Chapter Six
Sam sat and watched as Dean and their Dad put together an assortment of weapons that they could possibly need. Sam helped out when he could, listening to the instructions his father gave him, knowing that some time in the future, whether John meant to or not, Sam would be tested on them. But mainly, Sam helped Dean out when it was becoming painfully apparent that his brother was getting frustrated with his fumbling, shaky hands. John hadn't noticed, his back facing Dean. But Sam could see the way Dean's patience with himself was slowly ebbing away. At one time it looked as though he would chuck the bottle of Holy Water across the campsite. Sam had saved the ingredient from its doom by taking it and helping pour some into the mix Dean had been trying to create.
"So what are we ruling out?" Dean asked when Sam finally pushed him away from the supplies and set about doing it himself. The fact that Dean didn't protest didn't go unnoticed by the younger Winchester.
"Demons, for one," John said, corking a canteen and shaking it up. He turned to look at his sons, noticing that Sam was doing the preparations, but he didn't say anything. "There was no sulfur residue." He put down the canteen and waited for Sam to finish his own before he went on. "Spirits, poltergeists, and phantasms can be ruled out too. There was no ozone."
"Unless Sammy's new favorite fragrance was masking it," Dean said and Sam sighed loudly to show his lack of appreciation for the joke. Dean coughed as an answer and Sam glanced over at him. His brother was getting sicker. Sam knew they would have to finish this soon or he'd have to tell their Dad. Dean looked as though he could hardly keep upright.
John shook his head, either oblivious to Dean's plight or choosing to ignore it. "You can always smell ozone over decay. Decay tends to…magnify it." John rose to his feet. "And we can't really rule out a cannibal, though I don't think that's what we're dealing with here." He strapped one of the prepared canteens to his side and grabbed a shotgun.
"What about the pentagrams?" Sam asked. "They have to mean something."
John nodded but let out a thoughtful breath. "They still could mean it's a werewolf. But it could also be something trying to throw us off. Or even a prank by some neighborhood punk who thinks its funny." John said the words angrily, probably from experience with such matters. He then looked at the sky. "It's getting dark," he announced and his eyes fell to Dean. "I'm going to go camp out by the pit. You two stay here."
"You don't want one of us to come with you?" Sam asked.
"No," John said sternly and tapped a gun over to Sam with his toe. "I want you two to stay here, get some sleep. Shoot if you need help." And then he turned and left. Sam watched him retreat for a moment, shocked that he was just leaving them here. Normally his father would have brought them along, a hands on lesson to what this job consisted of. He turned to Dean and saw his brother actually looked relieved. Dean's eyes were closed and he looked as though he could fall asleep just sitting there. Maybe his Dad wasn't so oblivious to Dean's health. Why else would he tell the both of them to stay back here?
"God I hate camping," Dean grumbled suddenly and practically crawled over to the tent. "I'm hitting the sack," he called out as he laid himself down on top of his sleeping bag.
Sam scoffed. "It's like seven o'clock," he said. Dean grunted a muffled, "so?" in answer. "We're supposed to just sit here until morning?"
"Yup," Dean gave and then his head poked up a bit to eye Sam. "You brought those books with you, right? Start reading geek boy." Dean settled back down, letting out a moan as he maneuvered his hands beneath him to cradle his stomach. Sam frowned at him and started to get one of his books out, absently obeying Dean's orders. "And start a fire," Dean called, his voice slurred, already half asleep. "Keep the bears away…"
Sam sighed. Despite Dean's attempted joke about bears, he knew that they really did need a fire. Fires kept more than just bears away. He quickly gathered wood and got one going before he settled down to read about the in and outs of the Supreme Court.
A few hours later, when it had grown too dark for Sam to be able to read, and he was actually starting to feel tired, Sam put the book away, made sure the fire would go out on its own, and crawled into the tent. Dean had somehow gotten half his body beneath the sleeping bag. It looked like he'd been tossing and turning for a while and he was sweating pretty heavily. Sam frowned and pulled the sleeping bag over his brother a bit more. He prayed Dean wouldn't wake up, his brother would probably break his arm if he knew he was doing this. Fortunately, Dean just groaned and rolled into the warmth before settling again. With a sigh, Sam settled into his own sleeping bag and tried to fall asleep.
Four different times that night Sam woke up to find his brother scrambling out of the tent only to hear the sounds of retching a few seconds later. He'd pretend to be asleep when Dean crawled back in, winded and shaky. His brother would lay down and give an almost whimper groan as he tried to find a comfortable position only to realize that no way he lay would ever be comfortable with the aches that accompanied the flu. The fourth time Dean crawled back into the tent, Sam had taken pity and had gotten some Tylenol out of the first aid kit. He'd been surprised when Dean had accepted them from Sam's hand without a comment and dry swallowed them quickly. It was the last time Dean got up that night. But Sam couldn't fall back asleep. He watched his brother toss and fit all night, never really getting pass the first stages of sleep before the ache and sickness would wake him back up again. Sam felt sorry. When Dean got sick, he really got sick. His brother had a strong immune system, but by chance if something slipped past his defenses, it usually nestled in good and caused quite a fuss with his brother. It had always been like that.
Morning came slow and Sam lay in the tent well pass sunrise, listening to his brother's raspy breathing and coughing mingle with the birds and the sounds of the woods outside. He laid quietly, hoping that they would be able to finish this hunt off and go home today. With any luck, John had already killed whatever was doing this, though he doubted it since they hadn't been woken by a gunshot during the night. But there was always room for hope.
A rustling outside the tent had Sam sitting up straight. His hand went for the gun that lay at his side and he held it at ready. But as a hand appeared and pulled away the flap, Sam relaxed. John's face appeared there and he looked in at his boys, his eyes resting on Dean, who hadn't woken up. "Sleep well?" he asked sarcastically.
"No," Sam whispered back. He put the gun down and looked at his father. "Did you get it?"
John sighed and waited for Sam to crawl out of the tent. "No," he said, disappointed. "It was quiet the whole night. Not even a squirrel crawled my way."
"So what now?" Sam asked, stretching his tight muscles and watching his father sit down on a log by the fire pit. His Dad looked tired, probably hadn't slept a wink if he was up keeping watch. John shook his head, obviously frustrated himself.
"We hope that Dean's coroner friend calls with more information," he said and looked up at Sam. "Or else we go door to door with the victims' families and try to find something else to work with." Sam cringed at the thought. He hated that part of the job. He never liked talking with grieving relatives. Though Dean had told him he was pretty good at it, that still didn't mean he had to like it. "How's your brother?" John asked suddenly, making Sam glance up at him, surprised the question was asked.
Sam thought about lying, but knew where that would get him. John was already scrutinizing his reaction. So he sighed and shook his head. "He's sick," he gave honestly. "And he's being stubborn about it."
John snorted at that and Sam couldn't help but smile. Their Dad always joked about Dean's stubbornness, usually when it came to admitting defeat. But in reality, John was ten times worse than Dean. John poked a stick at the fire pit, obviously not wanting to ask the next question. "How sick is he?" His voice was quiet and Sam wondered why it was so hard for him to find out Dean was so sick. Yeah, he had the flu, that didn't mean it was something to already start grieving about. A few days in bed would fix it. Or was it not even Dean's health he was worried about? Did he not want to work with just Sam on this hunt? Sam couldn't tell.
"Pretty sick," Sam gave quietly, hoping Dean wasn't listening behind the tent. He took a step away from it just in case his brother decided to leap and murder him on the spot. "He's been throwing up the past two nights," Sam finally caved and John's head snapped towards him. He saw a moment of concern flash across those dark eyes before his father frowned and looked suddenly irritated.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he snapped. Sam froze. God, why was this his fault? It was like he was a puppet caught between two masters. Why did he always get yelled at for obeying the others' orders?
"Because I asked him to," Dean's weak voice broke in and they both turned towards the tent to see Dean crawling out almost gingerly. Dean was pale and there was sweat on his forehead and dark circles beneath his eyes. Whereas Sam smelled like death the previous day, Dean looked like death today. When Dean stood up, he didn't stand the whole way, bending slightly to not stretch his cramped stomach more than he had to. "It wasn't a big deal," Dean's voice was shaky and Sam frowned when his brother's eyelids blinked heavily. Dean looked like shit.
John growled and rose to his feet, standing with his hands on his hips facing Dean. He looked pissed. "Not a big deal?" John croaked with a dry laugh. "Dammit, Dean," he said and chewed on his lip to keep from screaming at his eldest. Dean just stood there, watching his father, expecting the reprimand. "You're putting our lives at risk here." Dean frowned and Sam mirrored the expression. Was that really called for? When Dean didn't say anything, John suddenly reached down and picked up a pinecone which he threw at Dean. Sam watched his brother's slow reaction as the pinecone hit his partially turned chest. Dean just glared at his father questioningly, looking violated. "We trust you to have our backs," John said. "How are you supposed to do that if your reflexes are shot?"
"It wasn't this bad," Dean choked, bending a bit more at the waist. Sam frowned again and tensed slightly. Dean looked like he was about to cry. Whether it was from his father's words or just the utterly crappy feeling he had to have in his whole body, Sam didn't know. John must have noticed it too because his face softened and he turned his head away, trying to get his anger in check.
"Look, Dean," John said, sighing and taking a step towards his son. "You're going to sit this one out. Get some rest and get yourself better." The concern was there and Sam would have been happy to finally hear it in John's voice, but he was too busy watching Dean's pale face to notice. His brother was blinking heavily again. He stepped towards Dean and not a moment too late as suddenly Dean pitched forward.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, grabbing onto his brother. John leapt in next to Sam and they eased Dean to a sitting position on the ground where they watching him blink and shake his head, trying to get rid of the dizziness. Sam could feel the heat radiating off his brother. He was about to put a hand to Dean's forehead, but John beat him to it.
"Jesus," John whispered when he felt how flushed with fever his son was. He gently grabbed hold of Dean's chin. "Dean," he said sternly. Dean's eyes drifted up to John's face and his father looked at him gravely. "Is this really the flu, or is it something more?" he asked, knowing perfectly well how Dean downplayed his illnesses. But he gave him a look that said no kidding around this time.
Dean sighed tiredly and surprisingly leaned into his father a bit more. Sam kept his hands on Dean's arm and back, worried now. "It's the flu," he rasped and coughed to prove it. "I'm okay," he said when he noticed the worried looks he was getting from both his father and younger brother. Sam snorted and John just smiled and ran his hand over Dean's head affectionately.
"Sure you are, bud," he said and sighed heavily, looking around as if he could find something to help cure his son. "Well, we're going to get you into a bed," John said, slipping an arm around Dean's waist and lifting him up.
Dean chuckled groggily and said jokingly, "Do I need to yell for an adult?" John snorted and shook his head at his son's idiotic humor.
Sam tried to help lift his brother too, but Dean was trying to shove him off so he compromised with just keeping his hands on Dean's arm. John suddenly paused and studied Dean's face, which was pale, but also flushed with fever. Then John looked at Sam, studying him too. Sam tried to look helpful, but didn't really know what his father wanted. Finally, John said, "I don't want to leave him by himself," he admitted.
"I could stay with him," Sam suggested and was surprised when both John and his brother shook their heads. John shook Dean slightly to get him to stop. Dean smiled.
"No, I need you with me so we can cover ground more quickly and get this over with." Sam was actually surprised to hear him say that. It was almost endearing to know his father trusted him like that to help so much. "We're going to have to take him to Marshall's."
"Do you think he'd mind?" Sam asked, helping John half walk half drag Dean in the direction of the parking lot.
"As many times as I've saved his ass, he better not mind," John joked. Sam nodded and helped guide Dean the rest of the way to the car. "And he said his wife was a doctor," John added as they climbed in after laying Dean down in the backseat with a blanket as a pillow. Dean mumbled something before settling in and immediately falling asleep.
"Nutritionist," Sam corrected, keeping his eyes on his brother.
"Still a doctor," John said and started the car up.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled into Marshall's driveway. Sam ran to go ring the doorbell while his Dad helped Dean get out of the car. After the second ring, he was awarded when the door opened and Marshall greeted him with a warm smile. "Hello, Sam," he said, stepping out. "Where's…" he trailed off when he saw John helping Dean towards the house. His face sobered. "What happened?" he asked, genuinely concerned.
John was quick to assure him everything was all right. "He's come down with the flu, actually," he said, smiling when Marshall came and took Dean's other arm. Together they lead him into the house. Sam trailed behind, happy that Marshall seemed to be so concerned with his brother's health. He supposed he shouldn't have expected anything else. Marshall had a son of his own, he was probably used to treating the flu. They sat Dean down on the couch, where Dean groaned and slouched slightly with a sigh. He didn't look happy. John turned to Marshall. "We were hoping he could stay here for a while, until we're done with everything."
"Of course," Marshall said, heading into the kitchen and coming out a minute later with a heated cup of tea. He handed it to Dean, who looked at it skeptically before smelling the lemon scent and taking a small sip. Sam grinned and stood next to his brother protectively, trying not to hover. Dean was such a five year old when he was sick, it was amusing to watch. "I can set up Peter's room for him. And June could probably make him something that won't wreak havoc on his stomach." Dean looked disgusted at the mere thought of food, but Sam hoped they'd be able to get him to eat something. He couldn't remember the last time Dean ate something without throwing it up right afterwards.
"Thanks, Marshall," John said, looking relieved that he could leave his son in someone's care and not laying in a motel room alone. "Hopefully we won't be that long," he said, looking towards the door, readying to get going so they could finish this whole thing and get Dean home.
"Don't mention it," Marshall said with a smile. "How's it going by the way? Find anything interesting?" he asked, looking between John and Sam.
"We're close," John lied. "Tell June she won't have to worry about it much anymore."
Marshall nodded and gave a laugh. "She'll be glad to hear that." He looked at Dean who had set down the cup and now had his head laid back, eyes closed. "You know, when you're done, she'd love to meet you. She makes a mean vegetarian chili."
John chuckled and shook his head with a grin that told Sam they were talking about the Marine days again. "You know how I love my vegetarian chili." Marshall gave a hearty laugh and John nodded, motioning Sam that it was time to go. "I'll take you up on that offer. I'd love to meet her. Uh," he looked at Dean who either didn't care that they were leaving or just wasn't aware. "I'll call to check up on him every so often."
"Ah don't worry about it," Marshall said with a wave as he walked John to the door. "He'll probably sleep the whole time anyway."
Sam leaned towards his brother and patted his shoulder. "Enjoy the pampering. Marshall looks like a good nursemaid," he teased.
Dean opened one eye and glared at Sam. "Don't think I forgot that you're a traitor," he grumbled.
Sam shook his head. "Dad would have found out anyway," he defended himself. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a duty as the healthy son to assist our father."
"Jerk," Dean bitched and Sam laughed, patting his brother's shoulder one more time before he followed John out to the car.