She had rivers of blond highlights and brown eyes to die for, and Dean had met her last night when he'd taken Sam out to eat. The Red River Bar and Grill was the only option in this tiny, backwater town, and Sam had grown tired of peanut butter on stale bread. He was coming down with a cold, too, Dean could tell. So he'd dragged his little brother into the grill side of the bar-and-grill and let him order a real meal for a change.

And that's when he'd seen her. Shazam.

So now, he was freshly showered and shaved and planning to meet the girl of his dreams for an hour or two while Sam napped, but then Dad had unexpectedly arrived back at the motel, and Dean could tell that Sam wanted him to change his plans and hang around instead.

But sixteen-year-old Dean pictured the hair and the eyes all wrapped up nice and neat atop a tight, white sweater, and suddenly, his little brother wasn't the first thing on his mind anymore.

"It'll be fine, Sam." Dean reassured him when Dad stepped out to bring in the weapons bag.

"Please, Dean?" Sam whined. "You know he'll have us cleaning weapons all night long, and I feel like crap. If you stay, he'll ignore me like he always does when you're around."

Dean looked sideways at his little brother. "He does not ignore you when I'm around. Where's that coming from?"

"Um, from twelve years of experience?" Sam said, pissy.

"You're worried about nothing," Dean replied. "I'll tell Dad you're sick and to let you sleep, okay?"

Sam sat on the bed, hugging his knees and looking miserable. "He won't." He said, almost crying. "He'll tell me to "Suck it up and be a man, Sam.'"

Dean had to stop and smile at that. Sam had his impersonation of their dad down to a damn science. Dad didn't always show the best judgment, after all. And Dean could picture the old man saying something exactly like that.

But not to Sam when he was obviously not feeling well. If it was Dean spending the night with Sam, he'd put him to bed early with some acetaminophen and a cup of that girly tea he loved so much. Then they'd hang out, crashed on the same bed, watching whatever crappy movie was on cheap cable and making endless fun of the bad acting.

Dad probably wouldn't go that far, but he'd make sure Sam was tucked in safe, at least. He wouldn't have him sitting out in the chilly motel room, cleaning weapons until the wee hours.

Right?

Dad blew back into the room then, carried in by a fresh blast of frigid air. He moved over to the barely working wall heater and held out his hands, trying to get the circulation back.

"Dammit. It's cold out there tonight." He said, and Dean saw his opening.

Speaking of cold, Dad. I think Sammy's coming down with one." He offered. "He's been running a low fever all day, and now he's got a cough on top of it. He needs to rest, okay?"

John looked at his older son like he'd just lost his mind, "Since when does a cold put a Winchester out of commission?" He growled, disbelievingly.

And Dean felt his heart sink as he looked over at his little brother huddled so miserably in the middle of his bed with an "I told you so" look written all over his flushed face.

"Look at him, Dad." Dean pleaded. "He's sick. If he doesn't get rest now, we'll be taking him to the ER later." Dean tossed out his secret weapon. He knew their father frowned on ERs and hospitals in general. Unless a Winchester was in imminent danger of losing a limb, medical facilities were strictly off-limits.

"He'll be fine, Dean." John said, dispassionately. He turned to Sam, and dropped the weapons bag on the bed beside the shivering boy. "Here, Sam, work on these, would you? I have to go make a call." He pulled out his phone and stepped back outside.

Dean could feel Sam's glare on the back of his neck, as he bent to retrieve his wallet and phone from the nightstand beside his bed. He took a minute to compose his face before turning around and taking in the sight of Sam, sniffling quietly as he slowly unzipped the massive bag and began pulling out guns.

Dean watched in silence for a moment before walking over and sitting down on the bed beside his brother. He could feel the heat emanating off him from a foot away and was suddenly thankful for the two pills he'd had Sam down just a half-hour ago. Those should be enough to knock his fever down as soon as they kicked in, which should be any minute now. He shoulder-bumped the kid. "Just for an hour or two, okay? I promise."

Sam didn't answer. He just bit his lip silently like he was trying not to cry.

"Sammy? Please? Just for a little while? I just … I gotta get out of this room for a bit, you know? I'm going stir crazy."

Sam looked up at him then - eyes watery and face flushed pink from the fever. He nodded. "Go then." He said. "It's okay."

Dean hedged, caught between wanting to be there for his little brother and wanting to explore the possibilities of life with Tina.

"You sure?"

Sam nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow night, Sammy, okay? We'll hang out and eat crap and watch crap, and you can nap all you want, 'kay?"

"Yeah," Sam answered gruffly.

So Dean pulled his coat down off the peg by the door, and met his father as he was coming in. He hesitated.

"I'm not sure I should go out with Sam being under the weather." He voiced his concerns.

But John only looked at him and smiled. "It's okay, Dean. You've earned some downtime. Go blow off a little steam. I'll look after your brother."

"You sure?"

"I can handle one twelve-year-old kid, yes." John replied, rolling his eyes. He tossed Dean the keys, "Here, take the car. It's too cold to walk anywhere."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Cool! Thanks, Dad." He risked one more glance at Sam, who was studiously taking apart their dad's old .45. He looked a little less flushed, and Dean hoped that meant the medicine was working. He'd be back long before it was time for a second dose, so Sam should be fine.

"See ya, Sammy." He spoke from the door.

Sam looked up then, and tried to smile. "Bye, Dean." he said.

Still, Dean lingered, studying his brother, until his father made the decision for him. He opened the door and gently pushed Dean toward it. "Go. Have fun. We'll be fine. Enjoy it while you can. We'll be back on the road in a day or so."

So Dean did.