Chapter Nine:

They spend three more days in Riverside, ironically in the same hotel room because neither of them expected Robby to make another guest appearance and they were right.

72 hours of Dean mostly sleeping off his illness and Sam mostly hovering or surfing the net or papers for anything worth looking into; neither of them really find what they were seeking.

They pack up all their gear, check out of the motel and hit the road at noon with no real destination other then getting the fuck out of this godforsaken place. It was cold out though the sun was shining bright. Sam drove while Dean sulked at the fact. His complexion was still a little pasty but that slight red tinge to his angular nose was gone now as well as the coughs and sniffles.

About ten minutes into their exit, the car's gas tank was nearly on empty. Annoyed, they pulled over and both entered the station. Sam headed for the bathroom to take a piss while Dean brought snakes and pumped the gas.

When Sam walked out of the convent store, with a paper baggy loose in his hand, he found Dean in the driver's seat now, looking as pensive as ever, a hand cupping his chin with his finger nearly covering his upper lip. His brows were furrowed, hazel eyes cast down. The intense concentration would have been comical if it hadn't been for the newspaper opened up in his lap.

Sam had spotted the particular issue in the men's room and for some reason he didn't want Dean to see it; he probably wouldn't have even mentioned it once they were back on the road, putting Mira Loma in the rear view mirror.

Too late…

"30 Year-Old Murder Mystery Solved." The headline screamed. It actually wasn't even a headline. It was small and at the bottom left corner; without either of them knowing, it pissed them both off that the article wasn't bigger.

Sam sighed deeply, chewing absently at the inside of the cheek as he strolled casually toward the Chevy. The window was rolled down as Sam leaned his gaunt frame into it.

The yellow bag of M&Ms came into Dean's line of vision and he smiled, really smiled for the first time in three days, eyes lifting over to Sam, expressing a silent thank you.

As Sam rounded the car from the back, he bent down a bit to make sure the gas cap was secure before he picked up his pace a tad. After he plopped heavily into the passenger seat, Sam noticed that the newspaper was tucked away, forgotten or at least they were both pretending it was. Starting the engine, Dean revved before he peeled out onto the almost-vast road.

The last three days had been awkward. When Dean had finally slipped into a deep slumber, Sam had tried to call Frank Carlova back but received no answer. Sam, of course and no big surprise, hadn't slept a wink that first morning when everything had happened. He woke Dean up every two hours just like he had promised and somewhere in between those 120 minutes, he attempted to reach Mr. Carlova a few more times.

In the end, he gave up when it took a little longer for Dean to gain his bearings and when he wasn't all that sure about what city they were in for about five way-too-long seconds. It was then that his brother became Sam's main and only priority.

On the second night, Sam awoke to the sound of his brother getting sick in the bathroom. At first, he didn't want intrude, didn't want to make Dean embarrassed with Sam walking in on the act and ultimately having taking care of him… again.

But even as he was hesitating because of this stupid reasons, Sam had already got up out of his comfy warm bed, was already halfway to the bathroom door, his hand was already reaching for the knob and then he was in there with Dean, peering at his brother's form, hunched over, hugging the porcelain tight.

"Hey," a pause and even how lame is it to ask, he's gotta do it, "You alright?"

A moan was Sam's answer. A whimper so miserable and gruff, Sam actually didn't really know what to do. Dean never gets sick like this. The role reversal made him uneasy because of the lack of knowledge; the uncharted territory. This here was Big Brother Land.

Sam watched as Dean lifted his head just a bit, just enough to properly reply his little brother's query, "I'm puking," he said pensively almost disdainfully as if Sam hadn't noticed or like he himself just received the memo.

"I can see that," retorted Sam, risking another step inside the dimly lit bathroom. When Dean made no move to protest physically or verbally, he took another step until he was towering over the elder and then Sam squatted just as his brother coughed his way into another bout of sickness.

A hand was placed in the middle of Dean's bare sweat-drenched back and Sam could feel a tremor surge up his brother's spine. He was shaking like crazy though he no doubt had a fever. He asked low, cringing. "Do you need anything?"

Dean spat and gave a small shake of the head before he pulled back, eyes averted, neck barely keeping his head up. "Uh uh."

Sam frowned. What could Dean possibly need other then to just be able to sleep a full eight hours without having to scramble into the bathroom?

"Alright." Sam made a move to leave, stopping when Dean asked softly, beseeching,

"Stay?"

Sam was taken aback by the request, frozen in mid-rise, staring intently at his brother's half-illuminated feature, with one brow arched. Then slowly after the initial shock ebbed away, he lowered down to sit Indian-style beside Dean. "Sure."

And he did just that for as long as Dean needed.

Paper rustled, jarring Sam from his thoughts and to look to his left where his gaze settled on Dean who seemws to be struggling with opening the bag of M&Ms with his teeth and steering with his elbow at the same time. Sam smirked, slanting his head much like a dog does when it heard an annoyingly loud screech and he tried not to laugh when Dean mouthed Yeah! when he finally succeeded.

"Mont fom?" Dean said after popping way too many candy coated chocolates into his mouth and Sam could only assume his brother had asked 'want some?'

He grinned even more, but shook his head 'no', and watched Dean, still driving with an elbow. His brother tilted the bag over where a single M&M fell into his palm. He swallowed down the lump of mushed M&Ms, a hand on the wheel again while his other was closed and extended out to Sam, "You sure?" He smirked and let his fist blossom, "...It's green."

And like a tidal wave, words and visuals of Sam's dream – or nightmare flooded his mind and he sat very still, staring a hole right through the candy coated chocolate peanut.

"Yeah, Sam..." He choked back a sob, as his eleven-year-old hands wrap around his baby brothers neck and he squeezed tightly, "...it's green"

His gaze raced back to Dean's eyes. "Why did you say that?" He accused, cowering toward the door.

"Fine. No M&M for you, dude." Dean laughed, a brow rised up to his hairline.

"Quiet, they'll hear us."

Dean frowned, showing his bewilderment, eyes flickering from his younger brother to the road then back to Sam again. "Who— what the hell are you talking about?"

"That's what you said in my dream the other night. When you had your attack and—"

"A dream?" Dean cut in and looked annoyed at ever seeming worried. But then again, Sam just didn't have dreams and when Dean really thought that over, he was back to looking concerned again.

"Yeah, we were kids in this one. You were hiding under the bed and wanted me to come to you. You were scared and kept saying that they'll hear us."

At this, Dean's features darken briefly and he looked thoughtful. Shifting in the seat and staring straight ahead, his lips pursed. "That never happened," he said with confidence.

Sam was aware of that; never in his twenty-two years of living did that particular experience occur. "You told me you had a present for me..." He started simply, calmly.

Dean forced a grin, playing it cool and collected, "Now you really know that wasn't real," he joked.

"And then you started to strangle me."

Dean turned so sharply that the car actually swerved off the road for a moment. Sam shot him a curious glance and didn't really like how pale his brother suddenly looked. Dean's jaw was set and the two stare at one another briefly. Again, Sam was the one to pull away first for a number of reasons, one being that Dean really should be watching the road 'cause, yeah, he was driving.

"Did I?" –

"No," was the quick reply from Sam. "You didn't kill me or… at least I don't think you did; I woke up before I got to that part." He hadn't technically witnessed his dream death so it wasn't a complete lie though he had a good feeling that was exactly what was going to happen.

"Kids, huh?" Dean asked a moment later, a hitch in his tone. Looking back to Sam, he was almost smirking with sudden confirmation. "You wouldn't happen to be—oh I don't know— seven is this one, were you?"

Quirking a brow, Sam matched his brother's expression, nodded and than looked out the window again. Suddenly, he felt absolutely sick to his stomach.

Had he really dreamt of Robert Landon's death? But that didn't make sense. Sam had tried to drown Dean not strangle him. Did his dream have anything to do with what happened to Robby and Frankie almost 30 years ago?

When they stopped for a long, barely moving slowing train to pass, silence enveloped them both.

"He was only trying to protect him," Dean's voice filtered, bringing Sam back to reality. His brother's eyes were distant, lips parted slightly and trembling just barely, head tilted as if this odd realization had just hit him head on.

Sam shifted, eyeing him, hoping he'll continue.

Protect him? Protect who? What was Dean talking about?

"Quiet, they'll hear us…," repeated Dean, low and just like he had in the dream, in that same dourness yet gentle tone.

Keeping his eyes on his brother, time seemed to slow down. This wasn't right, Sam thought. He could feel it so deep in his bones; the air was off, denser. He could feel the wrongness surrounding them, can almost forebode the disaster up ahead. His heart was pounding through his two front teeth, his sweaty palms tight, gripping his knees.

This wasn't right.