Happy birthday Mad Server!

Dean tossed the keys of the Impala to Sam.

"You drive."

Sam caught them deftly and turned an incredulous face to his brother. However, he said nothing, merely got in the driver side, and opened the passenger door for Dean, who slumped into the bench seat. Sam headed toward their motel.

"Want to stop for something to eat or pick something up?"

"If you're hungry."

"You mean, you're not?"

"Not really."

Sam felt guilty. Having arrived in Tucson and found a room, they'd waited til after midnight and then made their way to the pet cemetery. Although Sam had offered to help with the digging, Dean had insisted on doing it all himself because Sam's arm was in a cast. Even though it was so late, this being June meant it hadn't even gone below 90 degrees while Dean toiled at the cat's grave. Sam had been sweating despite just sitting nearby, his back against the gravestone commemorating "Priscilla, beloved Pot Bellied Pig, sorely missed by Sandra." So how much worse had it been for Dean?

"You should have let me help Dean. I could have at least filled it back in."

"Don't start Sam. I'm tired and I need a shower and some sleep, that's all. Don't beat yourself up about nothing."

"I tell you what, I'll drop you off at the room and you can get showered, and I'll pick us up something to eat - I bet you'll be hungry when you're cleaned up."

"Sure."

* * *

Sam left Dean in the room and went to get pizza, which took longer than he had expected since most places seemed to be shut. However, he eventually found a somewhat dubious looking place, and hurried back to the motel.

Letting himself in quietly, he wasn't surprised that Dean was asleep on the bed – nearest the door as always. He was surprised that no salt had been poured at the door and windows though. He put the pizza box on the table and quickly attended to the salting. After that, he realised that he wasn't really hungry either – it was after 3am and all he wanted to do was fall into bed too. Pizza for breakfast then. Not bothering with showering, he undressed quickly and settled into the less than comfortable bed, switching off the bedside lamp that Dean had either thoughtfully left on for him, or possibly had just fallen asleep without turning it off.

Despite the irritating but vital hum of the air conditioning unit, Sam fell asleep.

"No! Don't!"

Sam woke up instantly and switched on the lamp. Dean was tangled in his sheet, the blankets and bedcover were on the floor and his face was damp and flushed with fever.

Carefully untangling Dean's constantly moving limbs from the sheet, he pulled it back and realised Dean was sweating profusely all over, and the sheet beneath him was completely damp. Laying the back of his hand on Dean's forehead, he could feel that Dean was burning up, though it wasn't long before a flailing arm had knocked his hand away.

"Don't do it!"

"Dean, can you hear me?"

"Don't go!"

"I'm not going anywhere Dean."

Dean started to shiver and Sam quickly pulled the sheet over him and added the discarded blanket and bedcover. He checked the time – it was just coming up to 5.30am and the sun was already up outside. Chinks of bright light striped the wall opposite the window.

"Please don't leave me."

Sam looked closely at his brother who was now lying on his side, and curled up, with a fist clutching at his pillow – was he crying? He gently placed a hand on Dean's quaking shoulder.

"Dean, it's okay." He really wished Dean would wake up so he'd know he was there. Seeing Dean so vulnerable and scared and just ill, was unnerving and the guilt he'd felt before was increasing tenfold. Still, he was determined to look after his brother as well as Dean had looked after him in the past. Thinking back he could hardly recall a time when Dean had needed him. When they were children the rare times Dean had needed anyone, their father had been there – mostly anyway. And when he wasn't – well those times Dean had looked after himself.

"Don't worry Dean, I got it this time."

Sam got on the laptop to look up treatment for fever.

"Damn."

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of Dean's bed. Dean was calmer and sleeping, though clearly agitated and sweating freely.

"Dean, I don't know if you can hear me, but I have to go. I'm not leaving you, I need to get to a chemist to pick up some stuff for you. I'm gonna be right back. Dean. Can you hear me?"

* * *

Dean woke. Blearily registering a motel room, he tried to move his head, but the slight movement started a mini-tidal wave of dizziness. He clamped his eyes shut.

"Dad?"

"Sammy?"

He was alone.

He was crushed with disappointment and sadness. He had tried. Tried his damned best to keep them both. But Dad had walked away and Sam didn't care. They were gone. Everyone was gone.

Bobby!

He could call Bobby. Bobby would come.

Phone….

Get to the phone.

He reached towards it.

* * *

Sam walked in and found Dean crumpled on the floor. Dropping the bag and the car and room keys on the floor, he knelt by his brother, cradling his head.

"Dean. Dean! Come on – talk to me?"

Dean stirred. Bobby had come.

"Bobby?"

"No Dean, it's me, Sam…Sammy."

Dean passed out.

Sam managed to pick him up and get him onto the bed. He was surprised how much Dean weighed.

Next time Dean woke up. Sam was there.

"Dad?"

"Yes son." Sam answered.

Dean slept on. More peacefully. Sam, however, grew more guilt-ridden.

"Sam?"

"I'm here."

"Where the hell am I?"

"Tucson."

"And ….uh…. can I smell pizza?"

Sam laughed.

"Yes. Yes you can. Want some?"