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Once Sam was situated across the backseat, Dean placed both waterlogged shirts over his brother's torso in an attempt to keep him cool until they reached the motel.

He placed a hand on Sam's forehead and sighed in relief as he felt the familiar moisture beginning to seep from Sam's skin once more.

The drive to the motel was brief, but for Dean, they couldn't have gotten there fast enough. He eased the Impala into the parking space just outside their room and silently thanked Sam for insisting that they check in before heading to the cemetery.

Dean carefully collected his barely-conscious sibling from the backseat and placed Sam's arm over his shoulder. Placing an arm around Sam's waist, Dean took most of his brother's weight and essentially dragged him into the inviting, air-conditioned room.

Though he was beginning to buckle under Sam's weight, Dean still managed to lead his little brother to the bed farthest from the door.

Dean quickly stripped the blankets from the bed and eased Sam down onto the pillows. Grabbing their first aid kit, Dean removed the thermometer and balanced it under Sam's tongue, all too aware that Sam was hardly conscious enough to hold it there.

"Sam? Keep that thermometer in, okay? I'm gonna run out and get you some ice. I'll be back in a minute."

Dean didn't wait for a reply. He grabbed a handful of quarters out of his pocket and headed for the door, locking it securely behind him.

Once the coins were deposited and the ice bucket began to fill, Dean placed a steadying hand on the large machine.

Oh my God, he thought. Sam could have died today. Sam could have died because of me. What the hell was I thinking making him dig in that heat?

Dean didn't wait for the last of the ice cubes to bounce into the bucket. He sprinted for the room and unlocked the door, almost expecting to find the thermometer on the pillow next to Sam's unconscious form.

To his relief, Sam still held the instrument, albeit loosely, under his tongue.

"Sammy, I'm back." Dean walked into the bathroom and turned the bathtub faucet to a lukewarm setting. Before heading back into the room, he retrieved four thinning washcloths from the rack.

He quickly wrapped two of the cloths around a handful of ice cubes and placed them underneath Sam's armpits. Once the makeshift icepacks were secure, Dean took off his brother's boots and began the task of removing Sam's jeans. Tossing them to the floor, Dean wrapped two more icepacks and laid them behind Sam's knees.

Dean removed the thermometer from Sam's mouth, almost afraid to see the results. A temperature of one hundred and three or higher would require hospitalization, and he simply didn't want to put Sam through that if it could be prevented.

Taking a deep breath, Dean looked down at the instrument.

101.8.

Thank God.

It wasn't ideal and certainly much too high for Dean's liking, but it could have been much worse.

"Your fever isn't that bad," Dean half-lied. "We just need to bring it down a little more," he reassured, making his way to the bathroom and shutting off the faucet. He stuck his hand in the tub water to make sure it hadn't gotten too cold before going back into the room and over to his bag.

"Here, Sam. Sip this," he said, gently lifting Sam's head and helping him take a drink of the bottled water.

"Not so fast, man." Dean pulled the bottle away when Sam began to cough. "Just sip it. It's all I had in my bag but I'll get you some juice or something later."

Sam weakly nodded his thanks and pulled away from the drink. He nestled his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes, fully intent on drifting back off.

"Hang on there, Sleeping Beauty."

When Sam cracked his eyelids, Dean continued.

"Bath time."

Had Sam been the least bit coherent, he would have been horrified. The lack of protest only served to remind Dean that Sam's fever needed to be dealt with. Now.

Dean gathered the melting icepacks and placed them on the nightstand. He carefully eased Sam into a sitting position, propping the pillows up behind him. Carefully standing his brother up, Dean waited until he was sure Sam had found his equilibrium before leading the boxer-clad man to the bathroom.

Once inside, Dean helped Sam step into the bathtub, careful to keep a steadying grip on both of the younger's arms in case he were to slip.

When Sam was finally situated in a half sitting, half laying position against the back of the tub, Dean grabbed the remaining washcloth and set about soaking his brother's fevered body.

As he squeezed the tepid water over Sam's hair, Dean couldn't help but think back to all the times he'd bathed Sam when they were kids.

Sammy had always hated bath time; always put up a fight when Dean would announce it was time. He'd scream, splash, and make the task nearly impossible for his big brother, but Dean had never minded. He had never told Sam or their father, but Dean secretly relished the responsibility. He had felt needed in those moments, and he wouldn't have traded that time with Sammy for anything.

Dean was quickly brought back to the present when Sam's body began to slide down the cool porcelain of the tub. Grabbing a hold of his brother's underarms, Dean hauled Sam back up to a sitting position and continued to cool his body down.

When he was satisfied that Sam was as cooled down as he was going to get, Dean drained the tub and retrieved a towel from the rack behind the door. He toweled off Sam's head and face before helping him to stand, conscious of the fact that Sam was still in no condition to stand on his own.

Dean kept a supportive hand wrapped around Sam's back as he dried off Sam's upper body. After cautiously maneuvering his brother out of the tub, Dean managed to lead Sam back to the bed where he slid him under the covers and began the clumsy process of getting Sam into a dry pair of underwear.

Once Sam was dressed and settled against the headboard, Dean once more stuck the thermometer under Sam's tongue and headed out in search of a vending machine. He bought two bottles of juice to hold Sam over until Dean was able to get to the store.

Back in the room, Dean took the thermometer and offered Sam the drinks in exchange.

100.2.

Dean glanced at Sam and grinned. The fever had come down a full degree since the bath. Thank God.

After Sam downed the first drink, he made his way under the covers and eased his head into the pillows. He felt as if he could sleep for days.

"Hey," Dean began. "I'm gonna go to the store while you sleep. You want anything specific?"

He took Sam's grunt as a "No, but thanks."

"Alright. It's just up the block so I won't be long. I'm waking you up when I get back so you can eat something."

Sam softly snored in response.

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True to his word, Dean was back in the room within twenty minutes. The sun had finally set, relieving the city of the oppressive heat if only for the night.

He gently nudged his brother awake and opened a box of crackers, watching attentively as Sam tried to ease himself up.

Sam's entire body felt like rubber. His head felt detached from his body and his wobbly arms barely supported his weight. Dean moved to help, but Sam shrugged him off. "I'm okay."

Despite the feeling of being slammed into by a semi, Sam was absolutely starving. He hadn't eaten since they'd stopped for doughnuts early that morning, and the events of the day left him in desperate need of food.

"Is that soup?" Sam asked jadedly, eyeing the bag of groceries.

"Yeah, but that's for later. You're still shaky and there's no way I'm wiping hit soup off your lap," Dean teased, handing over the Saltines. Sam may not have been ready for the soup, but he was sitting up on his own, and that managed to ease a bit of Dean's nervousness.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was groggy and it was difficult to form the words around the arid feeling in his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Wha' happened out there?"

Dean swallowed. "What do you remember?"

"I, uh," Sam took a deep breath and readjusted himself against the headboard. "I took the…perimeter…you dug a grave…there was a man…" Sam's eyes widened as pieces of the day began falling into place. "Oh God, he didn't catch us, did he? Did he see us, Dean?"

Dean recognized the panic in his brother's eyes. It had been the same look he'd seen on Sam's face earlier in the day, and he couldn't bear to tell the kid it had all been a hallucination.

"No, no. It's okay. I told him we worked there. Do you remember anything after that?"

Sam paused for a moment, the panic slowly morphing into confusion as he tried to recall the rest of the afternoon. "I…I can't remember."

"Well, you uh…" Dean suddenly had difficulty forming the words. I made you do this. You didn't want to, but I talked you into it. "You passed out from the heat and I brought you back here."

Sam processed that for a moment. "How long…was I out?"

Too long. "Ah, not too long. You came to in the cemetery but you've been pretty out of it until now."

"Oh." Sam's eyes widened as he took in the rest of Dean's sentence. "Wait…the grave…wha' happened? Did you burn the bones?"

"No. We barely scratched the surface. The heat was--"

"Dean, we've got to get back over there!"

"What? Are you crazy?"

"If we don't…burn those bones…someone else…is going to die." Sam glanced at the clock. "Oh God, what if it already happened? What if Elizabeth's spirit killed another man?"

Dean knew it was a possibility. If another victim hadn't already been lured, chances are it would happen within the next couple of hours.

Not that Sam needed to know that.

"Relax, Sammy," Dean said as evenly as possible. "You need to calm down."

"How…the hell am I…supposed to calm down? We left…a job unfinished and now…some innocent guy is gonna…die because of it. So don't…tell me--"

"Sam!"

When the younger man flinched, Dean softened his tone and looked Sam in the eye.

"Look, we tried, okay? You said it yourself once. We can't save everyone."

"But there's still time! We can still…get back out there and…finish burning the bones."

"Uh-uh. No way."

"What? Why?"

"Why? Sam, have you looked in the mirror lately? No way you're going out there to dig a grave."

"Then you go. You finish it."

Dean's brow furrowed. He shot Sam a look that clearly read, are you out of your freakin' mind?

"Are you out of your freakin' mind? I'm not leaving you here."

"There's no other way! You need to…get back out there."

"You passed out, Sam. Your fever was a hundred and two degrees. If you think I'm leaving you alone, then you're more delirious than I thought."

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe…you're okay with just sitting back…and doing nothing. You were the one…who was all about getting this grave dug…in the first place."

Exactly, Dean thought to himself.

Dean cleared his throat and attempted to look convincing. "Maybe Elizabeth's spirit won't strike this year. Maybe the cops are patrolling the area. Let them handle it."

"You really believe that?"

"I will if you will. Now shut up and eat your crackers."

Sam unwillingly obliged, and after devouring half the box of Saltines, the youngest Winchester slowly drifted back to sleep.

Dean stretched out on his own bed and turned on the TV. Muting the sound, he flipped to the local news station just in time to catch the tail end of a breaking news story.

Images of Catalina State Park flashed onscreen. Police had roped off the area and rescue teams scoured the river. From what Dean could gather from the silent report, the spirit had, in fact, claimed its eighth victim.

Dean clicked the TV off and stared up at the shadows on the dark ceiling. Truth was, he felt just as guilty as Sam. It bothered him to no end that an innocent man's life had been taken when there was the possibility that Dean could have done something about it.

He rolled over on his side and watched the silhouette of his sleeping brother. Sooner or later, Sam's curiosity would get the best of him and he'd want to know if anything had happened in Catalina. Dean honestly didn't know what he'd tell him.

But Sam was here and Sam was safe.

They'd sort the rest out later.

end