Author's Notes: Happy Sunday everyone! I know it's a little short and for that I'm sorry. but I had to stop it there for the sake of possibly making it too droning. Thanks to everyone still reading it!!

Chapter 5

Eight miles. It was still eight long miles to Denison, eight long miles to a sanctuary of sorts. Penny hadn't really said a word for the first couple miles they'd driven as Sam white-knuckled the steering wheel while he nervously chewed on his lower lip; the first couple miles which had gone by relatively quickly considering Sam's foot on the gas pedal made the needle on the speedometer occasionally hit eighty, the only thing slowing him down being the agonized groans coming from Dean as he cried out behind him when he'd hit one of those damn potholes that never seemed to end on this particular country back road. He'd sway left or right when he caught a larger one in the headlights in time to avoid it, but that didn't happen often enough and he usually just plowed right into them and he'd cringe when Dean would let him know he'd felt it ripple through his entire body like a shockwave.

Dean had long since rolled onto his side and pulled his knees back up to their usual place at his chest as he rested his head against Penny's left arm while his entire upper body rested in her lap with his sweat soaked back now pressed hard against her. He hadn't eased up or let go of her hand yet, the hand that was at the end of the arm draped around him in a gentle embrace as he held on tight to it, refusing to let it go. She enjoyed the feel of him against her and drank in the heat pouring from him as she rested one hand on his red hot forehead while she stroked the hand he held onto gently with her thumb.

"Sam, what's wrong with Dean?" She finally broke the silence in the vehicle. She could feel the tension oozing from every inch of Sam's body and for some reason wanted to get him talking, she wanted to hear everything from Sam's mouth that had happened, she wanted to hear Sam's point of view.

"He gets migraines sometimes, it's no big deal," he told her, partially the truth but not entirely. He couldn't tell her what was really wrong because he knew she would think he was crazy. Little did he know…

"Sam, I'm not a doctor but I know this isn't just a migraine," she observed, anxious to hear what excuse Sam would make next for what was going on. "He's burning up, his got the worst chills I've ever seen or felt and he's curled up in a tight ball in what looks like quite a bit of pain. I'm beginning to wonder if he's going to start hyperventilating with how hard and heavy he's breathing too. Whatever this is, I sure hope it isn't contagious because he's also soaked with sweat that just doesn't seem to want to stop."

"Don't worry, it's not contagious. He's just got this chronic thing that flares up every once in a while. He'll be ok in a couple of days. I just need to get him somewhere where he can sleep it off, that's all," Sam evasively told her, skirting entirely around the truth that he was dead set on keeping to himself. The truth that she was bound and determined to get him to admit, one way or another.

"Is it the same thing that hit him when he came to see you back at Stanford? You remember, don't you? It was right before Christmas, 2003? Right after you started seeing Jessica? Wow, sitting here with him like this now makes that almost seem like yesterday. God, he was really sick that night too, pretty much like he is right now," she asked him coyly, knowing full well what had happened back then and instantly felt an enormous barrage of negative feelings coming from him when those memories came flooding back as he fidgeted in his seat like he was suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.

He had to clear his throat hard before he answered her now that an entire army of frogs had taken up residence around his Adam's apple with their weapons drawn and ready to fire. He hadn't thought about that weekend in a very long time, mostly because it had been one of the most painful moments of his life and he'd rather not relive it if he didn't need to. It was also the last time he had seen his brother before he had cut him totally out of his life for nearly two years, two years that ended when Dean had abruptly shown up out of the blue and begged him for his help to find their wayward father. Help he reluctantly gave that had suddenly turned his normal life upside down in the blink of an eye.

"No, it's not the same thing, this is totally different," he finally told her and she could tell she had struck a nerve and struck it hard, which is exactly what she had wanted to accomplish with her trip down Bad Memory Lane.

"Oh. Do you think we need to find him a doctor? This seems really bad Sam," she continued hammering the questions now that she had him against the ropes, hoping to find his breaking point soon.

"No, a doctor can't help him. It's just gotta run its course like it always does," he quietly said, not sure if she had even heard it. Her nod to his response he saw in the mirror as he glanced into it told him she had though.

"Sam, what was that you gave him back there? Did you say you were giving him Demerol?" She continued questioning; knowing Sam was getting more and more anxious with each mile that went by. She could feel that he wanted to tell her everything just for the sake of getting it off his chest and with just a few more properly asked questions or correctly phrased comments she knew he would. He'd been holding in a lot of guilt for a very long time and he was about ready to vent it to someone, anyone that would listen because he knew he couldn't vent it to Dean. Dean obviously had his own problems to deal with.

"Yeah, why?" He answered and asked rather nervously as he stole another glance of her in the mirror.

"I don't think it's working,' she informed him and the second she did, she felt the car sway just a little from left to right before correcting itself. She held back the smile she wanted to let spread across her face because she knew that hadn't been caused by another crater in the road. That had been all Sam.

He took in a deep breath and she knew he didn't want to ask the question he was about to pose as he tried catching a glimpse of his brother in the mirror this time, an action he knew was pointless by now but he mindlessly continued to try anyway. "How can you tell?"

"Because his knees are practically glued to his chin and he's got a death-grip on my hand that he seems to not want to release," she answered him bluntly in the hopes of upsetting him more.

"It's working then," he told her in a not so nice tone as he just continued to drive and nearly cried out with joy when he finally hit the Denison town limits. "If it wasn't working, your hand would probably be broken by now."

She nearly laughed out loud at that comment; not at the humor, but at the sheer irony. Sam had meant it to be deadly serious and she knew he was partially right. Her hand probably would have been crushed into pieces if Dean was in the amount of pain he was usually in by this point, but what Sam didn't know was that it wasn't the Demerol that was keeping the excruciating agony at bay today. Sam hadn't been able to fully eradicate her blood that had been flowing through Dean's veins back in Rockford, the blood that had been dodging antibiotics for days and had nearly succeeded in killing him before finally being forced to lay dormant as the lethally toxic silver Sam had force-fed his brother started killing it off. It hid itself deep inside him long enough for Dean to make his miraculous recovery and only reawakened the first time she'd touched him weeks ago at that motel in Indiana. There wasn't enough of her blood still in him to stop what was happening entirely, but there was enough to at least keep it somewhat tolerable, for the time being anyway. The more she touched him, the more that would change though, of that she was sure.

"I'm sorry Sam; I didn't mean to push it. God, I haven't seen you in nearly three years and here I am interrogating you like it was just yesterday and upsetting you more than you already are. Please, forgive my complete and cruel insensitivity." There it was...she just played the guilt card that always worked with Sam…always.

"It's not your fault. If it was anyone's fault, it would be mine, all mine," he confessed and she knew he was about to spill his guts. "Dean's like this now because of me."

"What do you mean? How could this be your fault?" She softly begged to know and Sam was just about to tell her everything, until he saw the sign, that is. The sign he'd been waiting for miles to see.

"Ho-Hum Motel, great. Please don't let the name be any indication of the accommodations," he quickly changed subjects as he pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine once he'd come to complete stop in the spot right in front of the office doors. He turned to face Penny, who sported a rather unreadable look on her face, and quickly pointed out the window as he blindly reached for the door handle. "Be right back, don't go anywhere."

"Oh, don't you worry Sam, I'm not going anywhere," she said out loud to the empty air, confident that Dean couldn't hear a word either one of them said anymore. His brain had pretty much shut off five miles back when he'd quite obviously heard the conversation take a wrong turn in the direction he definitely didn't want go in. The same conversation that had made Sam so uncomfortable.

Those memories were ten times more painful than the burning, stabbing cramps in his stomach now or the throbbing in his skull and as they started forcing themselves back into his head. Instead of fighting them, he just let the blinding white torture in his mind take over and shut him down completely. He'd rather have the physical anguish then the emotional torment of what had happened that weekend. It was the moment Sam had nearly killed him inside when he'd told him, not asked him, to go away and stay away.

"I'm not going anywhere without Dean, that is. After everything you've done to him, you don't deserve him," she muttered, this time to herself. God, how she hated Sam more and more every day now.

Sam had burst into the office in a near sprint and impatiently waited at the counter for someone to come out and help him, even after he'd rang the bell repeatedly at least three times. He'd heard someone holler 'Hold yer damn horses, I'll be right there,' after the third round of pounding on the bell and instead of beating the little noise maker to death he just took to pacing the small office floor instead. By the time the rather frail looking old man had limped from the back to the office, Sam was about ready to explode.

"What can I do fer yuh, young man?" The crusty looking elderly gentleman asked with a smirk on his face. He may be old, but he still had the eyes of a cat and had a pretty good idea what Sam was so anxious about when he saw the pretty young thing sitting in the back seat of the enormous black car parked out in the well lit lot right in front of his door. The old man was almost positive Sam wasn't looking for directions when he saw her.

"I need a room," he stammered as he fumbled with his wallet, his hands were shaking so bad now he could barely keep a hand on it.

"I bet you do," the old guy went on. "Little nervous there junior? It's not your first time, is it? She sure is a hottie, ain't she? I sure hope you got protection," he chuckled as he asked while he pointed to the door and Sam was instantly mortified.

"No mister, I'm not here to lose my virginity to the 'hottie' in my car. I need a double and I need one with a microwave and refrigerator if you've got it. Give it to me for two days at least, maybe three…and where's the nearest hospital? My brother's really sick in the back seat with that 'hottie' and I don't want to be screwing around if I need to get him there later?" Sam had been nearly yelling by the time he'd gotten everything out to the old man, who had backed up a little more at each word the crazed kid frantically spoke. Sam had been so preoccupied with relaying his requests that he had never seen the kindly older woman that had snuck out from the back and was staring at him as she took the spot the older gentleman had just vacated and patiently waited for him to finish.

"It's alright young man, just calm down and breathe for a minute," the elderly woman softly spoke and she laid a reassuring hand on Sam's arm now that he was leaning heavily against the counter before him. "I've got a nice room with exactly that and it's yours for as long as you need it. As for the hospital, you just turn right out of the parking lot and follow the signs. It's about two miles down, you can't miss it."

"Thank you," Sam sighed as he forced himself to relax against the warm, comforting feel of the old woman's hand on his arm as she gave him a gentle, supportive squeeze. He'd never had the joy of a grandmother's warm embrace, but he imagined that it would have felt just that way and at this particular moment, it was exactly what he needed.

"You are very welcome…" her voice trailed off, indicating the unspoken question she was obviously asking.

"Sam, Sam Winchester," he told her as he pulled out cash from his wallet to pay for the room. In his lack of clarity, he had given her his real name and wanted to kick himself as soon as it left his mouth. He had no credit cards with Sam Winchester boldly printed on them, so cash it would have to be. "Is that enough?"

"It'll do. Well Sam Winchester, do you need any help getting your brother inside or can you and the little lady there handle it yourselves?" She asked as she slid him the key the old man had grabbed from behind her and tossed on the counter.

"I think we can handle it, thanks," he answered as he took it and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Rooms to the left about four doors down. You pick up that phone in there and dial 0 if you need anything, you hear?" She had told him and Sam was warmed even more by the genuine look of concern in her eyes.

"I will…and thank you again," he called over his shoulder as he sprinted back out the door and back to the car, leaving the old man and woman gaping open mouthed at the little bit of excitement that come seemingly their way.

"Well, I think it's shaping up to be an interestin' couple days now, wouldn't you say?" The old man asked as he watched Sam pull away and to drive the short distance to the room they'd be staying in for the duration.

"I would say so," she answered and ducked out from behind the counter to watch them from the small window at the side of the office. She didn't like what was happening, not one bit.

End Notes: I'm hoping everyone likes this short update. The next few will be longer, I'm sure, and they won't be very pleasant. It's going to be my take on why Sam and Dean didnt' talk for two years and I hope you all don't hate it.