Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing and never will as I am totally in Kripke's debt for the loan of his boys…

A/N: This was my very first attempt at fanfiction. It is complete, so I'll post as time allows. Why, you may well ask, am I posting this here and now? (As it was posted elsewhere, then)… This is in answer to Mad Server's query as to where I got a certain nickname… I leave it up to all of you to determine what I am Queen of by the time we get to the end of this little "bridge."

Spoilers for Asylum and Scarecrow acts as a bridge between Asylum and Faith…

Reaching Out

Sam was surprised when he opened the motel room door to find that the sun was still low in the sky. The past couple of hours had seemed to last a lifetime, but they had checked in just after 10 that morning so it was only late afternoon. He ran a shaky hand over his face and then through his unruly hair.

Dean is so gonna be pissed at me, but I've done everything I know to do, and he's still getting worse. Telling me he's fine is not helping. Sam wasn't sure that his brother would have any more medical insight than he had himself even if he was willing to admit to how sick he was.

Dean needed antibiotics. The infection had had too much time to spread throughout his body.

Time to call the cavalry, Sam decided. He was willing to admit when he needed help. There he was again, being the blond chick from The Munsters – the only one willing to make contact with the outside world. Not like this was really the outside world; and that was the only thing that Sam figured would save him when Dean found out that he'd made the call. Sam wasn't really breaking their circle.

Sam could never figure out why Dean was so set on never asking anybody for help. Of course, Dean hated it when anybody found out he wasn't invincible. Especially the people within their trusted circle because they were important to Dean. More important than Dean was to himself.

Yeah, Dude, because really, everyone so seriously believes that you're invincible. Well, Sam thought, not everyone, but maybe I believe it. Or at least, I want to believe it…

Sam sighed and dialed his cell phone. He'd deal with the fallout.

"Hi. It's Sam. Dean and I ran into a little trouble, and I was wondering if I could ask you for a favour…."

"Sam! Why is it that I don't hear from you for ages and then twice in almost as many days? I'm glad you called. Of course, you can ask me for anything," Pastor Jim's voice never failed to reassure Sam. "I'm assuming that as I'm talking to you, you are ok and Dean's not. I also assume he doesn't know you're calling?" Pastor Jim knew them well. "Still no luck finding your father either?"

"Uh, he called, but he didn't really say where he was or tell us how to get back in touch." For once, their father was the furthest thing from Sam's mind.

"Dean's had a rough couple of days and he's pretty beat up. I've done everything that I know how to do, but he has a bad infection and he seems to be getting worse."

Shit! Sam actually felt like he was going to cry. It was just such a relief to get help. Jim had always been there for them growing up, and Sam had shared a special bond with the quiet and studious cleric. Get your shit together, he chided himself. You've got help, but it's hundreds of miles away. You're still the front line here.

Pastor Jim could hear Sam's struggle to hold it together and waited patiently for him to continue. He knew how stubborn Dean could be, and he knew the strength that Sam possessed and that Dean would rarely let him use. He shook his head sadly over Sam's news about John. He knew that John thought all of his actions were necessary to protect his boys, but so often, Jim thought John was way off base. They might be physically safe, but the emotional toll was just too high.

Sam took a deep breath and continued. "Dean went backwards through an old door two days ago and got a bunch of splinters in his back. He didn't tell me about it, and we'd split up for a day or so," Pastor Jim frowned at that there was subtext here that Sam wasn't sharing – "and then he got knocked out, um twice, and I think he might have a couple of broken ribs, and the splinters ended up abscessed and I had to lance them and cauterize them and now he's got a fever of 103.1 and he's not sweating.."
"SAM!" Pastor Jim's voice finally broke into Sam's consciousness – Damn, he'd been babbling.

"Sorry."

"Take Dean to the hospital and do it now." Pastor Jim's voice could be just as hard as their father's. Which went a long way to explaining the fact that Dean inexplicably always listened to Pastor Jim.

"I….I….can't" Sam's voice faded to a whisper.

"Are you that short on cash and credit cards? Surely you still have your back up plan in place?" Pastor Jim didn't like the way the Winchesters made their living, but he was a practical man and was willing to balance the relatively small sin against all the good they did in the bigger picture.

"No. It's not that." Sam took a deep breath. There were so few people within their circle that he couldn't afford to lose any of them. How could he tell Pastor Jim that he'd shot his own brother? "Dean went through the door because he got a chest full of rock salt." Sam said it as quickly as possible – like ripping off a band aid – and waited – which seemed to take forever – for Pastor Jim's response.

"Right. Well, you can't afford the questions that would surely bring up." He knew from the anguish in Sam's voice that the boys were in trouble and from more than just Dean's injuries. It wasn't going to help the situation for him to pursue a line of questioning that was clearly really bothering Sam. Sam would need to stay focused to help his brother. There would be time later to deal with these demons.

"Ok. So you're dealing with a pretty massive infection, a serious concussion, some broken ribs, a fair amount of pain, and various cuts and bruises? Would that be a fair inventory?"

"Yeah," Sam was so relieved that Pastor Jim was willing to simply focus on Dean's well-being.

"We need to deal with the infection and the concussion. That fever has got to come down. Some of these symptoms could be caused by either injury. You can use ice and alcohol rubs to keep the fever down. If it gets really bad, you may have to put Dean in a tub of cold water. I would try to avoid that, however, what with the wounds to his back and chest. You can also use ibuprofen to keep the fever down and reduce the pain. You know the drill with the concussion: you can't let Dean sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time, and you'll have to wake him enough to make sure he's coherent. That's going to be tricky. If the fever gets any worse it may make him delirious, so you'll have to weigh all the evidence to figure out what's causing what. What you really need are antibiotics. You know that I can send you those. Give me the address of your motel and I'll have them shipped overnight courier to you – If I hurry, I can get them off tonight and you'll get them first thing in the morning. If we're going to help Dean, you're going to need them as soon as possible."

Sam had called Pastor Jim precisely because he knew that Jim could get antibiotics for them. His position as a pastor afforded him the opportunity to get his hands on medicine to pass on to his most needy "parishioners".

"Thanks." Jim could hear the relief in Sam's voice. "Have you got a pen? We're in Indiana…" Sam gave Jim the entire address of the motel.

"Look, I won't keep you. You've got lots to do, and I've got to get this medicine packaged up. Call me if anything changes, Sam. Or if you just need to talk. I'm always here for you boys. I hope you know that."

Sam nodded in agreement and then realized that Pastor Jim couldn't see him. "Thanks again for all of your help." The line went dead, and Sam turned to return to the room and check on his brother.

Dean hadn't moved. It hurt too much. He was somewhere between conscious and unconscious, so he was aware that Sam had come back into the room and was moving quietly about it even if he didn't remember him leaving. The sheet that covered him hurt. It hurt to breathe. His head hurt. And, he'd realized that his left side really hurt where Ellicot had slammed him with the damn gurney to stop him from burning Ellicot's damn bones.

Maybe, if he was very still, it would stop hurting. Yeah, and maybe at some point Sammy would stop hovering over him like some kind of mother hen – or bitch – that did explain the whole puppy-dog eye vibe. Dean chuckled at that. Oh shit! He really did have to stop amusing himself, 'cuz that just hurt like a bitch!

"Dude? What the hell could you possibly find funny at this moment?" Sam just shook his head. "Don't answer that." Sam didn' t want Dean trying to talk. "Dean, I've got to go out and get some supplies for the first aid kit. We've pretty much managed to use up everything."

"Mmm," Dean's eyes were a slit of green in his pale, bruised face. The tiny bit of light making it into the room cut through his head like a hot scalpel through butter. Crap. Why'd he have to think about food…

"Will you be ok here on your own for a while? I'll leave your cell right beside you on the bed with my number up on speed dial. I'll leave water on the table here by your head, and your trusty barf bucket is just here in front of you on the floor."

"Dude, I never had a babysitter – you were the one that always needed to be watched," Dean's voice was a raspy, breathy whisper. "And Sammy? No more mention of the technicolour trash can pleeeaaassee."

"I want to take your temp once more before I go…" Sam was back with the thermometer. "Still 103.1. At least you're holding steady. Do you think you could eat something? Maybe some soup?"

Dean couldn't help it. He gagged. Just the thought of swallowing was too much for him. "Dude." He managed to keep it to one gag. "Since when did soup ever qualify as eating? I'm off soup anyway. Didn't much care for that last batch. Besides, did you pay any attention to basic first aid? Feed a cold and starve a fever…" Dean's voice was fading as his eyes were drifting closed.

Sam just humpfed. Clear liquids in any form were the order of the day. Sam quickly made a list of all the supplies he would need to make it through the night. There was no way in hell he was going to let Dean out of his sight more than once. Sam grabbed a damp towel and re-soaked it in cold water and alcohol, wiping Dean's face with it gently so as not to wake him. Sam quickly grabbed the keys to the Impala and his wallet and quietly shut the motel door, sparing one last glance back at his brother's sleeping form.

Sam had been gone about twenty minutes before Dean began dreaming. As soon as the fever-induced nightmare caused him to begin thrashing around in the bed, Dean was violently jerked back to consciousness by the sharp stabs of pain assaulting him from every direction.

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean gasped as his eyes flew open. The sharp intake of breath combined with the spasm of pain had him full out retching again. The best he could hope for was to miss the bed as it all happened so quickly. He was pleasantly surprised to find a handy receptacle right in front of his face. With so little left in his system, Dean was pretty much done before he started and slumped limply on the bed trying to gather his thoughts into something vaguely coherent. He'd need help with that.

"Sam?" No answer. "Sam?" He wasn't sure that the first one had been out loud, but he knew the second one had been.

"Sammy!" Ok. Now he was getting a bit pissed. Hmmmmm. New tactic. "Dad?" Still no answer. Idiots. They knew the rules. Stay in contact at all times. Form a chain of communication if you had to. Where the hell was everybody? Dean started to get really agitated. They'd left him again. Crap. Well, screw them. He wasn't going to take this lying down. He was a hunter. He'd find them.

Dean pawed at the sheet over him and finally managed to push himself mostly upright. He was panting from the pain and the exertion. His head was pounding and his vision was swimming in and out.

Come on, come on, Dean growled to himself.

There. Feet on the floor. Dean stood on very shaky legs clad only in his boxers. He fixed his glassy eyes on his destination and tottered towards the door – there was that damn word again – totter…. Or was it teeter? Teeter-totter. And that's pretty much what Dean looked like as he hit the floor.

A/N: So if you know me, I'm sure that you were expecting Bobby, but in season one they don't meet up with him until Devil's Trap and they say that they haven't seen each other in quite a while…

Only one more chapter to go! I think this is a great site and my goal is to have more reviews here than where I originally posted – the magic number is 95… so please leave a review?