Sam couldn't believe how his day was going. He'd woken up that morning feeling better than he'd had since parting from Dean. He'd convinced Bobby to let him go to the library and do research on the case they were currently working on, alone. There, away from the prying, all-to-knowing eyes of Bobby, he'd be able to relax in a place he felt comfortable.

Except, he'd never gotten there and his day had gone to shit. He'd come out of the bathroom to find Bobby packing who informed him their plans had changed. They were going to go get Dean and Bobby would explain in the car. He hadn't looked forward to the nearly ten-hour drive and would like nothing better than a hot shower, cold beer, handful of ibuprofen and bed.

But here he was and the situation wasn't what he'd thought it would be. He hadn't expected to be confronted at the door, denied entry, instructed to leave, and oh yeah, criticized over the way he'd sent Dean away, left him alone and hadn't been there to take care of him. That stung. He'd expected to find his brother suffering from a cold and had thought all he'd need was a box of tissues with lotion and some soup. It sure as hell never crossed his mind he'd find his brother shacked up with some girl who dosed him with codeine, had an attitude and clearly resented Sam's unannounced presence.

He topped the flight of steps just as Dean ran past him down the hall, dripping water, Bobby coming after him, cursing. Taking a deep breath and saying a prayer that he'd keep his sanity through this, he threw himself after his brother, catching him before Bobby could.

Dean thrashed, hands slapping, arms flailing, legs kicking. In his panicked state, he'd been tackled to the floor by a force larger and stronger than himself; his mind did not register concerned brother. It seemed as if he was fighting… something unseen and not ….not human. He swung and grunted and kicked at…..nothing. He was pinned to the carpet, a hand pressed the back of his neck to the floor and held his head still.

He took a deep breath, gathered his strength to resume thrashing - and was flipped onto his back and his shoulders were hauled up from the floor. The arms that came around him from the back were bands of steel. Hands grabbed his ankles, exerting force to keep his legs immobile and reduced his ability to kick. Damn, how many freaking arms did this thing have anyway? Like six?

Grunts, distant voices, warm breath tickling his cheek and whispering in his ear momentarily stunned him. He was lifted, carried and dropped. The hard, cold surface with the rank smell he expected to crack his back against when dropped smelled like…..laundry?

Before he could overcome his bewilderment, hands were once again poking and pulling and pushing at him. His foot was lifted, tugged, twisted and turned, then dropped, the process repeated with his other foot. Before he could decide what was happening to his feet, something was tugging on his shirt up to his chest. Warm fingers ghosted over the chilled skin of his belly. He attempted to halt the process but when he arched his back to gather his coordination, it presented the opportunity for the shirt to be pulled free from underneath him and off over his head. He hit out with both hands but before he could put any further thought into keeping his shirt, hands were tugging at the strings on his pants.

"DAMMIT!" Bobby exploded. "SAM! HOLD HIM STILL!"

"I'm trying. Just…..okay, think I've…got him." he muttered as he bodily hauled Dean back into the center of the bed, throwing him down with force, wishing it were a harder surface so the impact would stun him. "Gotta be quicker than that Bobby."

"Just hold him still." Bobby retorted. "Codeine? Really Sam?"

"I dunno Bobby, guess so."

"You guess so? How the hell did he get codeine?"

A hand grasped his knee with a grip that would surely leave a five-finger bruise, weight on his shin pulled a grunt from his throat, a voice scolded, another snapped in response. The voices, no longer so distant, suddenly sounded to be in disagreement and he fisted his hand, prepared to defend himself. Before he could strike out, a hand circled his wrist and forced his arm down, letting go when he clenched the sheets.

"Dean! Knock it off." Bobby growled. "For the love of…..oh for pete's sake…now see here...that is enough!"

"Bobby…." Sam warned. "Hey! He's not himself you know. No need to be so rough."

"Well, he ain't exactly being helpful here Sam, you wanna leave him soaking wet?" he took a second look at Sam who was staring wide-eyed at his brother when the boy didn't answer.

"Oh my God!" Sam yelled. "Bobby? What's wrong with him? Is he seizing?"

"No, no, I don't think so, no seizure I've ever seen before." if Bobby didn't know better, he thought with a frown, he'd say Dean was…..laughing?

"Well, see if you can be a little more gentle. I don't like him shaking like that."

"Yeah, yeah…" he released his hold on Dean and yanked the pants off just as Sam released his hold to pull a dry shirt over his head. Dean was off the bed before either could re-grab him, skin wet and cold, he easily escaped their hold and bolted out the door.

He was tackled in the hallway, thrown once again, face first to the floor. He lay still, out of breath, too tired to struggle. He remained still, panting hard, tense, unsure what to expect, waiting…...he was engulfed in a blanket and rolled tight. He didn't fight; he was too warm and cozy. He let himself be picked up and carried back to the bedroom where he was laid back upon the bed. Hands were on his feet, bending, rubbing his toes, and he willingly allowed the touch. Whatever he was wrapped up in was warm and soft and the urge to snuggle within it punched him hard in the stomach. A hand on his shoulder, not restraining, but massaging gently cemented his submission.

"So, Sam, anything you wanna tell me?" Bobby drawled. "Like maybe why he was taking a cold shower, you know, with his clothes on?"

"You wanna tell me how he got there in the first place?" Sam countered. "Which ankle anyway?"

"Left, and I went into the another room to get him a blanket off the bed 'cause he's whining he's cold. Why the shower Sam? And why with his clothes on?"

"Not really clothes." Sam gave him a tired smile. "He was dressed for bed."

"Yeah, still doesn't explain why he didn't remove his shirt and a pair of pants before taking a shower, a shower he didn't need and an ice-cold one at that."

"Dunno Bobby, you know he throws bad reactions to codeine."

"Yeah, okay, but he always. …..codeine? Where did he….?"

"Charlotte."

"Charlotte? Who the hell…..well hell, that name don't start with an L!"

"Nor does she go by the nickname Lottie." Sam thumbed between his eyebrows. "Bobby, he hates being wet, especially if the water is cold, has ever since he came back….the couple times we were forced into a lake or river after he…after we got him back….he hesitated before going in the water and once it took me all night to calm him down and coax him out of his mood. It's been, what, three years now? Unless he has too, he won't go in water. Does ok in the rain, but wants to be dry as soon as he can be. I can't explain why he'd go take a cold shower. I blame the medication."

"And wrapping him up in a blanket? Sure seemed to calm him down."

"You try things and learn." he shrugged. "Read articles and blogs of doctors, shrinks, moms with cranky kids, you try it and it works, you remember it for next time, it don't work, try something different."

"On Dean?" Bobby shook his head. "Guessing he's ok with a shower but then, the water's warm." as well as he knew the boys, there was still so much more they knew about each other. "And you never thought to mention any of this before?"

"Bobby, come on, you know him….hell I wouldn't even know if I wasn't with him 24/7, kinda hard to hide things when you live on top of one another…..we don't talk about it, it just is."

"So, what possessed him to take codeine?"

"Hell, I dunno. Guess the doctor prescribed it. Dunno know why he didn't tell the doctor he can't take it or why he didn't think to ask what Lottie was giving him or why he took it from her in the first place."

Bobby muttered under his breath about 'damn foolish stubborn boys'. "It's why I cringe when one of you has to see a doctor less the other one is with you, you know? Had you been with him, the doctor would have known not to prescribe codeine."

"Yeah." Sam agreed. "But..maybe….I dunno…..he admitted he didn't feel good….so…."

"So, what? You saying we shouldn't have left him alone?"

"I'm saying we should have known he'd find someone to be with since he hates being alone."

"Never thought he'd trust some strange girl he's known all of a week." Bobby shook his head. Sam didn't need this and it was only a matter of time before he began to think what could have happened with Dean dosed on codeine had he and Bobby not arrived. Showering in cold water with his clothes on was tame compared to what he could have done.

"I dunno Bobby." Sam whined irritably. He was tired and a little thrown that Dean was so…needy. People had varying beliefs over what made a person sick. Medical professionals claimed going outside with a wet head or getting drenched by cold rain didn't give you a cold or the flu. Grama's and old wives tales begged to differ. Question was, what made an already sick person, sicker? "You're sure that's not a seizure, right?"

Dean never really understood all the fuss about codeine cough syrup. Hell, he loved the shit. It sure made him feel better. Few sips and his chest no longer hurt and he could breathe without wheezing, couldn't they see that? Soon as he woke up, he would make Sammy apologize for giving him such a hard time over taking it. He felt relaxed and happy and wasn't hurting anyone so what was the big deal? Course they wouldn't see that, no, they were still arguing over whose fault it was he had taken it in the first place. Like either could stop him once he made up his mind. He giggled at that thought. He'd like to see them try.

"Oh, my God!" he heard Sam yell. "Bobby! Is be seizing?"

He smiled up at his freaked-out brother to let him know all was ok. Or rather, he smiled at where he thought his brother might be, his eyelids were clearly weighted down with something - maybe they were just water-logged. For whatever reason, that fish tank he'd just been chased out of appeared to have a water fall. Must have water in his ears as well, 'cause Sammy sounded like he was gargling. Orrrrrhhhhhh myyy Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrd Boorrrrrbbbiiee.

He giggled again. What the hell was up with Sam? He must have suffered another knock on the head because he was supposed to be the intelligent Winchester brother. How on earth could he mistake laughter for a seizure? Aaah…he was he tired, so tired. Maybe a short nap.

And, then… he must have slept for a while. Time had passed right? He rather hoped he was sleeping, for he swore he saw a six-foot rabbit hopping about his room and if he wasn't dreaming, Sam had some serious ass kicking to do. He'd do it himself but he needed some sleep 'cause after that last hunt he was feeling pretty wiped out.

Huh, appears they had ceased their arguing and were apparently done trying to maneuver his arms and legs into positions no human limbs were meant to be bent. Now if only, they would take notice of Elmer Fudd's worst nightmare. Were they even still in the room with him? How could they possibly miss seeing how overgrown Thumper was?

Of course, Mr. Cottontail wasn't as dangerous as the carrot he was swinging like a mace. That carrot was huge. It would feed the entire town. And it was orange. He didn't like carrots or oranges or the color orange. He didn't look good in orange, blue was his color. He looked good in blue, all the ladies said so. Dark navy blue. Could navy be anything other than dark in color?

The rabbit was white, why not brown? Wild rabbits were brown. That carrot was large and shaped like….. a dildo? That couldn't be right. When had he ever seen an orange dildo? Better tell Sammy not to turn his back on that rabbit, it appeared it was sadistic. He chuckled at the thought of Sammy being chased by a dildo shaped carrot wielded by a huge white rabbit and….why did Sammy keep asking Bobby about seizures?

Oh for Christ sake, if no one else was going to dispatch Peter Rabbit, he'd do it himself. Oooh, he would make a fur coat; would cook the meat, chop up that ridiculously large carrot and make a hot stew. He'd show them he could handle being on his own. Course, would be nice if one of them could get some heat in this room while he was busy ganking Alice's White Rabbit, 'cause he was freezing. Why was he so cold? Should it be so cold? Maybe a fire? Sam could still light a match, couldn't he?

Oh right, rabbit. Guess it was too much to expect them to take care of this unwanted creature. What did it take to get them to notice Roger Rabbit was in the room? He'd gestured and waved and pointed and all he accomplished was receiving more bruises. Geesch, he'd handled the last creature to invade the house all on his own. What more did they want from him? He was sick and that damned squid - it was a squid, right? 'cause it'd had like ten arms - had stung him in the foot and made his ankle throb like a bitch…and…OH HELL, what were they doing to him now? His clothes? Seriously? He wanted heat and they were concerned with what he was wearing when, hello, Peter Rabbit anyone? "Cause seriously, that dildo, erhm carrot, was a deadly weapon when swung around like that.

They were talking, again, seemed like all they did was talk. Talk and take his clothes. Sammy should have his own clothes, what'd he need his for? Sammy, boy did he like to talk. Would talk non-stop wherever they were, in the car, in the motel room, in a diner, from bed, from the bathroom, god, he never shut up. One would think he'd eventually run out of things to talk about, but nope, not Sammy, never Sammy. Gab, gab, gab.

Okay, enough lollygagging about in bed. If Sam was too busy talking to take notice of the rabbit that was nearly as big as he was and in the same room as he was, Dean would handle the situation like he had the last one.

Man, was his job ever done? You'd think they would be grateful he'd wrestled that damn twelve legged octopus with a hairy face back into its cold water tank. A tank, mind you, that had a damn water fall. Who the hell kept an octopus as a pet anyway? But no, not a word of thanks, not a pat on the back, no praise for a job well done. Instead they had manhandled him into bed, took his clothes and gone on about 'getting him' and 'being quicker about it'. Now, they argued about something stupid while an orange dildo-shaped carrot was being swung about the room like a competitor throwing a hammer in the Olympic Games. Didn't they see it? Didn't they realize if it hit them, it'd knock them through the wall? Fucking rabbit was fucking huge!

Boy, the things he did for Sammy, someday he would have to sit him down and tell him. Okay, enough….time to tackle that rabbit….wait for the carrot to swing the other way, wait for it, wait for it….now! He bolted from the bed, and…. son-of-a-bitch, the blasted rabbit was charging him! He needed a weapon; nothing in the room appeared to be of any use, so he ran from the room, deranged rabbit nipping at his heels.

This wasn't going well; he was supposed to be the one doing the chasing! How the hell had it gotten behind him? God, he was tired and his eyelids were still weighted down and water sloshed in his ears and the bite on his ankle stung and….oh, this Easter Bunny was going down!

He was on his stomach in the hallway, cocooned in what was left of the 'wascally wabbit'. He'd done Elmer Fudd proud and man, did Bugs Bunny's fur make a nice warm coat or what? Who needed them? Let them argue, ha! He sure showed them how it was done. Huh, ok, maybe he'd let them help him back to bed. It was rather difficult to walk wrapped up nice and tight in his newly acquired fur coat. He listened to them argue, place more blame, but he was finally warm and a slow, roving glance about the room revealed no more slimy or furry, erhm…animals.

Aaah, now all he needed was for them to shut up, stop talking and maybe give him some more of that cough syrup. That stuff really made him feel goooood. Made him feel light and airy, like a cloud up in the bluuuee-blue sky, yup, he definitely preferred the color blue. He should probably eat something but he was more tired than hungry. He'd eat later, give Sammy some time to make the stew, maybe by then, he would have run out of things to talk about and finally shut up.

***000***

Dean stirred, coughing weakly, calling the attention of both men. He dug one hand out, pushing the blanket away from his face.

"Hey there." Sam greeted. "Awake?"

"Shit." he eased onto his back, letting his head fall flat against the mattress. "Gawd….I feel awful." he moaned.

"Yeah, bet you do. See Dean, you pull a lot of crap, but shacking up with some girl whose name you don't even know is going a bit too far even for you." Sam scolded. "And to trust her to take medicine? What's the matter with you? You didn't think to tell the doctor you can't take codeine?"

"I know her name." Dean objected. "It's Lettie, no…Lizzie, yeah….Lizzie." he nodded, pleased with himself for recalling her name. "What'd I do?" lord, he must have done something to put that look on his brothers face. All he'd done, that he could remember was…..oh no, oh shit, oh shit no.

"It's Lottie and she gave you codeine."

His face fell and he pulled a pout. Oh well, whatever, he'd been closer with remembering her name than he ever had been before. "She gave me cough syrup." Dean corrected, itching his nose. "Oh."

"Yeah, she did, with codeine." Sam continued to scold. "You told me her name was Lottie, seems her name is Charlotte, which, by the way, doesn't begin with an L. Where the hell did you meet her?"

"Bar." so, not only had he gotten her name wrong, he'd shortened it to a nickname she didn't like, bummer.

"Are you truly that horny you can't go two weeks without sex?"

"You have to ask?"

"Why is she still here Dean?" Sam asked in exasperation.

"Obviously you haven't tasted her coffee or you wouldn't be asking me that question." Dean yawned.

"You can't go picking up random women…..wait...coffee?" Sam sputtered. "What?"

"Why did you go to the clinic anyway?" Bobby asked. "Thought you just had a cold…."

"You're the one who insisted I shouldn't get Sam sick so when I started feeling worse, I thought it best to see a doctor, get some antibiotics."

"Why didn't you call us?" Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. He'd been driving all day and he was tense and tired and only wanted to kick his boots off and stretch out with a cold beer and maybe a newspaper. Getting straight answers out of Dean wasn't something he felt up to doing. "You really shouldn't see a doctor on your own, you'll find some way to screw it up and sure enough, you did."

"Oh, great, great, just great, thanks, thanks for that."

"Codeine Dean, be lucky all you managed to do was fall down the steps and take a cold shower with your clothes on, wanna explain that one, by the way?" Sam was beginning to sound exasperated, not a good sign. That meant Dean had done or said something that had either upset or ticked him off. Oh yeah, he probably should listen to kid brother once in a while and stay away from codeine.

"No." he stared up at the ceiling. How did one explain hairy octopus's with too many legs and a giant rabbit with an obscene carrot? Please, someone, anyone, tell him it had all been a codeine induced dream.

Sam bunched a towel up in his hands to keep his fingers from finding their way around his brother's throat and squeezing. The reasons he wanted to throttle him were numerous; keeping the strange woman he picked up in a bar, picking her up to begin with, giving her free rein in the house, trusting her, accepting medication from her, not calling to tell him and Bobby he was feeling worse, not telling them he'd fallen down the steps, not telling them he'd seen a doctor, not telling the doctor about his reaction to codeine, for deciding to see a doctor in the first place for Sam's benefit and not his own.

"You planning on staying here Sam?" Bobby recalled his attention. "Or heading back to my place?"

"Thought we'd just hit the road."

"You sure that's wise? I mean, he ain't lookin so good." Bobby glanced from one brother to the other. "Go where? Leave when?"

"Don't want to remain here longer than we have to, seems the house came with a permanent guest."

"Send her home."

"You make her leave." Sam got up. "Dean?"

"Mmm." his head rolled on the pillow and his free hand rubbed at his eyes but otherwise he didn't respond to Sam, almost back to sleep.

"Guess there's your answer." Bobby said. "If I remember correctly, when he was a kid, he didn't travel well when he was sick. Your old man always seemed to find himself in the vicinity of my house."

"I….." Sam flung his head back, at a loss what to do. He honestly couldn't remember the last time Dean had been sick, or had a cold. It had to have been when they were kids, before he'd left for college and even then, it hadn't been all that often, maybe two or three times and Sam had certainly been too young to take care of him. He didn't know what upset him more, that Dean was sick or the reason that he was. The past year of stress, guilt, depression and the severe emotional distress that had led to excessive alcohol consumption and worn Dean down to his current condition could only be laid at his own feet. He and he alone was to blame.

"He's not going to feel like going anywhere for a couple of days Sam, best to let him stay here in bed." Bobby decided. Sam may have been too young to remember Dean's reactions to certain medications as a kid, but he would never forget. John had little patience and even less experience, not that Bobby had much more, but at least he had common sense and a genuine affection for the boys.

John had been at a complete loss on how to handle a sick kid. Well, not Sam, just Dean. Sam had told you how he felt, what was wrong and what would make him feel better. Dean had insisted he was fine, nothing was wrong and didn't need anything. John, despite knowing better, would choose to believe him and by the time Dean could no longer deny he was sick, a trip to the doctors couldn't be avoided; hence the experience of finding out Dean's reactions to certain meds.

"Fine, come help me oust the lady in pink." Sam tossed the towel and stood up. He'd been too young to remember when Dean had flipped while on cold medicine as a kid, but there'd been a time before he'd left for college when their dad had been off on his own hunt, that Dean had come down with a cold. No one had told him not to give his brother codeine.

He hadn't known what to tell the doctor. Dean, who had been mad at him for whining until Dean had agreed to go to a clinic, hadn't bothered to say anything either. A sixteen year old kid, with no parental guidance shouldn't have to learn the hard way that prescription cold meds and his twenty year old brother were not a good combination.