Another long night, and I'm up at 6am with Dean, who's again huddled over the toilet.

Still just dry heaves, he isn't bringing anything up. Last night was a series of nightmares, because with the fever, we were afraid to drug him again, but he's still refusing to talk, so I don't even know what he's dreaming about. Bobby said he wonders if it's even a conscious decision not to talk, or if the trauma has somehow shorted something out in his brain, kinda like those people who 'see too much' and get hysterical blindness.

Or in Dean's case, hysterical muteness? If that's even a thing.

On top of that, his fever has reached astronomical levels, and we've had to resort to cold, wet towels and portable fans to try and bring his temperature down, so he's stripped to just his boxers, and his limbs are shaking from the chills.

Dean moans from his place on the floor, and looks up at me pitifully. I'm really starting to worry. He can't hold anything down and it's been more than seventy-two hours since Pittsburg. He hasn't eaten or drank much of anything in that time frame, and then he went and threw up what little we did get in him. We're going to have to put an I.V. in or something or he's going to get severely dehydrated and then we'll have a whole other set of problems.

I reach down and hook an arm under him, help him get to his feet, but he's so weak I end up just scooping him up in my arms and moving him back to the couch. We had something near the couch for him to use if he got sick, but I guess he was on auto-pilot and ran for the bathroom anyway. We're damn lucky he didn't fall or something.

God, he's burning up, his skin is hot and dry against mine. An equally bleary eyed Bobby helps me get him settled, and we lay the wet towels over him, and aim the fans in his direction. He's shivering, and I know he's not comfortable, but we can't risk him having a seizure from the fever.

Nothing we've tried is breaking it. Last time we checked him, it was 103.4 and climbing.

Bobby disappears into the kitchen and returns a moment later with several packages and a wobbly clear bag of fluids tucked into the pocket of his robe.

"Gonna have to rehydrate him," he says simply. I nod, and help him start opening the packages. I'm running on fumes, and it takes me a few attempts to get the catheter package open, then I manage to drop it all on the floor.

"Crap."

"Open another one then, this shit's gotta be sterile. Not gonna give him an infection on top of everything else." The next one's a little easier, and I hold it open, using my hands like a tray for Bobby so he can concentrate on starting the I.V.

Dean's eyes are open, but they're unfocused, foggy, moving around, tracking something on the ceiling. I look up, and realize his eyes are tracing the lines of the Lesser Key of Solomon Bobby painted up there. It's scary to me just how out of it he is. That's really not a good sign.

Bobby rips open an alcohol swab, and runs it over a spot on the inside of Dean's left forearm. My brother doesn't even notice when Bobby pushes the needle into his arm, but I wince considerably as I watch Bobby move the needle around, digging for a vein.

The first attempt fails, as do the second, third and fourth. Bobby's beyond frustrated, Dean's so dehydrated he can't find a vein to run the line.

"Sam," he says as he dumps five catheter packages in the trash, "get online and see if you can find a video or instructions on a procedure called hypodermaclysis."

"What's that?"

"It's a rehydration method where ya plug a needle right into fatty tissues, like the stomach area, and push fluids that way. Your brother's veins are toast, and if we don't get fluids in him…well we just need to get fluids in him. I've seen it done, observed my buddy Jim do it, but I ain't sure, and I'm sure there's gotta be a You Tube or something out there."

A few minutes later, and I find a video, and more info than I could ever need on this.

"It says they mostly use it on the elderly, but looks like a solid way to push fluids without a vein. Less invasive too, but can cause mild edema at the site, so we'll have to watch for that. Says here to use a 21 or 23 gauge butterfly needle. Do you have that?"

"Do I have that? What do you take me for, boy?" I smile a little at that, Bobby's house is always well stocked.

Hope this works. Neither one of us want to take Dean to a hospital.

Well that went easier than I thought.

The needle's in the kid's belly, and judging by the constant drip, the fluids are being absorbed. Sam's in the recliner, looking completely exhausted, and I'm not feeling so hot myself. Hopefully, it'll turn out that the dehydration was causing the fever, and the infusion will help him. I'm tempted to add a bag of antibiotics, but I think I wanna see what happens first.

The ear thermometer beeps, and I hold it up to check the reading.

"Shit." Sam sits up immediately, instantly alert.

"What's wrong?"

"We're up to 104.1. Go grab every bag of frozen peas out of the deep freeze." Sam obeys without a word and is back in a moment with his arms full. He knows exactly what I meant, and is carefully tucking the bags in around Dean's neck, under his arms, his groin area.

Dean's fever is skyrocketing, and with the I.V. needle in his belly, we can't drop him into the tub, although that's what I'd prefer. Nice cold bath, submerge him up to his neck. That would help, but in the meantime, frozen peas it is.

"We'll have to keep rotating them out, pretty sure I have a ton of corn in there too, so when the peas thaw, toss 'em back in and grab the corn." Sam doesn't say anything, and I angle my head up to look at him.

His face is white, I can tell he's just barely holding himself together, and he desperately needs sleep. His eyes are completely focused on Dean. He sways slightly, and I realize he's probably not eaten a damn thing either. One thing about these Winchester boys, when one of them gets hurt, the other gets tunnel vision, and will focus so hard on their brother that they forget to take care of themselves.

Well I ain't gonna have that. I am only up to nursing one of these kids.

"Sam, sit your ass down before you fall down," I bark, and Sam jumps, and looks at me funny, but folds himself into the recliner. I check Dean's line again, make sure the fluid drip is still moving, then go out to the kitchen and warm up some chili for Sam, then put it on a tray with a slice of corn bread and a huge glass of milk. Back in the living room, I set the tray on the end table next to him.

"Eat. I ain't up to taking care of you too." Sam examines the food, and I think he's not going to go for it, and try to tell me he has no appetite, but he surprises me and finishes the whole bowl, inhales the bread, and drinks all the milk. I smile at him, pleased.

"Good. Now lay back and get some sleep, I'll watch over Dean." He nods, weariness and relief on his face, and pushes the chair back. He's out in minutes, and I turn my attention back to Dean.

His eyes are partially closed, skin white and pale. His entire frame is shivering. It's been about twenty minutes since we covered him in peas, surely his fever has gone down some by now?

Or not. Thermometer reads 104.2. How is it even possible he's gone up another degree?

His temp needs to come down, or Sam and I aren't gonna have a choice, and we're going to have to take him to the ER. Luckily, I had fake I.D.s made up for them some time ago, identifying them as my sons. So at least I won't have to worry about the law coming for him.

I lean back in the old wooden rocker I've been sitting in. Gonna close my eyes for a moment, let the fluids do their job, then go from there.

I don't mean to fall asleep.

Oh god, my head.

And my stomach.

Everything hurts. What the hell. What's going on, where am I?

I fight to get my eyes open. Where the hell am I? What happened?

There's something scratching my belly, and I reach down and grab it, pull it away, and it hurts, plus now I am covered in cold water.

Why are there bags of peas everywhere?

My stomach lurches, my vision blurs, god I gotta find a bathroom right now. I can't get up though.

Where the hell am I?

Bobby's. Sam…Sam brought me here.

God, what's wrong with me? I feel so fucked up.

Bathroom. Have to get to the bathroom.

I roll to the right and fall off the couch, landing on my knees. Sam's in a chair, sound asleep. That's good, I should leave him there.

I can get to the bathroom alone, right?

Grabbing onto the couch, I pull myself to my feet, and my stomach screams in pain, and I almost go down again.

Bathroom. Have to get to the…

God my head.

What…?

Bathroom.

Somehow I make it there, stumble in, rest my hand on the sink.

Wait…

I don't…

God, my head…so dizzy.

And then I'm falling, holy shit the toilet…

My head bounces off the seat, my vision…

I can't…oh god…

She's burning…

Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now Dean! Go!

Dad went on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days.

This is Dad's single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.

Sam?

Dad? I know I've left you messages before. I don't even know if you get 'em... But, I'm with Sam. And we're in Lawrence, and there's something in our old house. I don't know if it's the thing that killed mom or not. But, I don't know what to do... So whatever you're doing, if you could get here... Please. I need your help Dad.

Hey. You better take care of that car. Or I swear I'll haunt your ass.

You gotta understand somethin'. After your mother passed, all I saw was evil. Everywhere. And all I cared about was, was keepin' you boys alive. I wanted you prepared. Ready. So somewhere along the line I uh, I stopped being your father, and I, I became your, your drill-sergeant. So when you said that you wanted to go away to school, all I could think about, my only thought was, that you were gonna be alone. Vulnerable. Sammy it just, it never occurred to me what you wanted. I just couldn't accept the fact that you and me... we're just different.

My head. God my head. Sam. Sammy?

Sam, look... the three of us... that's all we have... it's all I have... sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together, man... without you and Dad...

You know, you fight and you fight for this family. But the truth is, they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam - he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you.

Dad! Dad don't you let it kill me! Dad…please.

Oh my god.

I remember.

Sammy.

I remember…

Oh god, I gotta tell him. I have to tell Sam.

He's there, I can see him calling my name, he looks scared.

I have to tell him.,,

It's ok…

I remember…Sammy, I remember.

And then a blinding flash of pain in my stomach, so intense my vision whites out, and it's more pain that I can ever remember feeling.

My head is spinning, and my vision clears, and Sam's there, he's pulling me into his arms.

I have to tell him…

"Sa…Sammy…Sammy…"

Another blast of pain, and my vision whites out again, and I feel like I'm falling.

Then everything goes black.

So I made some adjustments to the previous chapters to help firm up the timeline. I mentioned earlier that this was like a season 3 AU, no deal, no Ruby. Well, that has changed, and I have adjusted the previous chapters to compensate, although it's nothing glaring, and won't change the story that much. Now, this is a solid season two in-canon story. It takes place closer to mid-season, well before AHBL.

Enjoy, and please leave a review!

Also, thanks to Wifey and her hubs for the med advice.