his nose and blowing. I reached out and rubbed small circles on his back in an effort to make him feel better. He turned to face me and my eyes widened at his appearance. His cheeks were still flushed with fever, his nose a slight red. His eyes were watering and bloodshot, his hair was sticking up all over, and he looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"Wow...you look….wow…" was all I could manage.

A wad of used tissues hit me in the head. "You don't look so hot yourself, princess."

I stretched. "Speaking of princesses, where's ours?"

"Went to get breakfast. I wanted coffee. But I was too busy sneezing. Figured you wanted coffee, but you were too busy sleeping. He wanted coffee and was doing nothing. It worked out."

I sat up and stretched again, feeling my side pull, but not too painfully. I didn't mention my suspicions about Sam and why I didn't want him driving today, so I figured I'd just tackle this head on. "Well, you won't need the caffeine because you will be peacefully resting in the passenger seat today."

Dean turned to look at me, clean clothes in his hands. "Excuse me? You were up with me most of the night, and your side is all red. You need to rest. Sam or I can drive."

I blinked at Dean, "You were up with you all night, and you're the one who's sick. Besides, Sam's a better navigator than he is a driver. Don't fucking start with me, Dean...I mean it." I finished the argument in a rush, hoping he wouldn't think too closely on what I said.

A better navigator than driver...oh good lord, that was weak.

Instead of arguing, he came back over to the bed and sat down next to me. He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled my head towards his until our foreheads were touching. I could feel the heat of his fever as he rubbed the muscles in my neck.

"Kaaaaaate…." he said in a singsong voice.

"Deeeeean…" I sang back.

Sometimes Dean and I played Forehead Chicken - whoever moved away first had to do the winner's bidding. He was trying this instead of issuing an order. Probably thought I'd take it better. I just waited.

I knew I wouldn't be waiting long.

"Sh-shit…" Dean's head snapped to the side and he launched into a massive sneezing fit.

"Kate 14, Dean 25...I'm catching up to you, jerk. Go get changed so I can get changed. And cleaned up. I have to …. fucking...Purell my neck."

When the fit passed, Dean glared at me through watering eyes. "I'm still up by nine, Squirt." His expression quickly became resigned, and he looked down at the bed. "Just…." he sighed. "Ok."

One cannot dispute the outcome of Forehead Chicken.

"Hey..." I started. He looked up while I put my hand against his cheek. With a straight face, I said, "Bless you."

He snorted in reply and got up to change into clean clothes.

Sam came back with a carrier full of large hot beverages and a bag of food. I was getting my clothes out of my duffel, but paused to reach my hands out greedily.

"Oh my God, gimmie, gimmie…" I grabbed one of the cups before he could set it down and began to sip.

"Careful - it's hot!"

I didn't care...I just wanted the caffeine so badly. "Mmmmm...thanks."

Sam shook his head at me and placed the food down on the table. "Where's Dean? How's he doing? How're you doing?" He took one of the cups and opened the lid to release some of the heat. I looked closely - there was a tea bag string hanging out of the top of his cup. He didn't notice me watching as he tucked the string inside and recapped it.

I nodded towards the bathroom. "He's in there. He's definitely getting worse, but I got him to agree to me driving." Sam raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm fine - a little sore but not bad, actually. Must be the Winchester bedside manner." Sam laughed. "I'm tired, but some of this wonderful liquid will fix that." I took another sip, careful to blow a little on the steaming coffee. It was a little too hot, I had to admit.

Sam sat down and started to eat. "Ok, we should leave as soon as you're ready. 10 lovely hours. At least we have a plan of what to do."

"What plan?" Dean asked as he came out of the bathroom in fresh clothes and decent hair. He looked quizzically at us as he placed his bag on the bed and made a beeline for the coffee. The dark smudges were still under his eyes, his cheeks were still flushed with fever, and he was definitely congested, but he looked better - like he could get through the day. "What are you planning?" He repeated as he took a cautious sip.

"Jesus, Dean, chill. Nothing - just that we're going to Bobby's and staying there for a few days. That's it." Sam spoke around the food in his mouth and still managed to sound indignant.

Dean grunted and sat down to eat. "Go get ready," he said to me as he unwrapped a sandwich.

I rolled my eyes at Sam and went into the bathroom.

By the time I got out, Dean had barely eaten anything and Sam had devoured his sandwich and was starting a second. I noticed Dean hugging his coffee to his chest as if for warmth, and he had put on his jacket. I grabbed my coffee, joining them at the table. Dean roused himself and re-wrapped my side, limiting himself to only a couple sarcastic comments about the injured being in charge of his baby.

I ate my breakfast, and was about to ask Dean for the keys when he started to cough - a bubbling sound, really - and it left him breathless. He dug the heel of his hand against his nose, trying to relieve the itching and the pressure. "Goddammit this sucks. I feel like shit." He put his coffee down and sneezed into the crook of his arm.

Mouth full of food, Sam rose and got the box of tissues for him. Wordlessly, he handed them over, then returned to his seat. Dean looked up and nodded gratefully. He took a handful and blew his nose.

"We'll be at Bobby's soon enough," I said, "then you can just rest for a few days." I looked over at Sam, thinking that he needed the same thing. He still looked a little pale.

"Yeah, that'll be good." Dean stood up, threw the remains of his breakfast in the trash, grabbed his bag and the first aid kit, and made his way out of the room. "I'm gonna get the car ready. Finish up and let's get on the road."

After the door shut behind him, I turned to Sam. "You feeling ok?" I asked, pointing to the tea he was drinking.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. "No...I feel...off. I'm tired, my head hurts, and my throat is a little scratchy. If you're really ok driving, I'm gonna lay low in the backseat to stay off his radar, at least until we get to Bobby's. By then I'm guessing he'll be too sick to deal with me and you can just...you know. Fix us. Even though you still need...fixing." He looked at me sheepishly and took a sip of his tea.

Contrary to Dean, Sam was an open book. He didn't hide anything - he didn't feel like he had to. I could ask him any time how he was doing, and he'd tell me. It was that simple between us.

But it wasn't that Dean lied about how he was doing as much as he didn't want to discuss it. Like, ever. He just did things that told you how he was feeling, and you just needed to respond. Words were optional.

I leaned towards Sam and put my palm against his forehead. He felt a little warm.

"I feel a little warm," he admitted. "But I'm getting chills sometimes, too." As if on cue, he shivered and reached for his jacket.

"Yeah... Take some Tylenol, ok? Then just...relax. Try to get some sleep on the drive." It was unusual for Sam to not fight for driving time - he must really feel bad.

Sam nodded, sipped his tea, and reached for the meds.

The drive to Bobby's was fairly uneventful. Dean slept most of the ride, but his rest was interrupted by multiple coughing and sneezing fits. Sometimes he leaned against the door, head cushioned by a rolled up sweatshirt, jacket pulled tightly around him. Sometimes he sat straight up, leaning on the headrest. Twice he slid down the seat until his head rested on my lap. His fever climbed slowly despite the Tylenol he took, and his shivering intensified as the drive wore on.

Mostly, he was out of it. He didn't want to eat, he didn't want to get out of the car and stretch his legs, he didn't even want to listen to his music. I think he just wanted to get to Bobby's so he can be properly sick and then properly get the fuck over it. So the drive he was just him...waiting.

Sam, on the other hand, did a good job of laying low. Literally. He lay down in the backseat, dozing off, listening to music, reading the map and playing on an iPod. He also did a good job of stifling sneezes and muffling coughs so Dean wouldn't hear him. What I could tell, though, was that he was steadily getting worse, and the stifling and the muffling were getting more frequent.

I simply kept the mantra of Bobby's….Bobby's….Bobby's … running through my head.

When we were 3 hours away, I had to stop the Impala for some gas. While filling her up, my phone rang.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Hey there, missy. How's it going? Where are you guys?"

"About 3 hours out. I just stopped for a fill-up. We'll be back on the road in a few minutes."

"Sounds good. How're the boys?"

I glanced behind me into the car. Dean's was still pressed against the window. Sam was on his way back from the mini-mart with a fresh cup of tea for himself, coffee for me, and a cough on his lips.

"Yeah...well….what's better than one sick Winchester boy?"

"Two?"

"Well, shit, you've heard this one before."

Bobby sighed. "Fantastic. Well, just get them here. I'll be ready."

"Thanks, Bobby. See you soon."

"Yup.."

I put my phone back in my pocket and put the gas cap back on the car. Sam handed me my coffee. "Bobby?"

"Yeah, just wanted to know where we were and how we were doing."

"Ah….well, at least now he'll be ready for us."

"Yeah - I suppose technically this is easier than arriving possessed by a demon or with multiple bullet wounds."

We laughed. We laughed because we knew it wasn't true.

"And more Kleenex…."

"What the hell - how are we out already?"

"Bobby. They're dripping and blowing like crazy. And have you seen the floor of this house? It's like a tissue hailstorm hit. They don't know how to use a trash can."

"We can hear you."

Bobby and I answered together, "Shut up, Sam."

Coughing and the sound of something gross being spit was our reply.

"...aaaand I'll get anti-bacterial … everything." Bobby sighed. "Ok, I'll go make this supply run. Try not to kill them while I'm gone."

I gave a wry smile. "Yeah. See you soon."

Bobby left, leaving me in the kitchen with a crock pot of soup cooking on the counter and a kettle of hot water starting to whistle. I poured the water into two waiting mugs, already prepped with tea bags and honey.

I brought the mugs into the living room, where couches full of my miserable brothers took up most of the space. Balls of used Kleenex littered the floor on all sides of the trash cans that were strategically, although uselessly, placed next to each patient. I stopped in the doorway and just stared. One pair of eyes blearily stared back from beneath wavy bangs that hung in his face. The other pair was partially hidden by a hand that was rubbing his forehead.

"Well…hi. You guys look...delightful. Brought you some tea. Bobby went to the store, so it's just us for a bit."

I handed Dean his mug after he struggled to sit up. He grunted a "thanks", closed his eyes, and let the steam drift up into his face. I sat on the couch next to Sam, who was shivering under a pile of blankets. He was shaking so hard, he couldn't hold the mug without spilling the contents everywhere.

"C'mere…" I whispered, helping him hold the tea so he could take a sip. I hoped that the hot liquid would ease the chill that gripped him. Sam closed his eyes and gratefully took a sip. He actually moaned as he swallowed, and a grimace that could have passed for a smile ghosted his face.

He was breathing through his mouth, because he was so stuffed up. I knew his throat was hurting by the way he winced every time he swallowed, but I also knew the tea was helping with the pain. He closed his eyes, hands still clasped over mine and the mug. The shivering slowly subsided and I released one hand so I could run my fingers through his hair.

Having his scalp rubbed calmed him like nothing else, and it calmed me as well. It was a direct connection between something I did and Sam feeling better. He relaxed against the couch's arm and sniffed.

Sam still had a fever after 2 days of being at Bobby's. He had quickly caught up to Dean's level of misery and then somehow managed to look more pitiful.

"Uh...Kate…" Sam's mouth hung open and his eyes were closed. He desperately handed me his mug. I grabbed it just as he sneezed into a wad of tissues. He stayed bent over, face buried in a cloud of powder blue, until he let out another sneeze. After a few breaths, he lowered his hands and leaned back.

I raised my eyebrows and handed back the mug. "Bless you."

"Heh. Thadks." Taking to mug in now steady hands, he sniffed, took another sip of tea, and sighed.

"So...still feeling crappy?" I asked pointlessly, already knowing the answer. But...I didn't know what else to talk about. Bobby and I had our hands full taking care of the boys, so we hadn't really looked at the maps or tried to call Dad. There wasn't anything else worth mentioning while they were out of commission - they simply were not going on a hunt like this.

I looked over at Dean whose face remained over the steaming mug. He finally took a sip, wincing as he swallowed. His eyes remained closed. Dean had been definitely waiting to be 'properly sick' at Bobby's, and he certainly didn't disappoint. His fever had climbed to 103 upon arrival and he was spitting up green phlegm every five minutes. His face was still pale, with pink spots on each cheek, telling me that, like Sam, he still had a fever.

"Sh-shit…"

I turned back to Sam. He was groping for more tissues as his eyelids fluttered wildly. I grabbed the mug once again as he sneezed so powerfully that Dean jumped.

"Christ, Sam…" Dean sat up, wiping hot tea of himself.

"Sorry...can't help it…ugh... Htsch! Itschh! Shit...c-can't...Heh-TSCHHH! Hih-TSCHEW! ...s-stop...Hp-TSCHEW! Hhhhhh-ETCHEW! Itschew!"

All I could do was watch helplessly, with a mug of tea in my hands, while Sam pitched forward over and over again. Even Dean's eyes widened in alarm.

Finally they tapered off, and Sam was left laying on the couch, breathless and red. "Oh...by...god.." He gasped. His voice was shot. He blew his nose, and the congestion seemed to clear a little.

"Wow...you don't do anything halfway, do you?" I asked. Sam just stared at me. I gave him back the mug, and he quickly took a long drink, hoping to ease the pain in his throat.

I could hear Dean sigh heavily. I turned in time to see him push aside his blanket so he could sit with his feet on the floor. He blinked a few times as he fought for balance, and then slowly stood. "Gonna go upstairs…" He avoided my and Sam's gaze and shuffled to the staircase, still clutching his mug. Slowly, he climbed the stairs until he was out of sight.

I knew this. This looked like Dean irritated with Sam's sneezing...but that wasn't it. This was Dean feeling guilty for getting Sam sick, and leaving us was his self-imposed punishment. He felt bad watching Sam suffer, he felt weak because he needed us to help him feel better, he felt too crappy to actually make Sam better, and he felt responsible for one more thing that wasn't his fault.

He'd been quiet and sullen ever since he realized Sam had caught whatever bug he had. The only reason he was even downstairs on a couch was because he didn't want to make Bobby or me run upstairs for him and back down for Sam. I had to slap some sense into him sooner rather than later.

The sound of Sam sighing brought me back to the living room. Holy shit...could he look more like a kicked puppy? His eyes met mine. Oh, wow...yes…..yes he can.

"Sam…." I started in a warning tone, shaking my head.

"No...it's ok." He put his mug on the floor and huddled further into his blanket cocoon. "I don't see how either of you can stand it. I can't stand it anymore."

Inwardly, I groaned. This is pretty much how the last couple of days have been. Guilt, angst, and drama, on top of aches, fevers, and congestion. Rubbing my eyes, I took a deep breath and attempted to triage Sam's bruised sense of self-worth.

"Sam...Dean isn't bothered by you. None of us are bothered by you. Stop this...you can't help being sick. He feels bad, he feels bad that you feel bad, he feels bad that you feel bad and he can't fix it," I paused as I calculated through that sentence making sure it made sense. "You know how he is. So just...stop." I reached out and smoothed Sam's hair. "If he weren't sick, this wouldn't be an issue. He'd be bringing you Kleenex, shoving soup down your throat, and threatening you to make you stay in bed. Right now, though? He can barely sit up. It's just pissing him off and he's being...a little dramatic."

Sam scooted further into the blankets, crossing his arms across his chest in an attempt to dispute my words. "A little?" he said, sarcastically, and I knew I got through. I laughed and leaned back against his legs. He tucked his feet into my side and managed to burrow even deeper.

Where are you going?

All I could see were tired, watery eyes peering out above a mound of covers. Slightly damp and definitely matted bangs scattered in every direction across Sam's face, colliding with the blankets and making it look like his face was in prison. The top of his red, sore nose was barely visible, sticking out between strands of his hair.

I rubbed his feet and he closed his eyes. He was so tired, but he wasn't sleeping much because of all his sneezing. Maybe he could nap now...that last fit wore him out.

I nudged his legs. "Hmmm?" came the sleepy reply.

"Take a nap. You seem to be quiet right now, so let's take advantage of that, hmm?"

Sam nodded, and yawned so wide his jaw popped, startling him. "mmm'kay." He pried open one eye to look at me.

Stay here until I'm asleep….?

Duh…

Sam coughed into his sleeve. We both tensed, waiting to see if it would trigger more sneezing. Eventually his muscles drooped, he cleared his throat, and settled down.

Absently, I continued to rub Sam's feet and legs, wondering if he could even feel me from underneath all the blankets. As his breathing slowed, my thoughts wandered to the brother upstairs. I fought against a wave of irritation.

Always taking responsibility for things that weren't his burden to bear.

Punishing himself without thought of how his pain affects those around him.

Christ, his wiring was sooo fucked up.

Sometimes I was mad at Dad for contributing to Dean's warped sense of self. Other times I knew Dad did the best he could, given his state of mind. It was more of a wonder that none of us were completely psychotic. Still...Dad was...a dad. I wished he were more of a dad than our commander.

Then again, I also wished Dean listened to music post-1990 and Sam didn't take everything personally. But hey...you don't handpick your family. You just love them. As is.

I turned my attention back to Sam, who appeared to be resting comfortably. If comfortable meant breathing through your mouth while your nose slowly dripped onto your upper lip. Ughhh...I grabbed a tissue and gently wiped his face, being careful so I wouldn't wake him.

Okay...no more stalling…it was time to face Dean.

I quietly approached the bedroom and noticed that the door was slightly open. From inside, I could hear muffled coughing followed by muffled spitting (can you muffle that?) and definite sighing. I pushed the door open with my foot and took in the sight before me.

Dean sat on his bed, back to the door. He was hunched over, coughing, with a half-empty box of Kleenex propped up on a pillow.

"So…are you allowed to have visitors or are you still in solitary confinement?"

Dean hocked into a wad of tissues and tossed them my way. It landed with a wet thunk on the floor at my feet. Our eyes met and we both made a face that clearly said, "Blech…".

"I'm not touching that," I said as exaggeratedly stepped over it and went to the bed. Dean snorted and shifted so he was back under the covers.

I pushed him, Scooch over...

Dean obediently moved further down the bed, allowing me to sit behind him. I massaged his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension that held him fast. His head drooped towards his chest, and he actually moaned. I carefully worked at the muscles in his shoulders, neck and back. As he coughed, I could feel them seize and stiffen, requiring another round of pressure to loosen them back up.

He still felt really warm, but he wasn't burning up anymore.

"By tomorrow's dose of antibiotics, you should start feeling better," I said, hopefully.

He nodded.

"Sam, too."

Pause. Then he nodded again.

"Then maybe...you know…shower!"

Pause. Short laugh.

He leaned back against me and asked, "He really ok? He sounds really shitty."

"He's sick...of course he sounds shitty. You sound shitty." I pulled the covers up and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him to me. "You just need to start feeling better. This one took everything out of you," I said softly in his ear.

He nodded yet again, and I was about to ask what the deal was with all the nodding, when I noticed him reaching up to scrub furiously at his nose. He leaned over the side of the bed and sneezed, mist spraying across the floor. He pulled forward out of my grasp, and stayed bent over for a moment, testing his sinuses. He started to lean back when he let loose with another violent sneeze that made him gasp afterwards.

Luckily, he didn't have the massive fits Sam was cursed with, but the few he belted out were strong.

Sniffing, he sat up as I gave him another handful of tissues.

"Better?" I asked.

"Mmmmm..." He mumbled, blowing his nose and dropping the used bunch on the floor. "You should go back to Sam. I'm fine."

I reached out and pulled Dean back towards me. He tried to resist but was too weak and too tired. He ended up flopping back against me with a sigh.

You're not fine, and you know it.

"He needs you more," he tried again.

I raised my eyebrows, as if considering his statement. "Hmmm…I think you both need me equally." I rubbed his arms.

The room fell silent. Then, without warning, he seemed to deflate in my arms.

Stop hiding. I hugged him again. I'll just find you.

He actually nestled against me, tucking his face into my neck. I laughed softly and kissed his forehead.

That's better.

"EH-TSCHOO!"

The sneeze made both of us jump. We turned to see Sam standing in the doorway, blanket wrapped around his body, hair all over, holding tissues to his face.

"Hi…" * Sniff *

Dean scooted both of us over and nodded pointedly at the space on the bed. Sam shuffled over, tissues still pressed against his nose, and his blanket softly scraping against the floor, gathering all the wads of used Kleenex together.

Woke up sneezing... "ITSCHEW!" …and I was cold. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered.

Dean pulled the blankets up so Sam could slide in. He blew his nose and snuggled up next to us.

Sam sighed, "... better…" He coughed, shifted a little, and promptly went to sleep, face buried in my side, fist gripping Dean's sweatshirt.

"Hmph…" Dean huffed. I made sure Sam was covered to his neck, and as his shivering stilled, I realized Dean was falling asleep, too.

An hour later, Bobby found the three of us huddled together on the bed, sound asleep. He turned off the light and shut the door.