"D..D…Dean, hu…hu…" Sam's voice was short and panicked.
"Shhhh, relax Sammy, relax."
That wasn't Dean's voice.
Sam's eyes shot open as he searched for the face to match the voice.
It was dark in the motel room and it took him a few minutes to adjust.
He tried to sit up, but was stopped by a hand firm, yet gently pushing him down.
Sam looked up and met eyes the exact hazel as his own.
Dad.
"You're sick son, high fever. Dean went to get medicine."
John pushed sweaty bangs off Sam's forehead.
"You'll be fine though, you'll be fine."