CHAPTER FOUR

Dean tries to help the spoons. Sam looks after his brother.

Dean placed the spoons in the microwave. "I-It's okay. I'll take care of you," he whispered to the cutlery, before closing the door. He pressed some buttons, then stood back to watch.

Outside the room, Sam was unaware of what Dean was up to as he waited for Bobby to answer. "Bobby?"

"Hey Sam," came the greeting over the phone. "How are ya doing?"

"Er... Can you get someone else to do the hunt you sent us on?"

"Sure. Why? Is Dean alright?" asked Bobby, knowing the only reason Sam would give up on a hunt was if something happened to Dean.

"Not really. He's sick, and has a fever."

"Oh. Say no more," said Bobby, nodding. "What's he done this time?"

"So far he's wrestled with the lamp in the middle of the night... Then shot it this morning. Then he jumped on me, and pulled some of my hair out, thinking there was a rat on my head."

Bobby chuckled. "Do ya want to bring him to my place?"

"Not right now. With the way he is, he'll either declare war on the steering wheel, or the cassette player... Or he'll end up jumping out of the window," said Sam, frowning when he heard movement from inside the motel room.

"Do ya need me to come up there to help ya? I know what a handful he can be."

Sam smiled again. "I know. He's like a child or something, but I think I can take care of him myself."

"Alright, but if he needs anything, give me a call, okay? When he's feeling better, bring him to my place for a few days."

"Okay th-" Sam broke off when he heard yelling from their room.

"S-SAAAM! THE M-MICROWAVES POSSESSED!"

"Oh for- He's off again. I'll call you later, Bobby." After hanging up, he opened the door, and froze in shock as he took in the scene before him. "Dean, what the hell?"

Dean was standing in-front of the microwave, which was shooting sparks and making weird noises, holding his flask of holy water in one hand.

"Th-The microwaves possessed," Dean repeated, throwing more water over the kitchen appliance.

"DEAN!" yelled Sam when flames suddenly erupted from the microwave. He rushed forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him away. "Stay away from it."

Sam ran to the office next door, and asked to borrow the broom. He ran back in, and shut the power off with the broom handle, then carefully took the plug out of the wall.

Dean took a step towards the little fire. "M-Mom," he whimpered, watching the little fire with huge teary eyes. He seemed to be reliving that night when he was four, and had to watch the fire that had taken his mum away from him. "Mommy."

Sam ran to grab the small fire extinguisher that was in the corner of the room for emergencies like this. "DEAN! STAY AWAY!" he yelled over his shoulder as he extinguished the little fire. "Can't I leave you alone for two minutes?"

When the fire was out, he lowered the extinguisher and stared at the microwave, which was a mess. He shook his head, and carefully opened the door. "Dean, what the hell are you putting spoons in the microwave for? Are you trying to blow the place up?"

He didn't get an answer. Dean was standing there, staring at the microwave. "F-Fire killed mommy," he whispered brokenly.

"Hey," said Sam, walking over to him. "Look at me." He grabbed Dean's face gently, so he looked at him instead of the remains of the microwave. "DEAN! Snap out of it."

Dean's blank eyes continued staring into space. "It's o-okay, Sammy," he whispered, repeating the same thing he said that fateful night.

"Hey, look at me. It's not real, Dean. Just snap out of it, okay... please."

Dean blinked several times, finally focusing on Sam. "S-Sammy?" he asked, recognising Sam standing in-front of him.

Sam sighed in relief. "Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling, dude?"

"Wh-What happened?" asked Dean, looking around the room in confusion.

"You almost blew the motel up, that's what happened. Dean, why did you put the spoons in the microwave?"

"Er..." Dean shook himself out of his shock, and looked over at the microwave. "Oh yeah. T-The spoons... the sp-spoons were cold."

Sam gave Dean a look which clearly said WTF. "They... You...? What?"

"Th-They were cold. I had to m-make them warm again," said the older Winchester, shivering again.

"Okaaaay. Er... Dean, metal can't feel anything."

"Th-they can. They told me," said Dean, looking sadly at the remains of the spoons.

"Uh-huh. Of course they did. Dean, maybe you should lay down for a few minutes, huh?"

Dean wasn't paying attention, his focus once again on the destroyed kitchen appliance. "Fi-fire killed those... too," he whispered, blinking rapidly.

"Hey." Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders to hold him up as his head started lolling forward. "Can you hear me?"

Dean moaned, and rested his head on Sam's shoulder. His knees buckled suddenly, causing Sam to catch him.

"Whoa. Hey, I got you," soothed Sam, putting his free arm under the knees, and lifting him into his arms.

Sam sighed, and carried him to his own bed when he saw the spilled soup. He laid Dean down gently, and got the pillows from Dean's bed to make him comfortable. "Dean?" he whispered, sitting beside him. He reached over to get the cloth to wipe his flushed face, to cool him down. "Can you hear me?"

Dean moaned, his eyes fluttering slowly open to see Sam. "W-Why are you... watching me? You p-perv," he whispered weakly.

"Thank god. Are you alright?"

"Mmmm," Dean moaned weakly. "How's Mi-Michael?"

"Who the hell is Michael?" he asked, stilling the wet cloth.

"T-The microwave," answered the sick Winchester, closing his eyes again.

"The microwave is fine. Stop naming the furniture, it's freaking me out."

"Sammy... I-I'm cold," whispered Dean through chattering teeth.

Sam laid the cloth on Dean's forehead, and covered him up with the blanket. "There you go. How's that?" he asked, laying beside him on the bed.

Dean didn't seem to be listening; he was staring at something above Sam's head. "Look."

"What now?" asked Sam with a sigh.

"F-Fly. Ooh. Look h-he's waving at me," he told him, waving at the fly with a big dopey grin.

"Dean, he's not waving. He's rubbing his front two legs together."

"Aw, h-he's cute. Sam? Why are flies c-called flies?"

"Er... Because they fly, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. Bu-but there's loads... of things that f-fly like flies. But flies are th-the only thing that fly... that are called flies because they fly."

Sam looked blank for a minute. "What?"

"D-Dunno," he whispered, rubbing his eyes. "Tired, Sammy."

"Get some sleep," Sam told him, relaxing beside him. "I'll be right here."

"Oh joy. Watching me... Fr-freak me out." Dean was silent for a minute, then asked another question. "Sammy? Why are dra-dragonflies... called dragonflies? They're not d-dragons."

"I have no idea. What's with the twenty questions?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. You-you're the... geek. You're like a...a walking en-encyclopaedia." He closed his eyes, and turned to face Sam, frowning when he felt his chest tighten. Another coughing fit racked his body, making him double over.

"Crap," said Sam when he saw Dean's face turn red. "Hey, it's okay." He reached over, and rubbed comforting circles on his back, trying to help him through it.

Dean moaned, choked, and spent several minutes hacking into his hands. It was a horrible sound that made Sam want to take him to see a doctor, even though Dean hated them. Eventually the coughing fit subsided, and he relaxed again.

"It's alright," said Sam, taking the cloth, and wiping Dean's face.

Dean flinched slightly at the coldness. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"W-What if..."

"Nobody will try to kill you, okay? I'll protect you from all the evil furniture."

"Th-thanks." Silence for a minute, then Dean sneezed four times into his sleeve. "HTSHS-ehh! Huptshuh! uh-HTZZZCHSH! PTSHCH!" He wiped his nose, and looked up at Sam through half-lidded eyes. "Sam? Ca-can we... turn Stevie on?"

Sam blinked in surprise, the hand wiping Dean's face froze. "Excuse me?"

"S-Stevie," he wheezed, pointing a trembling hand at the small TV.

Sam was doing his best not to smile. "Not right now, no. Will you stop giving the furniture names?" he asked again. "They're not your friends... or enemies, they're not alive, okay?"

"'Kay. He-hey Sam?" whispered Dean, snuggling closer to Sam's side.

"What?"

"You kn-know the Undertaker?"

"Not personally, no. Why are you asking me about the Undertaker?"

Dean shrugged. "You know w-when... when he si-sits up? Like Michael M-Myers?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, and looked down at his brother. "Er... yeah."

"Do you think he... he does that... when h-he wakes up on... on a morning?"

"I have no idea, Dean. Will you stop with the weird questions, and go to sleep? I'll wake you up in a couple of hours for some aspirin," he said, hoping Dean would get some rest.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. "Mmmm. Hey Sam?"

"Will you shut up and go to sleep?" Sam made sure the blanket covered Dean properly as he continued wiping his flushed face.

"Sam... Sa-am," sang Dean. "Sammy... Sa-ammy... Saaaaaammmmmmy."

"What?" asked Sam through gritted teeth.

Dean looked up at him. "Hi."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hi. Go to sleep."

"Kay." Dean laid there watching Sam for a minute. "Saaaam... Saaa-aaaammmmy... Sa-ammy... Sammy... Sammmmyyyyyyy."

Sam took a deep breath, trying not to strangle him. "What now?"

"Y-You're awesome," said Dean with a huge grin, his big green eyes still glazed with fever.

"Thanks. You're awesome too."

Dean sighed again, and finally closed his eyes. He kept them closed for several minutes, his rattled breathing evening out in sleep.

"Thank god," whispered Sam. As much as he loved his brother, he hated when he was sick.

Apart from the times he woke Dean up for some aspirin, Sam had a quiet afternoon. While Dean slept the day away, Sam cleaned the room, called Bobby back, then sat beside Dean, taking care of him. In his worry, he forgot to lock the motel door.

By seven that evening Sam was tired, since he hadn't had much sleep the night before thanks to his insane brother. He settled back against the pillows, and fell asleep beside Dean.

When Sam woke up in the early hours, it was to find the motel door wide open, and Dean stuck up a tree.

TBC

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