A/N: I'm back guys! So…. The line break didn't transfer over in Chapter 2 like I thought it did. But I'll figure it out eventually.

In the meantime! An update! Let me know how you want Dean to be included. Such as Sam having to be hospitalized, Dean dropping in to covertly check and sees Sam a wreck, or someone finding Dean's info and calling him. Dean probably won't show up in the next chapter, but I practically guarantee he will be in the chapter after that. I don't know how well I can write their dialogue, it's not my best point.

Let me know in the comments!

SPN SPN SPN

Ah-chmnk! Sam stifled a sneeze, causing water from the sink to splash up as he dropped the cup in favor of raising his wrists to his face to contain the spray.

Sam sniffed a loud congested sound that only seemed to prove to Sam that breathing through his nose was a feat that was just not happening today. He flicked the suds off his hands and parted his lips to try to subtly breathe through his mouth.

Dean suddenly popped into his mind's eye as Sam reached, grimacing at the heat of the dirty water, for the coffee mug he had dropped. Dean had been the one to teach Sam to try to at least contain the sickness. Dean and the stupid, worn leather coat Dad had given him. Sam sniffed through his nose again, even as he absentmindedly scrubbed the inside of the mug out with the dishrag. Dean and his germphobia. Everyone thought Sam would be the one, of any Winchester, to be the germophobe, but no, that place was held by one protective older brother.

Linda, the supervisor for the night, reminded Sam of Dean. Gruff, blunt, a sense of humour, even if that sense of humour is cleaner than Dean's. But most of all, Linda is a germophobe and a motherhen.

Hence his trying to hide his sniffling. If Sam set off her mother hen alarms, Sam would be sent home early. He couldn't afford for that. Sam fumbled with a plate as he thought about the crumpled bills in his wallet. Maybe enough to by some Nyquil. A small bottle at least.

God he missed Dean.

For all the crap he gave him, Dean provided a lot of comfort and safety. A lot more than either one of them would either admit. Sam hadn't realized the extent of Dean's efforts until his second semester. Sam couldn't help but reminisce on how things would be different if Dean was here.

Dean would have caught on to Sam not feeling well before Sam himself had. Sam's focus, all though great for researching and for school, made him lose track of all but whatever object had become his study.

There was few things Sam was grateful for John teaching him, but his focus was one of the best things he had ever learned from him. Except for when Dean wasn't around to tell him when to stop.

To punch his arm and tease him about being a nerd who will never manage to get laid, but even while Dean razzed him, Dean would strategically leave food and coffee and blunt reminders that yes, he stinks. He stinks because he hasn't showered. Come on Sammy, not only a nerd, but a smelly one at that. Dean kept him in line. God what Sam would do for some of Dean's soup or Mac 'n' Cheese.

For that cool glass of water at midnight with some pills and VapoRub to put on his chest. When Sam had been little, Dean had applied it himself. There was a ritual to being sick. Dean took care of Sam, because Sam always got it the worst. Possibly something to do with late vaccinations as a child.

But whatever the case, even up into his teen years, Dean would make sure Sam had food he would eat, something to drink, pills at the proper times, and he would rub the VapoRub on his chest. It hadn't been until Sam started shooting up at 15 did he ask Dean to stop applying the VapoRub. It was a few years before that Sam realized Dean had his meds on an alarm to wake Dean up to get Sam to take some.

Ah-Chtthhhmnk! Sam stifled a sneeze again. It broke him out of his reverie, especially as a shiver wracked its way through his body. Sam knows he feels like shit, he probably looks it too. But he feels like he is sinking. He can't stop yet.

The weight of the eight tests left were pressing down on his chest. Even now. Eight tests. Four of them finals, the rest end-of-semester tests. Enough that maybe he can pull his grades to B's, solidify his A's. Sam's brow furrowed as he considered the upcoming tests. Two were tomorrow, Intro to Law and his English class. He was pretty sure he had the English in the bag, but his Intro to Law not so much.

Sam swiped a bead of sweat of his forehead with the back of his wrist and checked his watch. It was a cheap, generic watch that could have been bought anywhere. But it got the job done.

Even if Brady had a fancy Rolex, it was ok. Because Sam made it here on his own. And by God, he is going to make it or die trying. Brady's parent paid for Brady's tuition so long as he had a good GPA. Something he was in danger of losing.

Brady wasn't a slacker, he studied hard and got good grades. But he didn't have to work through school like Sam did. He didn't pinch pennies like Sam did. Except after his girlfriend broke up with him, Brady had been struggling. He had been drinking a lot and getting into a lot of trouble. Sam couldn't let Brady fall down that path.

Sam felt the weight pull him further down. Rent is due in a week and it would be close. He should make enough if he finishes his scheduled shifts without being sent home. He will have to skip a few meals, but it'll be okay because the semester is almost over. Then he can work full-time.

Dean had taught Sam how to pinch pennies. A tugging at his heart made him ache for Dean even more. But he shoved it down with the rest of the weight pulling him down. Dean didn't want anything to do with him.

Even if he did, it's not like he would rebel from Dad to come visit Sam. But that's ok. Sam doesn't need him. He is doing just fine without him. And he will be just fine. He already has two jobs lined up over the summer. But those jobs wouldn't matter if Sam can't get his shit together and keep his GPA up.

No summer job would even come close to making enough for tuition. The first bill is due in July and in 5 payments succeeding that. The weight felt like a band across his chest, restricting his breathing and making it worse than the stupid congestion already had.

Sam glanced around for Linda before sniffing again. A quick glance at the dull black watch tells him he has forty-five minutes before he gets off. He sighed and some of the weight released. Almost. He could almost leave.

Forty-five more minutes. Then he can leave. His bike is waiting outside to take him the mile and a half home. Where he will study until midnight. Sam might not have known he was coming down with a cold until this morning, but he knew now. He needs to get at least six hours of sleep. Otherwise the cold will spiral out of control and develop into pneumonia.

Sam had pnuemonia when was 11. Bad enough that the doctor at the clinic Dean had taken him to had sent him by ambulance to the hospital. Sam can't get that sick until after finals. He sniffed again. What was it like to breathe and actually have air enter his lungs? Geez. Of all the times. His thoughts and misery were interrupted as he fished in the sink for the last of the dishes only to come up empty. One thing done. Almost time to leave.

Sam pulled the plug for the drain and watched the sudsy water swirl down the drain. Relief swept through him at the prospect of going home.

Only to be dragged back down by the realization that he had to bike home. In fifty-degree mist. Fuck his life. A whine escaped his throat as he peered out the window in the hopes that it had stopped misting. Only to be faced with what could only be categorized as a downpour. The weight multiplied. He could feel himself sinking.

Sam tried to shift his thoughts into a more positive outlook. Maybe it would stop raining. Not likely, his stupidly logical brain piped in. Okay, well maybe it won't be raining quite so hard. Right, his brain quickly shot back, like Sam was that lucky. Sam breathed in on reflex, a habit he had developed to calm himself down since he was young.

Except he couldn't breathe, which forced the band around his chest to constrict. A choked cough escaped before he could stop it.

"All done back here Sam?" A woman's voice shocked Sam and instead of managing to pull in a breath, he only managed in aggravating the cough. Sam cut off all attempts at breathing and refused to allow his chest to expand after the third cough.

"Yeah," Sam choked out. He cleared his throat in hope of making his voice sound like he didn't have the mother-of-all colds. Linda had already taken a small step back, her arms crossed and her face scrunched in a mix of horror and concern.

"Must have swallowed wrong. I'm fine, you startled me is all." Sam's rough voice and plea sounded forced to his own ears and he inwardly winced. He spoke softer and breathier than normal to conceal that his nose was stopped up. But The weight grew and pulled him down with a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Sounds like a nasty cold to me Sam." Linda frowned disapprovingly at him. Sam cleared his throat a final time.

"Nah, just startled me is all Linda." Sam rushed to reassure his boss. He can't afford to not work next shift because she found out he was sick. The weights shifted and tightened, he was sinking.

"Promise." The tone was more pleading than Sam would ever admit, and he knew that he was using what Dean had always fondly called his "stupid puppy eyes" (always accompanied with the swipe of a hand through his hair, even as Dean rolled his eyes). Linda searched his face, her body posture relaxing as she took in his hopeful expression. She sighed.

"You know I can't have you working if you're sick Sam."

Sam was being sucked down. No. This can't happen. His heart hammered and his head grew light.

"-all it was though..." a pause and Linda sighed. Sam managed to tune back in, blinking as he realized that he had missed the first part of whatever she had said.

"I guess that's fine. You get out of here though." Linda motioned in a scooting motion towards the door.

"It's five til clock off. Go on." She winked at him, even as she kept more distance than normal. "I'll clock you out. Go home and sleep."

Sam contemplated it for maybe half a minute before nodding in appreciation and he relaxed his tensed position.

"Thanks Linda, I owe you one. Seriously." Sam told Linda, his voice still a softer rendition than normal. He pulled off his apron and headed towards the exit. He swapped his jacket for his apron off the last peg and pulled the hood up as he stepped out the door into the rain.

It had slowed and was now down to a sprinkle, but it was still a miserable ride home. Made more so when a passing bus drenched him as it sped through a puddle.

Sam didn't think he had ever been so grateful to see a building as he was his apartment complex. Until he stepped inside that is. The sight that greeted him was an unwelcome one.

Brady lay drunkenly sprawled on the floor. His blue sports shirt lay on the floor to his left, inside-out. Sam cursed. Not bothering to be quiet. Brady should have to pick up his own shit. Except Brady is his friend. One of his only and best. Sam took off his jacket and shoes and moved to take off Brady's still-wet-shoes and get him to bed.

The weight shifted and increased, pulling him down. Sam is sinking.