FLASHBACK

"Dean,"
"This is so not funny," Dean hissed, hauling himself up onto the gangplank, "Sammy!" he shouted into the darkness. All he heard was his own voice bouncing back at him. If he was a bat he'd be able to get himself out of this mess by the reverberations of his bellowing voice alone. But instead he was stuck in the dark with no torch, and this damn thing in his ear.

He'd found out a while ago that however close this thing sounded, it wasn't. It's voice was simply loud and clear, shining down from wherever it hid.

"Dean," that voice croaked again, "Dean Winchester,"

"Present," Dean drawled, slinging his gun into the crook of his arm and dropping from his perch back down to the sewer floor.

"Sam! Sammy!" he called, kicking his way through the water, "Answer me Sammy!"

END FLASHBACK

"Sam,"

Sam groaned from the bed. He was in a restless, easy sleep, and really didn't want his brother to go disturbing him-

"Sam get out of bed,"
"No," Sam mumbled, still heady from the fever, "Why should I?"
"Just get up,"

There was a certain tone to Dean's voice that made Sam force open an eye. Dean's voice was trying to be level but it shook at the edges; Sam knew that voice.

"Dean?"
"Window," Dean said, quietly. Sam blinked blearily over at the window.

"Dean…what…I can't see anything,"
Dean's features crumpled into a confused frown and he flicked his gaze over to Sam then back to the window. The thing was still there. Dean's frown deepened. His biceps danced under his skin in the damp light of the room as he spread out his arms and crouched slowly to the floor. Sliding one hand under the foot of Sam's bed, he brought out the shotgun.

Sam had dropped his head back to the pillow, unable to keep it up.

"Dean," he said, panting slightly and attempting to bring both eyes a) open and b) into focus, "What are you doing? There's nothing there,"
"Sure there is," Dean said, darkly, "Sam get out of bed,"

Sam groaned, for longer and a little louder this time.

"I can't, Dean, I hurt everywhere. And I'm cold. Stop this, alright, there's nothing outside,"

Sam was too padded in his own pain to notice the seriousness on Dean's face. He realised it though, when Dean grabbed hold of his wrist and hauled him out of bed. Sam completely lost his balance and staggered against the wall. His brain tripped a little; he couldn't decide whether to yell out in pain at the weight on his injured ankle, or whimper at the cold sickly feeling of the fever.

"Dean, what-"
The door shuddered on its hinges, the wood straining under an impressive weight Dean couldn't see.

"Get back," he said, bolstering his way between his brother and the door, the shotgun in his hand.

"Dean," Sam gasped, plastered against the wall in an effort to keep standing, one hand pressed against the base of his ribs where an acute pain was slowly crawling up his lungs, "Dean what is going on I can't…what are you doing?"
"I'm keeping that thing out of here,"
"What thing?!" Sam cried with what felt like the last of his energy.

"You don't see that?!" Dean shouted with a stabbing finger.

The door bulged. Sam shook his head, "What, no Dean, I can't! Dean, what…"
"Just trust me on this one, Ok, there's something outside and it sure as hell wants to come in,"
"What is it?"
"I don't know but I think it's that thing from the sewer,"

Sam's world was starting to slip away from his focus, into a grey murky area where his head felt soft and dangerously heavy.

"Sam, Sam! Stay with me,"

Dean put a supporting hand to Sam's side then pushed him as carefully as he could to the bathroom door, "Just stay back,"

"The salt rings will hold," Sam croaked, suddenly realising the floor was getting closer and closer to him. He drew in a breath that cracked and stung at the back of his swollen throat.

"Yeah I'm not so sure," Dean said, mostly to himself, as a cold paranormal wind blew in under the door and slowly scattered the flecks of salt. Sam was crouched on the floor now, holding onto the doorframe as hard as he could, trying desperately to keep conscious. He had a cold sweat under his t-shirt and his bare feet stuck to the dirty tiles of the bathroom floor. He had his forehead pressed against the wood, drying to force away the dull feeling of unconsciousness.

Dean levelled the shotgun with the door.

"This thing ends now," he barked tersely, and the door imploded off its hinges.

Sam threw his arm over his face as the splintered wood blasted through the rudimentary barrier that was Dean, and nicked his skin. He had to admit now; the door had blown off, but there was nothing in that doorway. At least, according to his vision, although Dean obviously thought there was because he was attempting to blast it with rock salt.

Dean pumped the shotgun but the rock salt seemed to be doing nothing.

Silver.

He needed something silver. Maybe that would work on the sucker. The thing inched forward, its hands spread out close to its face just like they had been at the window. Dean lunched for his coat, spread out at the bottom of Sam's bed, and wrangled out a silver blade.
"Sam?"
Dean took Sam's replying moan as a sign he was out of harm's way, before hurling the silver blade, with the skill only a Winchester could posses, directly at the creature. It whistled in the air and made impact with a sharp slicing noise. The thing's hands drifted from it's temples down to the blade, wispy fingers gently feeling the glinting silver. Dean froze, a fixed expression of apprehension on his face, blood pounding in his head. It seemed, slowly, to be working.

A stucco choking sound broke from its lips. Without looking up, it backed its way from the room. Its footsteps failed to make noise on the wooden walkway outside. Dean followed it with careful, steady tread. He took a careful look out of the door, eyes narrowed. Apart from the harsh light at the reception desk in the opposite side of the building, the night had inked in all the corners. It was undisturbed, uninterrupted. Dean, a slight look of confusion on his face, shut the door carefully. He turned back to the room, taking in the reams of paper stuck to various bits of furniture and the salt scattered across the floor. He locked the door but didn't bother to apply more salt rings. He shut the curtains and picked his way over to the bathroom door, deciding to forget the oddness of his new combatant to help Sam back into bed.

"It's gone, whatever the hell it was. I didn't know something so supernatural could be so silent. You in there Sam?"
Dean nudged open the bathroom door, expecting a crumpled shivering heap just inside the door.

And there he was, all six foot four of his brother, on his birthday, curled contently and sleeping soundly, breaths heavy from the thick cold, his mop of hair hanging low over his eyelashes. Dean's grin had pure amusement licking around the edges as he stepped forward to get a better look at his brother.

Sam was asleep in the bath tub.

Dean chuckled under his breath. One of the freakiest supernatural things Dean had accounted in a while, the same thing that bought Sam to this condition, had just burst in through the door for whatever reason and here Sam Winchester was, curled up in the bathtub.

"Well I know you said you were tired Sammy but this is ridiculous," there was affection in Dean's low voice as he hung over Sam's sleeping form. Reluctant to move his brother, he grabbed a pillow from his bed, slotted it under his head, then draped him with the duvet from the bed.

He knew the bath was probably still damp from Sam's bath but Sam was warm enough; his temperature was down and he wasn't in pain. There was a steady rattle as Sam breathed so Dean pressed his hand against his brother's chest for a check. Sam's breaths felt tight, constricted. Dean screwed up his lips in thought.

Cough medicine.

That was what they needed.

He planned to buy some the next day, after checking the time and realising most stores would be shut by now. There was one thing he had to do first.

He stripped himself down to his boxers and threw on an old t-shirt, one that he often wore to bed, and cleaned his teeth, keeping on eye on Sam in the mirror. Once he was ready for bed, he bolted up, hung up a few protection symbols, scratched them into the door, then stood back to admire his handiwork. He grabbed his Dad's journal, a few of their own books and threw them down on the bed to research whatever that thing was before he went to sleep.

Back in the bathroom, he completed his final task of the day.

He crouched down next to the bathtub, leant over, and dipped down so his lips were at Sam's ear.

"Happy Birthday Sam," he said, quietly.

A/N: This is by no means finished my friends!! Sam's birthday may be over but they still have that thing on their heels and Dean may not have finished with Sam's birthday surprises!!!

I want LOTS more reviews before I next upload hehe. Sorry for the long wait you had with this one by the way – dial up and one computer in a house with five people all wanting it is a NIGHTMARE!!