A belated, but well meant, happy birthday fic for NewspaperTaxis, one of the founding members of our little birthday buddy group. And a fellow Beatles fan. She deserves the best, so herewith, a S4 Sam and Dean loosely based on a prompt she left on LJ. Dean is sick, sick, sick, and Sam is out cavorting with Ruby.

Vague but potential spoilery for S4.

Beta'd by the lovely, mighty, and powerful Mad Server. Thank you so much!

"Sam, where the hell are you? Call me."

Sam held the phone away from his ear and stared at the Caller ID. Ellen?

"Sam, I'm not kidding. If you don't call me back in thirty minutes, I will find you and hurt you. And I can do it. Trust me on this."

He winced. She'd left the message at 8:30 — five hours ago. Not that Ellen would really hurt him, but what the hell had he done? He listened to the next message.

"Kid, I'm leaving this message because Dean …. No, Dean, you want me to. You do. I'm serious, because… Sam, Dean stopped puking long enough to convince me not to put a salt round into you… hold on." Ellen's deep voice was muffled for a minute, but she came back loud and clear when she spoke next. "Dean doesn't want me telling you this…but I don't care what he wants right now, yes, Dean, I don't care. I don't. You barfed on my shoes, boy, I can say anything I want." Some unidentifiable noises later, and all she said was, "Shit." The message ended on the curse.

Dean? Sam hit delete for the third time before collapsing heavily on a leather recliner, pushing back viciously until the foot rest came up, cradling his feet in a luxury he rarely experienced. Eyes closed, he rubbed circles on his aching temples. It had been a long day, and a very long night. His brother had been sleeping, dead to the world, like he usually was these days, when Sam had slipped out to join Ruby.

Dean had only been back from hell for a few months. And he'd woken up sick, and Sam, he hadn't been there. Damn it. It was going to get harder to get out at night after this. Shit, is right.

He had to get on the road. Groaning, he pushed the chair up, planted his feet and stood. One step toward the door and he was going down, head spinning. Tiny hands caught at his biceps, the unnatural strength allowing them to hoist and hold him upright when all he wanted to do was curl up on the floor. He wondered if these après-exorcism symptoms would ever get better.

"What is it, baby? Your head bad?"

She smelled like blood and decay. His stomach clenched, fighting the odor and his upright position. "It's Dean." Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, blinked, and looked for the door. "Gotta go."

"What's he whining about this time?"

Sam tried to pull away, staggered. "He's not…never mind. He's sick. I need to go."

"Your brother is more important than killing Lilith?"

That made him hesitate, and Ruby guided him back to the recliner, gently but inexorably pushing him to sit back on the soft upholstery, then crawled into his lap. Dark, fierce eyes bored into his. It made his head pound in a faster tempo, his stomach roiling. Every time she talked about Dean it made his flesh crawl.

"Dean's sick. He needs me." A shaking finger to the warmth under his nose confirmed the bleed.

"He needs you? It's just another way he holds you back. You know that. We've been over this a million times."

"He's…"

"Weak."

"No, not…"

"Pathetic."

Sam snorted, smiled. "Yeah." Ignored the guilt riding that moment of acceptance. "Still, gotta show or I'll be under the microscope."

"You could just leave him. Stay with me." Her hands were everywhere, up under his shirt, tugging at his jeans. "I don't hold you back. I feel good." Her grin was knowing and lascivious as she ground her hips into him.

"Stop. Stop." He caught both of her hands in one of his. "I need to…"

She leaned forward and bit his lip, purring and smug. "You need me."

Disgusted, he strong-armed her off his lap. "Leave me alone. Ruby, just leave me alone for a few minutes." She left the room, probably to do her demonic clean up. No body, no blood, no fingerprints. Magic.

Sam dropped his head into his hands. He wanted to puke. This was what shooting heroin must feel like. The incredible rush of the blood, on his tongue, moving in a sinuous track down his throat, like a living thing, threading through his guts, his liver, his veins, his balls…

The omnipotence, the power, killing demons with his mind… It was grotesque, humiliating, and fucking amazing.

He shook his head and immediately regretted it. All that power followed by an unbelievable hangover. Dean would laugh if he knew. But Dean wouldn't know. He'd never accept it. He couldn't handle what Sam was doing. He was scared of his own shadow. Couldn't accept that baby Sam was going to save the day. Ruby was right about that.

Dean. God. He'd forgotten. He checked but the voice mails had not vanished while he wasn't looking. He brought up the next message and thumbed it to listen.

"He doesn't know where you are! Sam, how can he not know where you are? You know what that does to him. He's only been back for a few months. God damn it. I told you before you were selfish. When are you going to grow up?" He scrubbed his eyes. Ellen was definitely not the hair of the dog for this particular hangover.

He was in Ruby's car, accelerating toward Sioux Falls before he listened to the next message. A male voice, whiskey rough. "Boy. Where the hell are you? Your brother… he called. Me. Said you didn't answer." Sam nodded, even though Bobby couldn't see him. God, he was screwed. The missed calls from Dean were damning enough but how sick did Dean have to be to call Bobby? "Ellen, well she's here, and we went to find him. He was out cold on the bathroom floor. Sam, anything could have gotten him." Some unidentifiable noises and Ellen was back, voice brimming with indignation and rage. "Sam, he's looking for you and I'm having trouble calming him down. Get here now."

That message was three hours old. Sam checked his watch, frowned for a moment as he calculated. He was still two hours out from Bobby's. The car growled and raced forward as he pushed harder on the gas. He could cut that to one and a half hours. All he had to do was drive like Dean. That almost made him smile.

His phone rang before he could listen to the last message. He glanced at the caller ID before answering. Ruby.

"Yeah."

"Where's my car?"

"On its way to Bobby's. Pick it up before seven—it'll be about a mile south of his place. Can you do that?"

"Ooh, I love it when you get all authoritative."

"Can you do it?" The last thing he wanted was Dean or Bobby recognizing Ruby's car. Or Ruby sneaking into the yard to get it.

"Of course, lover. Call when…"

Sam hung up and drove, only stopping for a cup of 7-Eleven coffee and a piss. He pulled the car to the shoulder, right where Ruby would be looking for it, as he listened to the final message that had been left less an hour ago, right when he was entering South Dakota.

"Sam. Dean's gone. Ellen got back to his room and he, he'd just disappeared. I'm sorry. Neither of us thought… well, we're going to start looking. Whatever you're doin', please, call."

The eastern sky was pinking up with dawn but it had been a moonless night. It would have been hard to find Dean, impossible if he didn't want to be found… Sam's feet started moving before his thought process caught up. Sprinting for the salvage yard, he almost went sprawling when his name was called from the side of the road.

"Sammy?" The voice was despairing, and hopeful, and weak.

"Dean? What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you." Dean stepped out from the brush by the side of the road.

Gravel slid under Sam's feet as he skidded down into the culvert. "You were walking? Where's your coat? It's freezing out here." He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Dean's shoulders.

Dean growled, "Not cold." He pushed ineffectively at Sam's hands, finally pulling the jacket tight across his chest, curling his hands deep into the fabric.

"What were you thinking? Bobby and Ellen are looking everywhere for you!" Sam tugged his brother up onto the road, and got them both moving toward the yard.

"Didn't get that far." A streak of sunlight cut across Dean's face, casting his eyes into darkness, his mouth, thin lipped, into bright illumination.

He slung an arm over Dean's shoulders but Dean shrugged him off. Sam felt a chill go up his back but he reached again, putting a gentle hand on Dean's biceps, guiding him down the road.

"You didn't want them to find you, huh?"

A snort. "Took my keys. Told me to stay in bed. While you were missing." Dean swayed a bit, staggered sideways into Sam, took a step back and tried to catch Sam's eyes. "You okay?"

When the hell was Dean going to finally figure out that he didn't have to be worried about his little brother anymore? "There's nothing wrong. I'm fine." Sam's pent-up anxiety and guilt began to change to self-righteous indignation and anger, but he didn't stop it, didn't want to, felt the stiffness moving up his back and shoulders as he straightened. When he spoke, it was harsh. "Why'd you call Bobby, Dean?"

"Room was… empty. No note. You didn't answer. Couldn't, couldn't…" Dean took a deep breath, waved a hand before pulling it to his side, angled his head down.

Sam spun his brother roughly to face him. "Couldn't what? Be by yourself for a few hours? I can't have some time to myself? Just 'cause you're back doesn't mean my life has to revolve around you."

There was just enough light to see the confusion on Dean's features. "Revolve around… you think… I," Dean's hand went to his head. He rubbed his eyes. "I don't…you disappeared, Sam! While I was sleeping. What was I supposed to think?"

Teeth gritted, Sam growled, "That I'd gone out. Instead, I'm coming back and I get a million messages from Ellen and Bobby. Scolding me."

"Out." Dean's voice was distant, his eyes locked on something over Sam's shoulder. "Oh. Thought maybe you'd run off… tired of being left." Eyes going wide, he turned to one side, bending over to vomit convulsively, until he started to dry heave, almost sobbing with each inhale.

"Left you? You thought I'd… God, Dean, I wouldn't!" The anger drained out of him, leaving exhaustion and regret in its wake. Sam got both arms around Dean's chest before he went face first on to the road. "C'mon. Let's get you back to Bobby's."

"Feel like crap."

The increasing light brought Dean's features into stark relief. "You look like it. Smell like it, too." Sam could feel the tiny shivers running up and down Dean's arms, see the sweat beading on his forehead, and the pain and fever in Dean's eyes. "C'mon." He started guiding them both toward Singer Salvage, head coming up when he heard voices and barking up ahead. He started to smile. "Were you running away?"

"Bobby…and Ellen. Crazy old loons. Both of 'em."

"They care about you, dude. Give them that."

Dean stumbled again. "Told them you hadn't left for good."

"I don't think they believed that, Dean. They were just trying to find me."

"Sam, where did you go?"

Exasperated, Sam pulled Dean in closer. "I told you. Out. I didn't know you were sick."

"That car. Seen it before."

His stomach dropped to his feet. "The car?" He almost cranked around to see if it was still visible. "No, man, you haven't. It's just a car. I picked it 'cause the door was unlocked."

Dean looked like he was going to argue, but to Sam's relief, Bobby's blue pickup appeared around a curve in the road before he had to continue. The new Rottie jumped out of the truck bed, still barking its head off at Sam like it always did. Every time they came to visit, that damn animal made up to Dean like he was made of bacon. Bobby stopped to quiet the dog, while Ellen ran ahead, getting a shoulder under Dean's arm opposite Sam.

"Let's get him to the truck. Glad you finally made it, Sam."

He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to it, raising his head.

"Told you he would come."

"You told me a lot of things, Dean. It was Sam," and here she leveled a look so full of meaning at Sam he thought for a second about turning around and legging it back to Ruby's car, "who wasn't talking. You've had hours to pick up your phone. Where the hell were you?"

Sam lifted his chin, swallowing audibly. "Ellen…"

Once again, Dean answered. "He was out. Told me so. He can't help it that I got sick."

"No, but he could…"

Bobby interrupted Ellen this time, getting her in the passenger side, then helping Dean up to sit almost in her lap. Dean's head dropped back onto her shoulder as her arms went around him protectively. The older man coaxed the dog back into the truck bed as he walked around the vehicle and got back behind the wheel.

Ellen's pointed look promised a long, long talk to come, but she only said, "Drive us back, Bobby. You can walk, Sam, unless you want to get in the back with your canine fan, there."

Sam caught Bobby's eyes but he just shrugged, cocking an eyebrow at Ellen. The dog slobbered and barked three times.

"I'll pass on the ride. We're almost there anyway."

He started walking, waving as Bobby completed a Y turn and passed him. It would be okay. Ellen wouldn't actually kill him. She had a soft spot for both of them and he could exploit that to get out of the interrogation coming his way.

And he could afford to take a few days off from Ruby. The flask of blood in his pocket would carry him through for at least a week, and by then, Dean would be better, and they would be back on the road, getting closer to Lilith with each move.

He stretched his arms behind his back, working his neck and shoulders to clear them of the remaining kinks. It was a beautiful morning, the dawn chorus of birds just warming up, the air was clear. This is why he was doing what he was doing, no matter what Dean might think, to save days just like this….

The blasting of a car horn immediately behind him had him jumping clumsily down into the culvert. He turned in time to see Ruby's car accelerating up the road, her hand waving languidly out the driver's window before flipping him the bird.

He trudged up the road, his headache roaring back.

Hell. Maybe this wasn't the kind of day to save after all.

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