E/O Challenge Super Duper Secret Edition: Happy Birthday, Mad Server!

Challenge: Dean has a fever - because we know you so very very well - either 100, 500, or 1000 words. I went for the whole shebang because I wuuvvv Mad Server so awfully terribly much.

Word Count: 1000 on the nose

Spoiler: Tag to AHBL2 that I've wanted to write, like – FOREVER. Bless this challenge. It's been done, and redone, and redone, but you couldn't stop me with a great big honking gun. If you haven't seen AHBL2… I'm not sure what to say other than, why the heck not? It aired in 2007.

Dean was a little… goofy. There were a lot of things Dean had been, and a lot of things he should be, but goofy was, well, unexpected. Sam didn't know why and he wasn't sure how to react. A few minutes ago, all he'd wanted to do was yell. Dean had to understand that what he did was wrong. And then Dean looked at him all goofy and told him not to be angry. Not to dare to be angry at him.

He took a breath. Reminded himself that a little more than twenty-four hours ago, he wasn't breathing. How could he yell at Dean with air that he couldn't have pulled into his lungs if Dean hadn't done the thing he wanted to yell about? It made his head hurt. So he'd yell later. When Dean wasn't so goofy.

Something was wrong. Maybe it was seeing Dad. Something.

Sam couldn't stop glancing at Dean during the long drive to find a motel and food. A graveyard with a doorway to hell would by definition have to be in the middle of Bumfuck, Wyoming. Dean gave Sam the keys without a fight, and cheerfully, goofily, invited Bobby and Ellen to follow them to civilization for dinner. It was going to be breakfast by the time they reached a restaurant.

Sam watched as Dean finally turned toward him and hunched down to rest his head against the seatback. He wouldn't let Sam do more than put gauze on the wound before they left. He just looked at Sam with his big eyes and that weird goofy smile and pushed him toward the car. They'd been driving for half an hour and Dean was awake, staring at the seat and running a hand rhythmically back and forth on the leather. It was freaking goofy.

"Dean." Sam waited, glancing so often at his brother that he was going to go right off the road and kill them both. "You in there?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't look up, he just kept stroking the upholstery.

Sam handed him a scrap of gauze he'd put in his pocket back at the cemetery. "Your head's still bleeding. Want me to stop?"

"No. I'll look at it at when we get somewhere. When are we going to get somewhere, anyway?"

"Probably another half hour, forty-five minutes. What happened to your head?"

"Gravestone."

"Did the Demon…"

"Yeah. Dropped me on it." Dean took the gauze and held it to his head. "You saw."

"I didn't see the beginning." He reached into the back to snag a bottle of water. He pulled a travel pack of aspirin from the glove compartment and gave both to Dean. "Take some aspirin. I tried to reach you."

"I saw you hit the tree." Dean was fumbling with the blister pack and dropped it with a curse.

Sam picked up the pack and used his teeth to open it. "Here." He put the aspirin in Dean's hand and waited until Dean swallowed the pills before he said, "What did the Demon say to you?"

"Same old crap."

Sam winced. "You mean the whole 'your family doesn't need you' BS? Please tell me you know that's not true."

Dean brought his head up and there was that look again. Goofy. "He, um, thanked me. For making the deal."

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. He stayed silent until he had found a motel and checked them in. He waved off Bobby and Ellen as they started forward. He parked by their room and got out to open the passenger door. Dean pulled himself from the car and took one step before he collapsed.

Sam caught him, and then Bobby and Ellen were there and they got Dean into the room and onto a bed. He herded them outside despite their protests. "Give me some time alone with him." He pinned Bobby with a look. "Tell me about Dean and me being dead."

Sam walked into the room a few minutes later with their gear. Dean had rolled partially onto his side, facing away from the window. Sam pulled up a chair and laid out supplies next to Dean's head.

"Bobby said you were on the Jack Daniels' diet for three days."

Dean didn't open his eyes. He slurred out, "Bobby's a liar and a fucking stool pigeon."

"He said you didn't sleep either." Sam reached forward, brushing the back of his hand against Dean's forehead as he started to remove the gauze. Dean was burning up. "You have a fever."

Dean jerked his head back and groaned. He glared at Sam. "I said I'd take care of it, Sam. Hand's off."

"No. You have a concussion, don't you?" Dean's lips flattened out and he closed his eyes. Sam soaked a pad and started to clean the wound. "I should have figured it out sooner, it's just that you looked so goofy I missed it. You won't need stitches."

"Goofy? I've never looked goofy."

"Goofy is the only word for it, man." Sam put some butterfly bandages across the cut. He cleaned up the supplies and helped Dean sit up to take off his jacket. Sam tugged off Dean's boots. "Wanna take off your jeans?" He tossed the boots into the corner and looked up. Dean was starting to list to one side.

As he lowered Dean back onto the bed, Dean roused a bit and yawned.

"I'm awesomely hot, dude. Not goofy."

"Concussed, sleep deprived, almost starved, sick - equals goofy, bro."

"Dinner?"

"Bobby and Ellen are on it. I'll wake you in a couple of hours and you can eat then."

"Thanks." He yawned again and melted back into the pillows. "'S'all worth it, Sam."

"What?"

Dean muttered and took a deep breath, sound asleep.

Sam sat back on the chair. He'd been dead. Now he was alive. Dean was alive but dead in a year.

He watched his brother. He hadn't moved when Bobby and Ellen came to the room hours later.

A/N: A secret extra was to get Sam to feel Dean's forehead and be in character. Even in S2, it's a toss-up. Did I make it? Review and let me know.