Summary: Dean's time is almost up, Sam's trying to save his stupid-self-sacrificing-ass, Ellen's rebuilt the Roadhouse, and Jo doesn't know why everyone's acting like Dean's got cancer.

I know you thought I sold my soul, but you never told me to my face,

~ Pendulum, Showdown ~

CHAPTER 1

The poltergeist banged him up good and proper this time. Gave him the works; cracked ribs, concussion, dislocated shoulder and the odd stab wound, 'or two' Sam had added when patching Dean up back at the motel, but Dean had argued that one was more like a slice than a stab. Sam had gotten that anguished, pinched look on his face, the one that said, you have to stop doing this to me Dean, I don't wanna loose you! We have so little time left and stop being an asshole you prick all rolled into one. Dean had rolled his eyes and complained that Sam – the little bitch – didn't have a scratch on him, and why was it he was always the one to get off scot free? Naturally that did wonders for Sam's guilty conscience so of course Dean had offered to resolve that little problem if he really wanted and the usual argument had ensued after that; Dean was still high on pain meds, so unsurprisingly he'd lost. This was Sam he was talking about after all. And what a time to get injured, he only had a week left to live, had only just managed to convince Sam to tear himself away from those research books to sort out the poltergeist and now look. Here he was banged up and hurting and just wanting a bit of peace and quiet and Sam had dragged him into the lion's den.

Here they were, outside the new and improved Roadhouse, looking for Dean's last bit of downtime – as he was referring to it as – and possibly large quantities of whiskey. Dean was currently trying to drag himself out of the sticky leather of the impala's seats without betraying any emotion whatsoever. Quite frankly, Sam thought he looked constipated.

"Take it easy Dean, you don't wanna damage your ribs anymore than already, here let me-"

"I can get out of my own damn car Sam!" Dean said through gritted teeth, before muttering, "Even if I'm not allowed to drive it...stupid-over-protective-whiny-good-for-nothing-brother..."

Jesus, Sam thought, and Dean said he bitched.

Sam rolled his eyes, hiding a somewhat broken smile as he jogged around the car to lend Dean a hand anyway, regardless of the bitching he'd get.

"Stop whining," He said slamming the car door with a little too much force as he held Dean's elbow.

"Watch it Sammy! Careful! Jeeze! I'm gonna have to have a serious talk to you about the care of my car Sam, seeing as you don't know how to treat her! Don't worry baby, I'll get him to treat you right." With a painful grimace he pulled out of Sam's grip and started limping towards the roadhouse. Sam looked to the sky, shaking his head. "And get the bags bitch!"

With a mournful sigh that lasted much too long, Sam turned back to the Impala, popping the trunk open to grab their duffle bags. Then, with another weary sigh, he proceeded to plod along to the front door. The fact that he managed to catch up to Dean while walking at his normal pace, and before they even reached the Roadhouse was testament of the seriousness of Dean's injuries. Dean of course would explain it in terms of Sam's freakishly long legs and the fact that Sam had drank more than his own body weight in caffeine to get here in such a short amount of time.

Striding ahead of his brother he pushed open the wooden doors to the new and improved Roadhouse, holding it so Dean could shuffle into the cool interior, thanking God that they were almost out of the midday sun. His lips tugged up into a small smile as he watched Dean squint and then scowl as Sam motioned him inside and then mouthed the words you and me are gonna talk Sammy-boy. Sam didn't take him too seriously after all, he was pursing his lips and hunching his shoulders, by the looks of him he'd be asleep by the time he sat down at the bar.

"Dean! Sam!" Ellen's voice startled Sam into letting the door slam with a bang and he winced. They shuffled up to the bar, Sam dropping the bags at his feet as Ellen continued, "Where have you boys been, I haven't heard from you in months. You look a little worse for wear, especially you Dean, but at least you decided to come see us."

"Us?" Dean questioned, aiming for nonchalant – a small part of him, a part which Dean tended to squash thoroughly, hoped that Jo was here – and with a grunt as he levered himself down onto a stool. Sam looked at him then, through squinted eyes, his voice was rough and he looked paler than before in the car but his cheeks were rosy so Sam glanced away again. "And it's not my fault damn poltergeists insist on throwing things at me and not Sam,"

"It's 'cause you've got a fat head Dean, they can't resist,"

Ellen only chuckled over Dean's disgruntled 'Hey!" before answering his first question, "Yeah, us. After the fire, I managed to convince Jo to come back and help me rebuild. I couldn't have done it without her." Sam glanced back at her, noticing the new lines about her eyes and the wisps of grey at her temples. Something told him that rebuilding the Roadhouse hadn't been as easy as she implied. "She's out on a supply run, she'll be mighty surprised when she comes back and finds you two. But she's back."

"That's great Ellen," Sam smiled, then looking sheepish said, "You don't mind if we stop here for a bit do you? We've just had a couple of rough months and-"

"Say no more Sam, I'll show you to a room." She turned then grabbing a bag from Sam and leading him towards the back of the bar. She ducked behind the counter to grab a set of keys handing one to Sam, before starting towards the back door that led towards the house part of the bar. Sam noticed, somewhat surprised, that Harvelle's Roadhouse had the same layout as its predecessor as he was led through the back corridors. He couldn't help but notice however that everything seemed a little larger. They'd expanded, and there were more rooms, larger too, so it seemed to take longer than the last time they stayed here to reach their respected room. When Ellen finally stopped at the end of the corridor and turned to face Sam he almost sighed in relief, his back hurt from where he got a house cat thrown at him, and damn they have spiky claws, so all he wanted to do was take a long hot shower and drink, as Dean had afore mentioned to him in the impala, dubious quantities of whiskey.

"You can have this room with Dean, bathroom's just opposite, Jo's to the left." She smiled hesitantly before saying, "I'm glad to see you boys again, Sam. Don't be strangers in this house now,"

"Don't worry," Sam grinned in return, "You'll probably have us for a while, or at least until Dean gets better. And by that time you'll never want to see us ever again. Dean has that effect on people, especially when he's recuperating. Whiny little bastard." Ellen laughs, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Your father was always the same," She said, "Just whined and bitched until I snapped and told him to suck it up and be a man."

"Really?" Sam replied stepping into his and Dean's room – it was a respectable size, with two beds and a table between with a wardrobe against the furthest wall, by the window – and dropped the bags on to a bed, "He always acted like nothing could ever hurt him...suppose that's where Dean got it from...the whining that is." He gave a small smile, turning back out to the hall to follow Ellen back to the bar.

"I suppose he did."

Dean watched as Sam and Ellen disappeared into the back of the bar and he let his head rest, against the table in relief of being away from assessing eyes. Now alone he let his mask slip.

"Shiiiiit," He breathed. He felt hot and lightheaded and the wood felt cool under his cheek which only intensified the heat on his face. It didn't really click that he had a fever until he remembered that it was supposed to be cooler in here. He tried to raise his head and call out for Sam but all that came out was a pitiful "Mmm."

He could feel sweat beading at his temples and he finally lifted his head before raising a shaking hand to swipe at it only stopping suddenly to steady himself as the upwards movement sent his head spinning. Or rather the whole room felt like it was tipping sideways and the lights seemed to be too bright and psychedelic and swirly to be real and that, teamed with the ringing in his ears should have been warning enough, but Dean still found it in himself to be surprised when he found himself on the floor head throbbing more than before.

"Stupid poltergeist," He mumbled, before proceeding to pass out, limbs twitching slightly as his muscles relaxed completely into an ungainly sprawl.

Sam thought he should tell Ellen and Jo about Dean's deal. Scrap that, he knew he should tell them; after all they might be able to help him find a way to stop the hell hounds from ripping his brother to pieces, but Dean...Dean didn't want them to know. They both needed a little downtime and Dean had specifically told him not to tell them, after all 'downtime shouldn't be spent researching Sammy'. That went straight to hell when he and Ellen returned to the bar to find Dean not on his stool. Confused he rounded the counter and it all made a sickening sort of sense when he saw his brother on the floor.

"Dean!" He shouted, stumbling over his own feet as he raced to his brother's side. Lifting Dean's head onto his lap he felt for a pulse, gasping with relief when he felt the steady, albeit rapid thud of Dean's heartbeat. It took a moment to realise that Ellen was talking to him, and another to properly understand what she was saying to him.

"-that could be infected? Sam, does he have any wounds that could be infected?"

"I-I don't think so, I mean he took a pretty wicked hit to the head, he's got a concussion, and a fever," He noted feeling the blazing heat coming of Dean's face, where it rested against his jeans. The fact that Sam could feel the heat through the thick denim of his jeans made his eyebrows furrow with worry and he looked up at Ellen, "The stab wounds were both pretty shallow but he's got broken ribs, dislocated shoulder," He began listing his voice cracking, "I can't lose him Ellen, not after-" He broke off with a sob.

"After?" She enquired, hunkering down to feel Dean's forehead.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, sniffing, "Help me get him up?" She nodded, grabbing his legs as Sam stood up heaving Dean's torso with him.

"Damn he's heavy," She muttered staggering a little under the elder Winchester's weight.

"I keep telling him to stop eating crap but he doesn't listen to me," Sam grunted, shifting Dean's weight, and then they started towards their room. Sam almost groaned when he realised how far away they were.

They laid Dean down on the bed near the window, struggling not to jostle his injured ribs and both Sam and Ellen sighed with relief at not carrying him.

"Do you have a thermometer, and maybe some ice Ellen?" Sam called over his shoulder hands working to pull Dean's shirt over his head without pulling on his ribs or shoulder. Sam could see the edges of what seemed to be a particularly violent looking bruise peeping from underneath the bindings around his ribs and he winced.

"Yes of course, do you want a bucket?"

"Please," And Ellen was gone, leaving Sam at Dean's side, squished on the edge of the bed as he grappled to remove Dean's boots and jeans, and apart from the odd groan from his brother, Dean made no attempt to wake up. "Come on Dean," Sam murmured eyebrows furrowed with worry, as he checked the two stab wounds he'd gotten from the poltergeist. The deeper gash looked red and hot around the stitched edges and seeped a clear liquid when Sam pressed lightly. "Dammit," He swore, "It's just a little infection, a little concussion, nothing you've never had before. Come on; don't do this to me now not when-"

"I'm back. Here you go Sam, I had to close up. I've got some cloths in the bucket, I'll take his temperature." Sam nodded, busying himself in reaching down into the icy water of the bucket to grab a rag, and dip it in before smoothing it over Dean's face. His brother flinched and gasped at the cold, shivering as Sam left the rag on his forehead.

As he was rubbing Dean's torso with another cloth the thermometer beeped and Ellen swore, "103.5" She said, "Not good, Sam we're gonna have to get him in the shower. You grab him; I'll get it running." Sam nodded mechanically, knowing she had already gone and got his arms under Dean's shoulders and knees. How had he missed Dean's fever? Sure it was warm outside but – Sam shook his head, he'd agonise later and for once he was glad of his extra height when, with a grunt, Sam heaved Dean up with almost little effort. He still stumbled under the added weight though, lurching towards the door as he began towards the bathroom. Sam tried not to notice as Dean's head hung limply next to his arm, the skin of his face burning fiercely against the flesh of Sam's bicep.

The bathroom was large, Sam noted, thankfully and there was enough room to manoeuvre around Ellen without dropping his brother. The shower curtain had been pulled back haphazardly and the water was cold where it spattered against Sam's face. Without a seconds hesitation Sam clambered into the bath, shoes, jeans, clothes and all, shuddering against the cold.

Dean didn't respond at first, not until Sam let his legs down and held him upright from behind. Then he did react, gasping and flinching away from the water, cringing into Sam's chest.

"Hey, Dean, it's okay, you just need to cool down a bit," He murmured into Dean's neck. Sam barely noticed the cold water, even though it wetted his hair, and ran down his face in rivulets, all that mattered was Dean, and getting Dean better and-

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled, head rolling back onto his brother's shoulder. "Whatcha doin' t' me?"

"We've gotta get your fever down, big brother,"

"S'cold," He shivered violently trying to move out from under the shower head.

"I know Dean but you've got a fever, we've got to get it down, just a little longer man, then you can rest some," He turned to look at Ellen, "How long do you think?"

"Another minute or two, just enough to get his temperature down to a safer level,"

They waited a while, Dean shuddering, head rolling on Sam's shoulder as he tried to get away from the sharp coldness of the water. When a particularly broken moan tore itself from Dean's throat as he pushed back into Sam's chest, Sam looked imploringly from under his wet fringe at Ellen who nodded reluctantly. She reached towards them then, placing a hand against Dean's neck and he groaned, twisting away. "He feels a little cooler, but we'll more than likely need to do this again. I'll grab some towels; put them in your room."

"Thanks Ellen," Sam murmured, shifting his hold on Dean, grappling to keep his brother upright as he began to climb out of the shower. "I'll clean up in here later, I just-"

"Forget it, I'll get Jo to when she gets back, you just worry about that brother of yours." She reached into the shower again, this time, to shut the water off. "I'll see if we have anything for that fever of his."

Sam nodded again in gratitude and hoisted Dean up against him, his hand behind his brother's knees as he stumbled back into their room. Then, laying Dean onto his bed he grabbed the thermometer and said, "I've just gotta take your temperature Dean, hold still," Dean grunted in answer turning his head to the side. "How're you feeling man? Any better?" The thermometer bleeped, and Sam glanced down, 100.5. Better, he needed to watch it though.

Dean gave an unintelligible mumble and shivered before saying, "Room's spinning,"

"Hey, look at me, let me check your pupils," He tilted Dean's head up so the light from outside them would shine into his eyes. Dean flinched, pulling his head out of Sam's hands, saying:

"S'too bright,"

"Sorry, sorry," Sam replied letting Dean bow his head against the light and jumping up to yank the curtains closed, "You want anything, a drink, some pain meds?"

"Jus'..." Dean sighed long and drowsily, "Wanna sleep Sammy," He grumbled turning his face into the pillow and swiping at the hand Sam laid on his forehead, "Sleepy,"

"I'll get you a drink, okay? For later, when you wake up,"

"'Kay," Dean snuffled, looking back at Sam one more time and giving a sleepy smile, "Thanks Sammy," And then Dean was asleep.

Sam sighed wearily, reaching down to get a damp cloth to place it on Dean's forehead; it would keep the fever down. He stood up, striding back into the bathroom to grab a glass he'd seen Ellen leave with some ibuprofen on the counter. He grabbed both, filling the glass with water before returning to his brother.

Dean looked younger when he slept. The lines of worry and pain on his face smoothed out completely as he lay passed out on the towels. There was still a faint tinge of pink on his cheekbones, but less so than in the bar. Sam watched him sleep, reassured by the sound of his breathing and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His brother seemed so small lying on the bed, arms splayed and outstretched beside him, especially as Dean always slept on his stomach, right hand under his pillow, gripping his favourite knife. It just made him realise how quickly Dean could be taken from him. Dean's vulnerability just made him all that more aware that he could lose Dean with a snap of demons fingers. The deal he'd made would keep Sam alive, but part of him Sam knew would die along with his brother if Dean did go to hell. But Sam promised he wouldn't let that happen. His brother would not die. He would not go to hell for him.

He was glad that Jo was here. If Sam was honest, he was surprised that the two had never hooked up, but he knew that Jo was too close to being family for Dean to treat her as a one night stand. He still suspected, though, that Dean liked her a lot more than the usual girls he spent his time with nowadays and maybe that would make it easier on Sam. Because if Dean was faced with leaving two people he loved behind when he went to Hell, he might fight a little more to stay alive. And Sam knew that Jo liked Dean, hell mostly every girl they came into contact with liked Dean in one way or another, but with Jo...Sam had the incline that Jo's feelings for Dean went a little deeper than a school girl crush. Dean needed someone who understood him, someone who understood what he did and why he did it. Sam just hoped that maybe that someone could be Jo.

Dean snuffled again, wincing in his sleep as he tried to turn over and it was then he remembered Dean's ribs. The bandages were sodden, falling off his brother's frame and he grabbed his duffle, searching for the med kit. He pulled it out, grabbing a new set of bandages and carefully unravelling the used ones from Dean. It took a lot of effort to lift Dean and rebind his ribs without waking his brother, but Sam did it. When Dean was laid out on the bed again he set about checking his other injuries. He cleaned the infected stab just above Dean's left hipbone, stitched it up once more and bandaged it. Then he took the rag from Dean's forehead and dipped it back into the icy bucket, and placed it back on Dean's head. Time dragged on and the light from outside dimmed until Sam was sat next to his brother in almost complete darkness.

Sam stood up then, taking a step away from his brother and with a weary sigh set about finding something alcoholic to drink. He shambled back into the bar, slumping on one of the stools and was surprised when a familiar voice said, "Sam, why are you dripping on the counter?"

Sam startled upright from his slouched position, whirling around to face a girl he hadn't seen since he had been possessed. She looked the same, blonde hair swept back into a high ponytail, big brown eyes framed with thick lashes, but she seemed tired. One blonde eyebrow was quirked in question as the silence between them dragged.

"Jo," He said somewhat stupidly, "Jo, I-"

"I know what you're gonna say, so save it. I understand you were possessed, you couldn't control it, blah, blah, blah. It's okay," She walked around to the back of the bar, reaching down to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses. She looks up at him and gives a little smile, then motions to the glass she has placed in front of him.

"She was trying to get to Dean, she hates him," Sam said, his shoulders slump slightly at the admission; he grabs the glass and downs it all in one.

"Who hates him? The demon that possessed you?" At Sam's nod she grinned, "So you mean you had a girl inside you for like a week? That's hilarious Sam!"

Sam smiled weakly, "That's what Dean said."

Jo chuckled at that, and then raised her eyebrow again, "You still haven't told me why you're wet."

"I ah-"He began, but Jo cut him off.

"And speaking of Dean, where is he?"

"Passed out in the back," Ellen said. Sam startled, he hadn't heard her come back into the room. "Checked his fever, it's down to 100,"

"He's getting better then," Sam replied solemnly grabbing his refilled drink.

"What's the matter with him?" Jo asked, and Sam turned back to her. Her eyebrows wee furrowed in slight worry.

"Yes, I'd like to know happened seeing as my bathroom's currently a swimming pool,"

"Shit, sorry about that Ellen, I'll clean it up now-" Sam started to stand up but Ellen placed a surprisingly firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back onto the stool.

"I'm having none of that Sam. You and Dean are guests." She smiled and motioned to Jo to pour her a drink. "So what happened for Dean to end up like that? Get a few bookshelves thrown at him?"

"Stupid ass went and got himself turned into a poltergeist punch-bag. It was particularly violent and when it realised Dean could dodge most things it threw at him, it decided throw Dean into things." Jo glanced at Sam, his tone, something sounded off. "Mainly walls and kitchen appliances..."

"Something tells me that's not the whole story," She said resting her elbows on the wooden counter. "What really went down?"

Sam went rigid. They don't know about the deal, it's alright. "No, it's true. Just...Dean was just being the usual self-sacrificing bastard that he is. No regard for what would happen if something were to kill him, not caring what I'd do if he were to-" Sam broke off, looking back at his empty glass and rolling it between his hands. "It's just...been a couple of rough months...that's all."

"You're not in any kind of trouble are you Sam? Because you know we'd help you boys, you're like family," Sam looked up then, saw agreement mirrored on Jo's face and felt his eyes tear up.

"Thanks Ellen, Jo." Sam said, he knew the Harvelle's would do all they could to help him with Dean's deal, but Sam already appreciated the fact that Dean didn't want them involved. No way, no how, as Dean had put it himself, are they to become involved. I don't want them in my business. Sam had snarked back saying, what if they can help Dean? What if they know how to break this stupid, stupid deal you made? Which just made Dean even more adamant that they shouldn't know, because: well, I'm sorry Sam; I didn't know you'd rather be dead. And it's my damn life, my damn business and I say I do not want them involved. Are we clear? Sam had glared, gone silent; ignoring Dean for the rest of the day, but had reluctantly agreed...only after Dean threatened to destroy Sam's laptop with all his demon deal research still on it.

There was a moments silence between the Harvelle's and Sam. Then Ellen coughed and said, "Why don't you go get some rest Sam, you look worn out. Change out of those wet clothes and get some sleep. Jo and me will keep an eye on Dean, don't worry."

"Yeah," Sam murmured, "Yeah, thanks Ellen, I think I will." He stood, smiling at the two women before shuffling back towards Dean and his room. They don't know...but if they did could they help me save Dean?

Jo looked at her mother, who stared right back at her, the same disbelief plastered on her face.

"Something's happened," Jo said softly, "I've not seen Sam this low before, not even when his Daddy died,"

"Maybe I should call Bobby," Ellen said, reaching for her mobile, "See if he knows what's gone on,"

"Do you think he'd know? I mean-"

"Bobby's like a second father to those boys Hun, he'd know if something had happened to them," Ellen tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear, and Jo is struck by how much older her mother looked, more tired since the fire and Ash's death.

"You want me to clean the bathroom, Mom?" She asked jumping down off the stool.

"Yeah, sweetie, that'd help," Ellen said. Jo nodded and made her way down the hall. If she was being honest with herself, she only really offered to clean the bathroom, to see if she could catch a glance of Dean and see how he was really doing...medically speaking, of course. If she was being even more honest with herself she'd admit she'd only offered to clean the bathroom to just see Dean again. But the door to the boy's room was closed and Jo felt disappointment flood through her. So with a sigh, she turned to the bathroom, wincing at the water everywhere and set about cleaning up yet another mess.

"Robert Singer if you know something about those boys, then I think I should know!" Ellen said heatedly down the phone. Damn that man, she thought, almost as stubborn as John Winchester himself.

"It's not my place Ellen, you wanna know, you ask those boys." She rolled her eyes at his tone.

"Bobby you know full well they won't tell me anything," She listened to Bobby as he blew a puff of air out between his teeth and the phone crackled with the sound.

"Dean won't tell you, hell no, but get Sam alone and he might. Bribe him with research books or somethin'. I don't know Ellen, those boys." He sighed, the same weary sigh she'd heard Sam give in the bar, "They're all they've got, the things they'd do for the other."

"They're brothers Bobby of course-"

"It's not that...just...just ask Sam...alone. I'm sorry Ellen." And before she even had a chance to answer him the dial tone blared into her ear. With an angry huff she shoved the phone into the pocket of her jeans and poured another glass of whiskey for herself. Damn Winchester's were going to be the death of her.

Dean woke with a start, gasping as the dream trickled from his mind. Damn hell hounds. He thought. Stupid bitch sent them early. He sighed, and began to pull himself into a seated position. His ribs protested and he could still feel the flush of his fever on his cheeks but Dean continued regardless. He jerked at the sound of someone moving and reached blindly in the dark, searching for a weapon that wasn't there. He stopped then, squinting into the darkness to see Sam, sprawled on his stomach and sighed mentally with relief. Stupid dream's got him jumpy. He didn't hear them all the time, not even every day, just enough to think he's going mad.

With an angry noise he stood up, only to grapple with the wall for support as the room spun and tilted on its axis. Dean shook his head, dispelling the groggy feeling and began to search for his jeans. He found them eventually, after tripping over a bucket of partially melted ice and nearly falling face first into the clothes basket. They were folded up at the end of his bed and Dean struggled to slip them on without waking his brother. He looked at Sam again, the glass of water and pain meds grabbed his attention on the little table between them. Smiling slightly he grabbed the water, leaving the pills as, after all he was going in search of liquor and wouldn't be mixing pills and alcohol be irresponsible?

So, quietly as he can muster, he shuffled out of the room, in search of a good hard drink. Glancing down the corridor he wondered who found him, who carried him to the room and wondered where the hell the alcohol was.

He eventually found his way to the bar after not once, but twice stumbling into closets, and when he did find it, he sighed with relief. The place was empty, and a quick check of his watch told him it was almost two in the morning, and wasn't that a great time for some whiskey? He smiled grabbing the bottle of Jack Daniels left on the counter and unscrewed the cap, downing a mouthful, smiling in contentment as the liquid warmed his belly. He was about to take another mouthful when Dean got the distinct impression he was being watched. He was about to turn around when the person spoke.

"Dean,"

Jo. Dean thought and smiled, remembering what happened the first time they met.

"Can you not punch me this time?" He queried, spinning on his stool and coming face to face with the blonde. It took a moment to realise that spinning probably hadn't been the best way to turn around and he tipped forwards. He then realised that he was more than likely about to come up close and personal with the floor again, and barely had time to brace himself when Jo's hands came about his bare shoulders, pushing him gently against the bar.

"Steady Dean, take it easy," She breathed, "What are you doing up anyway?" she murmured a curse when she felt the heat coming off him and says, "Jesus, you should be resting, you're not well," She glanced down at his torso, watching the muscles move under his skin as he grabbed the bar for support.

"Resting's for sissies," He grumbled. Then, wincing he pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes before answering her properly. "Needed something to drink,"

"You shouldn't be drinking with pain med's Dean and a concussion and a fever on top of all that! It's just stupid-" So she'd obviously been filled in on his current state of wellbeing, wonderful.

"Hey! I know better than that!" He protested weakly, smiling when she glared at him.

"Then," She growled, "What do you call this?"

Dean glanced at the bottle of whiskey in her slight hands and grinned, "Well," He began, but stopped at the look Jo was giving him. He smiled at the flustered look on her face as she got angry at the blatant hypocrisy which was seemingly obvious. "Don't worry," He muttered, suddenly tired with the argument. "I didn't take any pain meds, so I'll be fine drinking myself into a coma."

"Nuh uh," Jo retorted, pulling the bottle out of his reach, "You're having none of this Dean Winchester. You are going to go back to bed to sleep off this fever and take your pain meds."

"Bossy," Dean muttered, "And what's with calling me 'Winchester? Huh, Jojo? Or do you prefer Joanna?" He asked, trying to distract her enough to grab the whiskey again, but she was having none of it. Jo slinked away, shoving the bottle below the counter with a wicked grin, knowing all too well that Dean couldn't bend that far down with his ribs the way they were, plus his head injury would keep him on the floor.

"You're a mean person," He said pouting and folding his arms across his chest.

"I know, now off to bed!"

He mock glared from beneath his eyelashes and pouted as he stood up again, only to sway forwards. Damn you concussion he thought angrily, shaking a mental fist at the poltergeist.

"Careful," Jo said, stepping forwards, catching Dean's bare shoulders again. Her hands felt cool where they had landed, one pressed over his heart. He looked down at her in the gloom, suddenly serious.

He couldn't do this. He wanted to. Oh God did he want to but...Not now. Not when...He made a pained noise and startled away from her, clutching at his ribs, using the pain to bring him back to reality. He wouldn't involve himself in Jo, not now when he had such little time left. His death would cause even more heartache.

Jo watched him hesitantly; eyebrows furrowed with worry and hurt at his flinch away from her touch. He gave a weak grin and said softly, "Okay, I'm gonna go back to bed," Jo watched him for another moment, seemingly arguing with herself.

"Take your pain meds," She said roughly and Dean nodded; high-tailing it back to his room.

~ End Part 1 ~

A/N: Hope you liked it, please, tell me what you think!!!