He entered Sam's room and saw his brother lying in the inclined hospital bed. He was wearing a white gown covered in some little brown symbols he couldn't quite make out what they were. A white blanket was draped over him up to his waist. Once he saw Dean coming toward him, he seemed to sag with relief.

"Dean," he managed a smile.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean returned the smile, happy to finally see him as he grabbed onto his hand. "How ya feeling?"

"Better. Maybe we could leave?" he asked in a small voice, brows raised as he made the puppy-dog eyes that Dean fell for every time when he was a kid.

"They're still running some tests," Dean said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, hand still in Sam's. "We gotta stay and make sure you're gonna be okay."

"But I don't...I don't wanna be here, Dean. I need to be with you."

"I ain't leavin'," Dean told him, brushing Sam's hair behind his ear with his free hand. "Stayin' here with you the whole time. I promise," he said, then leaned in to give him a kiss. Sam's hand came up to Dean's face, his thumb brushing his cheek before Dean pulled away. "They tell you what's going on?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he said with worry in his eyes. "You're probably sick, too. This is my fault..."

"Shut up, man, this isn't your fault," Dean shook his head. "You didn't ask for this."

"If it's syphilis-"

"It's not that. Doc doesn't think so, and he seems pretty smart to me. Even so, still not your fault. Hell, if it was syphilis I'd probably blame me," he smirked.

"Neurosyphilis takes a long time to show. It'd be my fault."

"It'd be whatever chick who gave it to you, that'd be to blame. And if it's encephalitis and I've got it too, hey, no biggie. That's like if you gave me a cold. It happens."

Sam couldn't really much argue with that, so he stayed silent. But the look of guilt still remained.

"So...how are you feeling really?" Dean asked, "Now that you aren't getting outta here any time soon..."

"Head hurts. Tired," Sam admitted. "Don't know why. I slept fine last night."

"'Cause you're sick. You're body's fighting something off. They gave you something for the headache, right?" he asked, looking at the IV in Sam's arm and following the line up to the fluids on the pole.

"Yeah. Just...not really helping yet."

"Probably because you're fighting sleep."

"I was...I was just waiting for you," he admitted.

Dean's mouth curled up on one side. "Well I'm here. So get some sleep, okay? We'll play cards when you're up again."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I'll watch some crappy daytime TV," he told him, taking the remote that was hooked to Sam's bed as he moved to the chair beside the bed.

.~*~.

"Hey, Dean," Dr. House squeezed his shoulder when he found him asleep in the chair. Dean pulled out of his sleep without having realized he'd been there in the first place.

"Time 's it?" he asked, glancing toward the window and seeing that it was dark.

"Late," he told him. "You haven't eaten since you've been here, and I'm about to head out for the night. You should go eat something."

"Can't leave Sam," Dean said. "I'll be fine."

"You won't be any good to him if you pass out from malnourishment. Hey, we've got an excellent night staff here. Sam is on lorazepam until his fever breaks. He's gonna sleep through the night. It'll be alright to leave for a bit to eat."

"Look, I get it. I do, Doc. But I can't leave him. But uh...listen, I promise I'll go down to the cafeteria and grab a bite as soon as they open."

Greg sighed. "Alright. But I'll hold you to that. I get in at five. I see you up here when I clock in, I'll force an IV on you," he smirked. Dean made a face laced carefully with amusement, though it didn't show much through the exhaustion. "Now, Laura will be in to change his bags within the hour. Word of advice? Pretend to be asleep. If you engage her in conversation, you won't get rid of her unless someone codes."

"I'll...keep that in mind," Dean raised a brow. "Night, Doc. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Dean."

.~*~.

By 5, Dean was totally ready to hit up the cafeteria. Sam was still asleep, and he'd seen House on his way in from the parking lot. So he didn't feel like splurging a little would be so bad. And he was totally starving.

He hit up the breakfast bar, kind of impressed with the selection for a hospital cafeteria. He had a plate piled high and picked a vacant table in the far corner by the window. As he took a bite of his eggs, he absentmindedly looked to the seat across from him and instantly missed Sam. Well, the not-sick Sam that would normally be sitting there making a face at all the bacon and sausage and fried potatoes he'd gotten, not even bothering to waste his breath telling him how unhealthy it was...

.~*~.

Sam pulled out of his sleep slowly, groggily, thick like trying to swim out of a pool filled with pudding. The smell hit him first, right as his eyes began to adjust to the light and a figure came into focus.

"Sam?" an unfamiliar voice spoke, and Sam immediately and reflexively jumped, backing up to the wall in defense.

"Who are you?" he shouted. "Where am I?"

"Calm down! You're alright! You're sick and in the hospital, and I'm your doctor, remember?"

Sam shook his head, looking around anxiously. "Where's Dean?"

"Dean is getting breakfast down in the cafeteria," he told him calmly, wishing he hadn't backed him off the meds just yet. "He should be back any minute now."

Sam swallowed, trying to allow himself to believe what he was being told. He nodded after a moment. "Why am I here?" he asked after scanning over himself for injury.

"Your...Dean brought you in yesterday morning because of a fever and vomiting, confusion. You had a seizure and you've been admitted since. We're running tests. Are you... You don't remember any of that?"

"No," Sam shook his head. "I don't get sick. Not often, anyway."

"Well," the doctor helped him to get back into a comfortable position on the bed, "My name is Greg. You've tested negative for meningitis and neurosyphilis. Encephalitis tests came back inconclusive, but I haven't ruled it out yet. We're going to check a few more things. Your short term memory loss is cause for concern... I'm going to see if I can find Dean. A nurse will be in any minute to change your bag. We're just giving you fluids right now," he explained when Sam nervously looked up at the IV pole. "Just sit tight, alright?"

Sam nodded, still confused.

House ran into Dean just outside the room, and Dean could tell right away by his face that something was wrong. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, anxiously.

"It's okay," Greg told him. "He's okay. But he's suffering a bit of short term memory loss. Didn't know why he was here. Didn't remember me. I'm gonna go and order some more tests. He's asking for you, of course. Go be with him. I'll be in shortly."

Dean hurried into the room and over to the bed and sank down to sit beside him on it. "Sammy?" he put a hand to the side of his brother's face and leaned down to give him a quick kiss if for nothing else to calm the anxious look in his eyes. But it had the opposite effect. Sam's eyes grew wide with surprise and...something...

"Dean, what the hell?" he asked, incredulously.

"What?" Dean shook his head, missing something.

"Why did you...kiss me?" he asked, swallowing once it was out of his mouth.

Dean's heart clenched in his chest and then shot up into his throat...