Strangers and Angels

I'm sorry it's been such a long time between updates. Real life snuck up and clobbered me from behind. But I'm feeling much better now. :)

Part 7

xxxx

Sam looked up as Jo approached the booth. Dean was not with her.

She sat down across the table from him.

"102.5," she said.

"That's not good, is it?"

"It's not great. But, not too bad, either." She smiled at him. "He's gone back to bed."

"Really?" Sam was impressed.

Jo waggled her eyebrows at him.

Laughing, Sam moved to get out of the booth.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To check on him."

Jo reached out a hand, pausing him.

"Honey, I get that you're worried, but how do you think he's going to respond to that?"

Sam hesitated. Not well.

"Let him be," she said gently. "He's sick and he's frustrated and he just wants to sleep. Don't poke at him."

Sam knew she was right, but he didn't like it. He huffed out a breath.

"Yeah, OK." He settled back in.

She smiled at him.

"Good. Now what do you want for breakfast?"

xxxx

Sam spent the morning stripping paper off the walls in the second room. He had to stop himself several times from just slipping next door to check on Dean. It was surprisingly lonely work without his brother. He'd worked on his own several days before, but he hadn't realized what a difference it made knowing that Dean would be coming for the afternoon. He missed him.

Around noon he knocked off for lunch. Before going to the diner, he stuck his head into their room to see if Dean needed anything, but his brother was still asleep. Sam stood over the bed looking down at his sibling. He could see the flush of fever on Dean's face and he reached out, unconsciously mimicking Jo, laying the backs of his fingers gently against his brother's cheek. He could feel the heat against his own skin, and Dean stirred restlessly under Sam's touch. Quickly, Sam stepped back, holding his breath, hoping Dean would quiet.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was a rasp, and Sam bent down.

"Yeah, Dean, it's me." Unable to stop himself, he reached out and adjusted the covers over his brother. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," he said hoarsely.

Sam laughed low in acknowledgment. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry?"

Dean made a noise that seemed to indicate disgust at the idea. The sound caught in his throat, and he started to cough.

"You want some water?"

Unable to respond in words, Dean nodded jerkily, body struggling with the coughs that racked him.

Sam went to the bathroom, filling up a glass from the tap. He handed it to Dean who had sat up awkwardly in the bed after the fit abated.

"Here."

Sam sat on his own bed while Dean drank and reached out to steady the glass as Dean put it down on the table. Dean slid back down in the bed, turning his back on Sam and pulling the covers up over his shoulders.

"You OK for now?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered, clearly exhausted.

Sam picked up the glass and took it to the bathroom, refilling it. He put it back on the table. He hesitated, wanting to ask again if Dean was alright.

"Go the hell away, Sammy."

Sam closed the door softly behind him.

xxxx

"Did you check on him?"

Jo put a glass of water in front of him, and offered a menu. Sam shook his head at the menu.

"Yeah."

"How's he doing?"

"OK, I guess. He was asleep when I went in, but he woke up for just a minute. He coughed really hard and I gave him some water. He said he didn't want anything to eat."

Jo nodded.

"Do you want anything?"

"Cheese burger, fries."

"Something green?"

Sam grimaced at her, and she grinned.

"Lime jello?" he suggested.

She stared at him.

"Fine. Green beans."

Jo put his order in and came back.

"I'll check his temperature again in a couple of hours. Take him something easy to eat. Mostly he's going to want to sleep, and that's probably what's best for him."

Sam nodded his acceptance of this.

"I need to get some things from the hardware store this afternoon, if that's OK."

"Do you want the truck?"

"Might as well. The new sink and toilet should've been in yesterday."

"You know where the keys are," she said.

xxxx

Sam put the pickup in reverse and, putting his arm back over the seat, turned to check his path.

"Sam!" Sam jumped as four palms slapped against the driver's side window. Jacob's and Tommy's faces were pressed against the glass, framed by their hands.

"Can we go?" they shouted.

Sam cranked down the window. "Back up, you morons," he said sharply. "I could have run over your feet." They shifted a couple of inches.

"Are you going to town? Can we come?" Tommy was bouncing up and down in anticipation.

"It's OK with me if it's…"

"Go check…" Jacob ordered his brother even as he tore around the hood of the truck.

"I'll go!" Tommy shouted over Jacob's instructions, making a dash for the back door.

Sam reached over to unlock the door to the passenger side, and Jacob jerked it open, climbing in.

"Sam?" Jo was calling from the porch as Tommy ran for the truck. Sam waved at her.

"Boys! You mind Sam, do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am!" they called.

"You're in the middle," Jacob said, refusing to move and forcing Tommy to climb over him.

"OK," said the younger boy, a small, bony knee grinding into his brother's thigh as he scrambled in.

"Hey! OW!"

Sam caught Jacob's wrist before the kid could shove his brother onto the floorboard.

"He...!"

"Next time, move over," Sam said easily as Tommy settled between them.

"Sorry, Jakey, I didn't mean to."

"Stop calling me 'Jakey,'" the older boy grumbled.

"Sorry, Jake," said Tommy apologetically.

"Put your seatbelts on."

xxxx

Sam enjoyed the ride. He and Jacob bickered good-naturedly over radio stations until Sam pulled out Dean's "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cake hole" rule and landed on the local country station. Like there were even any other choices.

It was a long, straight stretch of blacktop that got them into town. Without even thinking about it, Sam had already adopted the customary greeting drivers in this part of the country used. Left elbow resting on his open window, right hand at twelve o'clock on the wheel, Sam lifted a forefinger from the steering wheel at each passing pickup. Traffic was sparse, but Sam was still surprised how many faces he recognized in the cars they passed.

Tommy and Jake were discussing something about an upcoming basketball game and Michael's chances of getting to start. Both boys clearly felt that their oldest brother was in danger of being robbed of his rightful place on the squad because of some kid named "Junior" who was only being played because his father had been All-State at some point in the distant past. Jake was outraged and Tommy's wide-eyed agreement with everything he said only served to increase Jake's sense of injustice.

Sam smiled, looking over the boys. He'd been like this with Dean once.

When had that changed?

His confrontation with Jo about Dean had weighed on him over the last few days. When he'd stormed out of the kitchen that afternoon, he'd spent almost an hour stalking down the road and back, trying to work out his anger over Jo's interference and a rising sense of guilt over how he'd treated his brother.

He'd wanted Jess so much in those moments it had been a physical pain. He'd needed her. Needed her to let him talk out his frustration and confusion. Needed her calming presence and thoughtful questions. She'd always let him vent, let him get everything out of his head so that he could make sense of his thoughts and his feelings. God, he'd missed her. But there'd been nothing he could do except try to still his racing thoughts through sheer physical exertion.

After he'd settled down some, Sam had gone back to the room and found Dean bent over his plans at the table next to the window. His brother had sent him one quick look and returned his attention to the paper in front of him.

"Hey," Sam had said softly.

Dean had simply grunted in response.

Sam had moved over to the beds, tossing his keys on the desk, before he'd dropped onto the bed closest to his brother. He'd opened the computer and made some entries into the electronic journal he's started keeping. The two men had worked in awkward silence for awhile.

"So, the plans look good."

Dean's snort and the fact that he'd refused to look Sam in the eye told Sam his brother didn't believe him.

"I know you think they're crap, Sam," Dean had said shortly.

"Dean…."

"It doesn't matter," Dean had crumpled the page in frustration and tossed it at the trash can.

"Dude…" Sam caught the wadded up ball in mid-air.

"Let it go, Sam." Dean got up and snatched his jacket off the chair. "I'm going out."

"Dean, wait. Look, I'm sorry." Dean hadn't paused, and he reached for the door knob. "I was giving you a hard time. I didn't mean…"

"It doesn't matter, Sam."

"It does, man. Come on." He'd started to straighten out the ball. "I was being an asshole, OK?"

Dean had paused then. He turned back to his brother. "Yeah you were," he agreed, standing where he was.

Sam smoothed out the paper on the bed. He looked up at Dean.

"How big a girl are you going to be about this?" he asked with a smirk.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother. "You're a girl," he said darkly.

Sam grinned. "Come on. Show me." He scooted the piece of paper toward Dean. With a grudging look, Dean had joined his brother and started to explain.

When he'd really looked at what Dean had drawn, Sam had been impressed. Dean's specs had been almost professional, well-thought out, precise. Sam's own suggestions had been minor, but Dean had included them without hesitation, readily acknowledging the benefit of the changes.

Sam had been surprised at Dean's generosity, but if he'd been honest with himself, had he not been looking for it on Jo's suggestion, Sam would have taken Dean's acceptance of his suggestions completely for granted.

In the months since he'd been traveling with his brother, Sam was realizing that he'd held onto old patterns and resentments that weren't necessarily true anymore. In Rockford, he'd accused his brother of bossing him around. But more and more, as he thought about it, as he considered his relationship with his brother as they'd been traveling, he realized that a lot of that had changed. But Sam hadn't been able to see that. Until now.

Jo's challenge had been hard to ignore. It was making him re-evaluate a lot of things, too many, it felt like, for him to get a handle on.

A couple of days had passed while Sam tried to process everything in his head. He was beyond frustrated. It was no use trying to talk through things with Dean. His brother would either accuse him of being a chick or would close down, uneasy and frustrated himself with his inability to provide his little brother with the answers Sam needed. Sam was increasingly desperate for someone to talk to.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sam blurted it out before he could reconsider.

Jo was filling salt shakers again, making as much as she could of the time between opening and the pre-school breakfast crunch.

"Sure." Jo eyed the bottle in front of her.

"You said that I should realize that Dean needs to know that I respect him, like I want him to respect me and that if I didn't think he doesn't I'm not paying attention."

Jo stopped mid-pour.

"I just mean… what did you mean? Did you mean I can't see that he needs me to respect him? Or that I can't see that he respects me?" Sam watched her earnestly.

Jo eyed him cautiously. She was deciding how much to say.

"Both, I guess," she said hesitantly.

Sam nodded, relieved.

"I think… I think I haven't really seen how things have changed, you know? I was so focused on myself because of Jess and Dad and I just didn't realize that Dean wasn't treating me like a little kid any more. Sometimes anyway. I mean, he still acts like I'm five too much, but…"

It had poured out of Sam, and Jo had stood steady under the onslaught. When the flood of words had slowed, she'd asked questions and let Sam talk through his answers, responding gently to Sam's own questions and uncertainties. The conversation had happened in fits and starts as they'd served customers and bussed tables, but by the end of the morning, Sam had felt like a weight had been lifted his shoulders.

That had been just a couple of days ago. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to either of the brothers Dean had been coming down with Tommy's flu bug about that time, and he'd been grumpy and bossy with his little brother, threatening Sam's new-found resolve to interact with Dean as a fellow adult.

It had almost come to the point of blows just the night before. Sam had actually risen in his chair, his intent clear on his face, when Jo had entered the kitchen, taking the fight out of both brothers. Sam had settled back in his chair with a scowl at Dean, who'd relaxed the stance he'd assumed, even in his chair, at Sam's sudden movement. Dean had made one last attempt at riling Sam before Jo put a stop to the teasing with an dry comment comparing Dean's maturity level to Jacob's. Then it had been Dean's turn to scowl.

When Sam had realized this morning that Dean was sick, he'd felt the pall that had begun to lift over the last weeks settle over him again. The opportunity to make Dean's life uncomfortable in his illness would have been the perfect payback for the last few days if Sam hadn't been so worried.

It's just the flu. It's just the flu.

Jo's concern, but steady, common-sense reaction to his brother's fever and coughing had settled Sam down. Was it weird, he wondered, to be so relieved at 23 to have someone step in and take over? Someone who knew where a thermometer was and could make Dean use it?

"Hey, Sammy?" Tommy asked.

"What, Tom?" Sam responded.

The boy giggled. "Sam, I mean."

Sam smiled at him. "What, kiddo?"

"Can we get a milkshake after we pick up the stuff from the hardware store?"

"Sure."

xxxx

They'd picked up the new fixtures and milkshakes and made it back by mid-afternoon. Michael had been there to help Sam unload, and they'd gotten the toilet and the sink manhandled into the bathroom.

After dinner, Sam took the milkshake he'd gotten for Dean into their room. His brother was curled under the covers.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah." Dean rolled over toward Sam.

"I brought you something."

"Yeah?" The congestion made his voice thick, and he sounded exhausted, but he was struggling upright.

Sam held out his offering.

Dean took it gingerly. "Vanilla?"

"Yep."

"Dude. Thanks."

Sam sat down on the bed next to his brothers and watched Dean eat the milkshake. It seemed to be slow going, but it was clear that the ice cream was a relief to Dean's sore throat.

"Have you eaten anything else today?"

Dean sent Sam a vaguely exasperated glance.

"Jo brought me some soup earlier," he said tiredly.

Sam nodded. "Good." He paused. "Did you eat it?"

The glare was no longer vague.

"Some of it, OK?" He put the Styrofoam cup on the bedside table. "Go away, mom," he said.

Sam ignored his brother's petulance and peered into the half empty container. "Do you want me to save this?"

Dean had been reaching for the remote, but a round of coughing stopped him. Sam reached out, patting him on the back until Dean shrugged his hand away. His face was thunderous as he fought to catch his breath.

"Jeez, Sam, stop touching me!"

"Fine," Sam snapped. He snatched what was left of the milkshake off the table. "I'll put this in the freezer. You can ask Jo for it if you want it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The door crashed satisfyingly against the doorjamb as Sam left the room.

xxxx

Dean finally regained his breath, such as it was, and lay back against the pillows. His head was pounding from the jarring it had taken, and his chest and throat felt like they were on fire. He wiped a hand over his eyes, smearing the wetness away. He looked regretfully at the bedside table wishing that Sam had left the milkshake there for him.

Damn.

He was contemplating getting out of bed, when the door swung open again. Without looking at his older brother, Sam stalked across the room to the bathroom, and Dean could hear the sound of water running from the tap. The faucet turned off, and Sam returned, walking stiffly around the corner of the bed, forcefully setting a glass of water on the table next to his brother.

"Thanks," Dean acknowledged, somewhat contritely.

Sam just grunted as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Dean took a couple of sips from the tumbler, appreciating the coolness as it soothed his throat. He was careful as he swallowed, wary of his sensitive airway. The slightest irritation seemed to set off painful coughing episodes and after the last one, Dean was too worn out to risk it.

He put the cup back on the table. Fumbling for the remote, he slid down under the covers. Curling onto his side, Dean found a position that allowed him to see the television without having to hold his aching head upright. Listlessly, he flipped through the channels until he found something he could tolerate. He set the remote to the side, and tucking a hand under his cheek watched Oprah interview someone through heavy eyelids.

He hated being sick. Usually he could just power through any bug he happened to catch. He really believed that if he just denied it long enough whatever germ had a hold of him would give up and go away. It had worked plenty well up until now.

He blamed Jo and her thermometer for his sudden failure to beat this flu.

And Sam.

Just because.

Dean knew he'd been a complete jackass to his brother the last few days. He'd felt the flu start, and he'd taken all his frustration out on Sam. Unfortunately, Sam seemed to have decided to be an adult right about the time Dean himself had opted to behave like a four-year-old. How annoying was that? He'd gained a certain amount of satisfaction the night before by calling his brother "Sammy" and telling stories about how chubby he'd been until the veneer of maturity had cracked and Dean had been sure his brother was going to come across the table at him. Dean smiled to himself. He really was kind of glad that Jo had walked in at that point because given how bad he felt, Dean was sure that Sam would have kicked the crap out of him.

He sighed. He'd have to figure out a way to make it up to Sam. Without actually apologizing.

Oprah was over and Dean was only half-way aware of what came on next. No one was yelling loud enough to disturb him, and he drifted off to sleep.

xxxx

"Dean. Look at me, honey." Jo's voice was completely calm.

Jo could see the panic in Dean's eyes. It mirrored the look in Sam's eyes when he'd run into the kitchen, frantic. It's Dean. He can't breathe. He… Jo had dashed out of the room, Sam on her heels. She'd found Dean gasping for air, doubled over the bed, hands flailing, trying to grab hold of something, anything that would get oxygen into his lungs.

"Dean!" She sat on the bed, put both hands on Dean's face. Wild eyes came to hers, the breath hitching uncontrollably, alternating between weak, hoarse coughs, and desperate gasps for air. He looked frighteningly blue around the lips.

"You're having a panic attack, sweetheart. You're hyperventilating." Dean's head rolled in her hands, eyes searching for something. Sam, she realized.

"Look at me, Dean. You need to calm down." Her fingers tightened on Dean's cheeks. When Dean's eyes finally came to hers, she said softly, "Sam."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jo caught sight of Sam leaping forward, anxious hands scrubbing on his jeans.

Keeping her eyes on Dean, she said to Sam, "Honey, go turn on the shower. Hot as you can get it." She was hoping the steam would ease the congestion in Dean's chest. "Then come back over here and sit on that bed, there."

Dean made a sound of confusion as his brother left the room, hands grappling with the sheets, actions incoherent in his distress. His eyes left Jo's, trying to follow Sam, his breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

"Dean look at me. He's coming right back, sweetheart. He'll be back." She hated to separate them, but she needed Sam's help. And she wanted Dean's attention on her.

"Take hold of my wrists, Dean." Dean's head had dropped as he struggled with his breath and she hunkered down, still trying to catch his eyes. "Look at me. Come on, honey. Look at me. Grab my wrists."

Painfully, Dean's head came up and his eyes rolled to hers, white showing around the hazel. His chest was moving in shallow heaves, the congested, labored sound of his breathing scaring her.

"Dean." She said it sharply, making it a command. "Take my wrists."

And he responded, long fingers wrapping tightly around her wrists, surprising her with their strength. His eyes fixed desperately on hers.

"Good, good. That's my boy, you got it." She smiled as encouragingly as she could, hoping that the fear that had her heart pounding in her chest wasn't showing on her face. "Now I want you to try to breathe with me. Breathe in and breathe out when I do." She was nodding at him, and Dean's head moved jerkily with hers. "OK, here we go."

Jo could hear the sound of the shower running in the next room, pouring steam out of the door into the bedroom. She took a slow deep breath and watched as Dean did his best to mimic her, shuddering with the effort to draw air into his tortured lungs. Coughing helplessly as his breath caught.

"That's OK, it's OK. You're doing good, honey, good. A little more in. Good. Now out." She exhaled, and managed not to wince as his grip on her wrists tightened as he struggled to blow out when his body was demanding more oxygen.

"Good, now in." He drew in a labored, rasping breath.

"Now out." He exhaled haltingly.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Dean's eyes had closed as he fought to draw the breath in and out of his body. Jo murmured encouragement to him, trying not to distract him. His fingers remained wrapped around her wrists, but she felt his grip loosen slightly as he re-gained control.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Slowly, Dean's breathing evened out, steadying.

His hands dropped back to the bedclothes, and his eyes flickered open, watching Jo, continuing to breathe in-sync with her. Her hands were still on his face although she'd loosened her hold somewhat, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. Sam had joined them and was sitting still, on the bed next to them.

For several minutes, there was only the sound of the shower running, and Dean's slow shallow breathing.

"That's it, baby," she said gently. "You've got it." She moved one hand from his cheek to a shoulder, and with the other, smoothed his hair with gentle fingers. He nodded unsteadily. Painfully, he brought his arms up, wrapping them around his chest, tears starting to slide down his cheeks, a belated reaction to the panic and pain.

Without thinking, Jo moved forward, pulling him close. And Dean, exhausted beyond resistance, leaned into her.

"You're OK. You're going to be OK." She murmured the words into his hair, wrapping her arms around him, soothing, calming.

A movement to her left made her turn her head to see Sam moving closer, reaching out a hand to touch his brother's knee. His face was pale, and his eyes sought Jo's looking for reassurance. She nodded, smiling at him.

"He's going to be fine." She kept one arm around Dean, but reached out to Sam, as well, rubbing a hand over his shoulder as he came close. Sam nodded, believing her, but still unsettled.

In the doorway stood her three nephews, faces as pale as Sam's. Tommy clutched Jacob's hand, and for once the older boy didn't brush off his younger brother, not seeming to mind having something to hold onto himself. Michael stood slightly behind his brothers.

"He's going to be fine." She smiled at them, and they stepped gingerly into the room, Michael gently steering the two other boys in. They approached the beds, pressing close to Sam.

Jo felt Dean start to ease away from her and she helped him lean back. He was breathing carefully, clearly conscious of every ounce of air that he drew in and out of his body. She reached out and pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek again. He was cool and a little clammy, face gray.

"I'm calling the doctor."

Sam and Dean exchanged weary glances.

"We don't have the money, Jo," Sam said quietly.

"I'll take care of it."

"Jo." Sam shook his head, eyes straying to Dean, still and watching. "We can't…"

"I'm not asking, Sam. If you feel like you have to pay me back, that's fine. But I'm calling the doctor."

While they'd been talking, Tommy had climbed onto the foot of bed, inching up toward Dean. Jo caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but smile. He was her cuddler, always seeking and giving physical comfort to the people he loved.

"Baby, move back, OK? Let's give Dean some space." Tommy stopped his slow crawl.

"There may be nothing the doctor can do, but his breathing is worrying me." Jo was addressing Sam, and Dean seemed content to let the two of them work it out.

Jo watched Sam turn to study his brother. Dean's breathing was shallow and fairly rapid as he struggled to get enough oxygen into his congested lungs. There were dark circles under his eyes as they met Sam's.

"We'll pay you back."

xxxx