Sam was in the middle of the best sleep of his life when he heard Dean in the bathroom. His brother was clearly sick, judging by the low moans followed by painful sounding retches.

Probably drank too much again, Sam thought ruefully. He fumbled for the clock, noting that it was well after three, and groaned. There was a low moan followed by a soft thud sounding from the bathroom, and afraid that maybe Dean had passed out, Sam pulled himself from the bed to go check on his brother.

He tapped softly on the door, and called Dean's name, but there was no response.

"Ok, I'm coming in bro," he said as he pushed open the door, and found himself greeted with a pitiful sight.

Dean was curled on his side in front of the toilet, the blue throw rug beneath him bunched under his head in sort of a de facto pillow. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his middle and he was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. His face was white, beads of sweat clinging to his eyebrows and upper lip. His eyes tracked Sam as he came into the bathroom, but he didn't seem able to speak.

"Dude," Sam knelt beside him, alarmed at Dean's appearance. This is didn't look like a drinking-caused illness. "Are you ok?"

Dean weakly shook his head, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard, clearly trying to keep the nausea at bay.

"You're not drunk, are you? You're sick?"

Dean groaned. "Didn't...have a…drop…S'mmy…ugh." His voice was little more than a whisper and Dean swallowed hard again, his face turning an alarming shade of green, and Sam barely had enough time to hook his hands under Dean's arms and position his head over the toilet before his brother was sick again. Sam could feel the heat of a high fever radiating off of Dean's skin.

When he was done, Dean slumped back against the tub and looked up at Sam through pain filled eyes. Sam grabbed a washcloth and ran cold water over it, then knelt beside Dean, and wiped his face.

"You're a mess. What happened? Did you eat something bad? We had the same thing at the diner, so it can't be that."

"I dunno. Was out. Clarissa and I…didn't drink though. Just started feeling really horrible so I came back here. Feel terrible, Sammy."

"I can tell. Let's get you into bed. My room, I think, I want to be able to keep an eye on you."

Dean didn't argue, he let Sam get him up off the floor. He practically carried Dean into the next room and put him in his own bed. Sam carefully undid Dean's boots, and pulled off his jeans, then tucked the blankets up over Dean's still shivering form.

"Sa…Sammy?"

"It's ok, just relax, go to sleep, I'll be right here." Sam crawled into the other side of the bed, and was a bit surprised when Dean rolled over and laid his head on his shoulder. Dean sniffled, and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist.

"Don't leave me, Sammy," Dean snuffled.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean, just go to sleep ok?" Sam awkwardly patted Dean's shoulder.

"Everyone…leaves me…Mom, Dad, Bobby, Cas…even you, Sammy…you left me…everyone leaves me, Sammy…don't…don't leave me…I couldn't…please…don't…and Cas…Cas. I screwed things up…all fucked up and…he doesn't understand…won't get a chance…fix it…I don't…" Dean's voice trailed off as he fell asleep, or possibly passed out, leaving Sam to wonder what all that had been about. Dean didn't open up much, and hearing him admit that he was afraid of everyone leaving him made Sam want to cry for his brother.

And the thing about Cas. He wondered what Dean had "screwed up" with the angel. There'd always been something between them, with the whole ridiculous profound bond thing, and the staring, and the lack of personal space, but Sam had always chalked it up to typical Cas and Dean weirdness.

But now he had to wonder.

And he'd known Dean was upset, especially after losing Bobby, hell, Sam wasn't dealing very well with that himself, but Dean always worked so hard to bury his emotions, and Sam was ashamed to say that on the rare occasions when Dean did open up, it always caught him off guard.

It upset Sam even more that it would take something like being sick for Dean to talk to him.

Sam studied Dean's face, relaxed and slack with sleep. Sleep was one of the few times Dean's face was smooth and unlined, vulnerable even, when the hunter's mask dropped and he was just Dean, just a guy, just a big brother.

Wishing again for probably the millionth time that he could take all of Dean's pain away, Sam snuggled down beside his brother, and fell asleep, both of them wrapped around the other like the little boys they once were.


Sam woke up to sunshine and sweat. He was completely soaked from sleeping next to the furnace that was Dean and his fever. He put a hand on Dean's forehead and was unsurprised that his brother was warmer than he was earlier.

"When you get sick, you do it right," he muttered under his breath. Sam pulled himself out of bed, and went over to Dean's room to dig through the duffel with their first aid supplies in it. Disappointed at the lack of analgesics, he realized he'd have to go out and get something to bring Dean's fever down.

Making his way back across the room, he sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Dean's shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, Dean, wake up, come on."

Dean groaned and swatted at Sam's hand. "Go 'way," he grumbled. "Sleepin'".

"I know, but I am going out, and I need you to wake up and talk to me for a minute."

Dean grumbled some more, but propped one eyelid open and peered up at Sam with a fever bright eye. "What?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Like crap, dumbass."

"Yeah, I figured, but are you hurting? Stomach still upset? Hungry? Sore? Anything like that?"

"Never wanna see food again…"

"Ok, so stomach still bothering you then. Head hurt?"

"God yes. Like hell man."

"Are you congested? Stuffed up or anything?"

"Yes, Sam, I feel like my head's stuffed full of cotton and my brain's gonna explode, now can you fuck off and let me sleep?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "So sounds like a cold with a nice little virus attached. When did you start feeling bad?"

"Last night."

"Nothing before that?"

"No, Doctor Mom, nothing before that. Leave me alone." Dean rolled away from Sam, and buried his face back into the pillow, clearly indicating the conversation was over.

"Ok, well I am going to shower, then go get some stuff to make you feel better. Looks like you're going to get your wish to stay here awhile seeing as how you are clearly too sick to go anywhere. Good thing this place is so cheap."

Dean mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow.

"I know, this isn't what you meant. Sorry Dean."

Dean grumbled again, and Sam gathered up his clothes for a shower.

Looked like this would end up being a solo salt and burn, but Sam was ok with that. It seemed like a fairly straight up simple job. He was more worried about Dean. He didn't get sick often, but when he did, he went down, and he went down hard.

As Sam let the water in the shower come up to temperature, he thought about the half-conscious confession Dean had made last night about being afraid everyone would leave him.

It was no wonder he felt that way, they'd just lost Bobby, and then Cas…and there was apparently more to that story than he knew, and besides, they did not talk about Cas. Dean had made that clear from the moment they left the hospital. It made Sam feel irrationally guilty and Dean just completely unhappy. It had been too close for Dean, Sam knew that, and his brother never talked about these things, just pushed them further under the rug.

If there was one thing, only one thing Sam could have in this life, it wouldn't be the normal apple pie picket fence dream he'd held onto for so long. It would be Dean, happy and content, with a life of his own. Sam didn't want the normal life for himself anymore. He wanted it for Dean. He wanted Dean to be able to relax, and stop feeling guilty, and to just live. To just be…

Sam cut his own thoughts off with a sigh. That would never be their lives, and the sooner he got used to it the better.


She watched from across the street, sitting on a bench at the very edge of Misty Fall's quaint park. She'd been watching Lucille's since sunup, waiting for the tall one to leave. She knew he would, his brother had to be needing something by now, the illness spell should have kicked in around midnight.

She didn't want to see her beloved sick, but she needed the big one out of the way so she could start moving her plans into place.

Shortly after nine, the tall man came out and got into the piece of crap they were driving and left.

She smiled as she rose from the bench, straightening the folds of her full skirt, and quickly crossed the street.

Letting herself into Lucille's, she quickly made her way up the stairs. The door to the Blue Room was slightly ajar, and she could see him, sound asleep amongst the pillows and fluffy duvet. She pushed the door open, and stood just inside the room for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the only sound in the room, the gasp and wheeze of his labored breathing.

Crossing the room on silent feet, she stood over him, and stared down at him. It was the first time she'd been able to get so close. She'd cast the spell on him last night from across the room of the tiny pub he and Clarissa had gone to. He'd left shortly after, the effects of the spell kicking in quickly, and one look from her to Clarissa had been enough for her to know she'd gotten through to the girl.

This man was hers.

There was a small noise behind her, and she turned.

"Hello, Lucille."

"Cecile. Figured you'd show up here sooner or later. The illness is your doing I presume?"

"Of course."

Lucille sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. "CeCe, do you have any idea what you are getting into here? Do you have any inkling who these two boys are?"

"They're hunters. I know that much." CeCe ran a hand across the man's chest, making a pleased sound at the firm feel of his muscles. "But I never was much afraid of hunters."

"Happen to catch their names sister?"

"No."

"Well this is Dean. The other one is Sam." Lucille regarded her younger sister. "Ring any bells?"

"No. Should it?"

"Are you kidding me? Sam and Dean? Hunters? We on the same page yet? They're the Winchesters, CeCe!" That got her sister's attention. But instead of looking scared, CeCe's eyes lit up.

"Winchesters," she whispered reverently. "Sam and Dean Winchester, here in our little town. Well, that certainly explains a lot." Like Dean's beautiful glow, a direct result of being the chosen vessel for an archangel. And Sam's taint, ruined at six months old with a baptism of demon blood. CeCe wasn't turned off at all, if anything, it made her want Dean more than ever.

"CeCe, these two kill every supernatural thing that comes their way. You are asking for trouble little sister."

"Oh Lucille, don't worry. I know what I am doing.

Trust me."


Sam grabbed a basket just inside the door of the drug store, and made his way to the painkillers. He grabbed ibuprofen, Tylenol, and Thera-flu. Then he went over to the coolers, and picked up several bottles of Gatorade, lemon-lime flavor, which was Dean's favorite. He even grabbed his brother a couple of car magazines, and a Busty Asian Beauties.

He was standing in the check-out, paging through Super Chevy, when a familiar face caught his eye.

Clarissa was standing by the makeup display, pulling out various lipsticks and examining them. Sam slid the magazine back into his basket and walked over to her.

"Clarissa?"

She jumped and dropped the lipstick she was holding. "Sam! I didn't see you there, I'm sorry."

"It's ok," he replied, stooping to retrieve the dropped cosmetic.

"How's Dean? He wasn't lookin' so good last night. I was pretty worried about him."

"Yeah, he picked up a virus somewhere. He went down quick."

"Hmm." She took the lipstick from him and put it back on the rack. "I don't think he really wanted to be there anyway. Seemed like he was just goin' through the motions, to be honest."

"Yeah," Sam said slowly. He knew just what she meant. Dean had definitely been off lately.

"Anyway, I gotta go, I got a shift at the diner. Take care of yourself, Sam." She turned in the doorway of the drugstore, looking back at him, a strange, almost sad look in her eyes. "And keep watch over Dean, ya hear?"

She disappeared out the door, leaving Sam staring after her, and wondering exactly what the hell that had meant.


CeCe carefully ground the herbs in her marble bowl. She needed to do this quick, Sam could return any moment, but it had to be done right.

Soul magic was very dangerous, and she sure as hell didn't want to mess this up. Too much rode on her ability to perform the spell correctly.

Adding red wine to the bowl, she stirred it again, chanting in a low, guttural voice, the language of her ancestors, a weird mix of French and Haitian. Setting the bowl on the table, she withdrew a small silver blade from her bag, and made a quick slice on her arm, letting the blood run into the bowl.

The liquid inside bubbled briefly. It was time.

Carefully lifting Dean's head from the pillow, she slowly poured the potion into his mouth. He started to choke, and CeCe set the bowl on the bed, and closed his mouth with her hand. His body's instincts took over, and he swallowed twice.

Placing her hand over his forehead, she chanted softly, and he began to react immediately, limbs twitching in the sheets and his eyes rolling under his lids. When he finally lay still again, she stopped the chant, and cleaned up the residual potion that had collected in the corners of his lush mouth.

CeCe packed her supplies quickly, and made ready to leave, but she couldn't resist. Dean looked so beautiful lying there, and soon, soon he would be fully hers. Leaning down over the bed, she pressed her lips to his, enjoying the fullness, and the soft velvetiness of his skin.

"Soon, my love. You'll come to me, and we can enjoy this together," CeCe whispered softly as she pulled away.

She was out the door and back across the street by the park a moment later. And not a minute too soon, as the rust-bucket Sam was driving pulled into the spot in front of Lucille's.

Observing Sam silently as he unfolded himself from the tiny car, she again thought about how sad it all was, the taint that blackened his soul. Sam Winchester was truly a magnificent specimen of a man, and she would have loved to have kept him around Misty Falls as well, maybe give him to Lucille as a gift. But he didn't belong here, and he needed to leave.

It was up to Sam, however, whether he would drive away or simply disappear.


Dean hadn't moved from his spot on the bed, and Sam set his purchases down on the table with a sigh. His brother seemed paler than he had before, and he had to wonder how long this thing was going to keep him bedridden.

Dropping into a chair, Sam dug through his bag for the muffin he'd brought back with him, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth while he flipped his laptop open with his other hand.

For the next several hours, Sam worked, prepping for the hunt. Dean slept. Sam was able to wake him long enough to get some Gatorade and Tylenol in him, but Dean drifted right back off. Around six p.m., Sam woke Dean again, to let him know he was headed over to Coburn for the salt and burn, but Dean barely acknowledged him.

Sam packed all his gear with a sigh, then turned to look at Dean's sleeping form one last time. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Another sigh, and he was out the door, and down by the car, tossing his gear into the back. That weird feeling grew more intense, and he felt like he was being watched.

Raising his eyes, but not his head, he peered through the curtain of his hair across the street.

There was no one staring at him. Just a man and woman jogging with a couple of Golden Labradors and a black-haired woman in retro cocktail dress. She smiled at him, but kept walking.

Seeing things that aren't there, Sam, he thought to himself as he unlocked the car door and slid inside.


"I'd do anything for you. You know that right?"

No answer.

"You have to know that. Whatever's going on, whatever it is, let me help you. Please?"

Still no answer, and his desperation grew.

"I just don't want you to do anything stupid. Believe me, I know a thing or two about doing something stupid. Just let me help you."

The man turned finally, blue eyes bright in the dark.

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand! Tell me, Cas, don't do this, don't go running off and do something crazy!"

"I have to protect you. You don't understand, Dean. You'll never understand."

"Cas…"

Dean.

Dean.

Come to me.

He jolted upright in the bed, soaked with sweat from the fever finally broken.

Disoriented, confused, he pulled himself from the bed, shaking off the remnants of the dream. Crossing the room to the window, Dean looked out into the night, moonlight casting a glow on the gardens below.

Come to me, Dean. Come to me.

A fuzzy haze wrapped around his brain, and he wanted out of the room, he wanted to explore the garden in the moonlight. It was alluring, and the voice was calling him again.

Come to me, come to my side. Come home, my love. Come to me, Dean.

He left the room, left the house. It was dark out, the streetlights and the moon the only things lighting the way.

The pull was irresistible. Already he was beginning to forget, the only thing left in his mind was the pull of the voice, the pull of her spirit. She was drawing him closer, and he walked up Main Street in nothing but his sweatpants and tee, moving slowly towards a large house at the end of the lane, and she's there, long flowing white gown, arms outstretched, raven black hair tumbling over her shoulders.

Come to me. Come home to me.

Dean let himself in the gate, moved up the walk, climbed the porch stairs and fell into her arms.

And he forgot.

He forgot everything.