A/N: This is my first multiple chapter fic, it is however already written. I don't own any of the supernatural characters, although I wish I did. Thank you to Bartlebead for taking the time to beta this for me, you are much appreciated.

Chapter 4

Dean turned onto Sam's street. The rain had finally slowed to an inconsistent drizzle and the sky changed back from black to steel blue gray. The wind had died down as well, and the air hung heavy with recently released humidity. The Impala rumbled to a stop, the faithful engine practically purring as Dean parked in front of the apartment building he knew to be Sammy's.

It was a decent enough apartment and in the soft burgeoning light it looked much as Dean remembered it from the thorough once-over he'd given it shortly after Sam and Jessica had moved in—unobtrusively of course.

Not knowing what to expect, he ran around to the trunk and began loading a variety of items into the duffle and his pockets. It was still fairly early; Dean hoped no passersby would amble by and see the impressive weapons cache in the Impala's trunk.

The sawed-off with bullets went into the bag along with rock salt, holy water, and the flame-thrower. Hell, since he didn't know what he was dealing with, Dean threw in the machete, and ammo including blessed and silver bullets. Next he slipped his favorite ivory-handled pistol into the back of his jeans and tucked his throwing knives into the leather straps along his arms before tugging the sleeves of his plaid shirt back down to conceal them. Last he jammed the EMF reader into his pocket.

Dean hoped Sammy was just sick, maybe disoriented from the nightmare Jessica had mentioned. But they were Winchesters, and as a rule their luck generally sucked. Better to err on the side of caution and go in loaded for bear. Not to mention if John Winchester ever caught one of his sons walking into a situation unprepared he'd kick his ass.

Always be prepared, shoot to kill. Watch your brother, Dean…

His eyes felt gritty and even the weak morning light was almost too much to tolerate. The lack of sleep was starting to affect him, and as Dean climbed the stairs to Sam's apartment he tried to remember the last time he had really slept. His arm burned with every step despite his deference to the wound in placing the weapons bag on the other side. The awkward weight of the bag blocked his dominate shooting hand, he didn't like to, but he could shoot with the other hand if he had to. Both boys were proficient with either hand but Dean preferred his right. He could feel the wound seeping again. Idly he wondered if he'd ripped a stitch or two in his haste to reach Palo Alto, to reach Sammy.

Moments later he found himself standing outside Sam's door. If something really was in there terrorizing his little brother and his girlfriend, then Dean would benefit from the element of surprise. With the ease of familiarity he took his lock picks out of the faded, worn pocket of his jeans. Nimble fingers quickly worked their magic and Dean found himself standing on the threshold of Sammy's new world. Swallowing thickly, he stepped inside.

He crossed the opening, his back to the wall, gun straight and steady with the safety off. All was quiet in the hallway and living room; he saw no signs of a struggle or a fire. The living room was clearly decorated with Jessica mostly in mind although when Dean looked more closely he could see little signs of Sam; the old hoodie tossed on the back of the chair, the beat-up backpack in the corner next to some sneakers that had seen better days.

The office screamed Sammy in the way the other rooms hadn't. Here his little brother's presence was dominant. The shelves were bursting with books, all different shapes and colors. There were various titles, some in hardback and some in better condition than others, but it was definitely a haven right off of Sam's cloud nine. The desk held a laptop computer and some pictures. Dean felt his throat constrict at the old picture on the edge of the shelf.

It was him and Sammy, arms held comfortably over one another's shoulders, big toothy grins as they sat on the hood of the Impala; Dean figured he was probably around 12 or 13. He hadn't even known Sammy had kept this picture. Regardless, the office was clear and he moved onto the next room.

He found them in the kitchen, slumped on the floor, leaning against each other for support. They were safely ensconced in the salt circle and were both sleeping heavily; Jessica, he surmised, out of sheer exhaustion but Sammy-… He looked awful and sounded even worse. Before disturbing them, Dean moved back through the entire apartment again, this time with the EMF reader but found no evidence of anything supernatural.

He set the duffle on the floor by the couch. Removing the more of his conspicuous weapons to the bag, he then walked back over to the kitchen. Sammy's girlfriend was hot, despite the telltale dark circles marring her delicate skin. Dean had seen her from a distance on his last pass through Stanford a few months ago; Sam had had his arm around her and they'd looked happy. Dean didn't want to scare her. He cleared his throat.

Her eyes slid open, widening as they landed on him, a stranger, standing in her kitchen. She startled and clutched Sam's arm. Sam, however, slept on.

"Relax sweetheart," Dean soothed. "I'm Sam's brother, I'm Dean." He watched the fear in her eyes disappear, if not the worry. She didn't ask how he got in, but he could see she didn't much like it. She shifted against Sam, turning to stroke the side of his flushed face.

"Sam, Dean's here," she said.

"Here, let me help you. I know how much dead weight a sick Sammy can be." Dean stepped over the salt, carefully leaving the line intact. He put a palm on Sammy's forehead, raising an eyebrow at the heat radiating off his brother's sweaty skin. "We need to cool him down as fast as possible."

Dean wound an arm under Sam's shoulders and twisted to get his other under Sam's legs. Sam was heavy, with more height and muscle than Dean remembered. Dean was at a disadvantage with his injury and Sammy was unconscious, by God if Sam needed to be carried, then Dean would do it. Gritting his teeth, Dean heaved Sam up off the floor, and supported him with his own body until he could shift his grip and get his brother into a fireman carry. Once he had Sam over his shoulder, Dean started down the hall. He heard, Jessica's quiet footsteps behind him.

He sat Sam on the closed toilet seat and starting removing his clothes. Jessica leaned around him to start the shower. She jumped slightly when he clamped a hand around her wrist.

"It's gotta be cold Jessie. We need to break this fever."

"Okay." Jessica nodded and turned to adjust the dial. Dean had been given the cold shower therapy for fevers a few times himself.

"This is gonna suck, are you ready?"

She nodded again. Dean hefted Sam up and in one smooth motion put him into the porcelain tub, into about two inches of water, with the cold water from the showerhead hitting him right into the chest.

Sam responded violently; he came awake with a shuddery yell, feet kicking, arms flailing. Sam immediately moved to get out of the bathtub, eyes bright and unfocused, and his movement awkward and uncoordinated. It was despairingly easy for Dean to keep Sammy in the cold water. Dean didn't like to see his brother this sick and weak.

"Lemme out, let go of me! Lemme out," shouted Sam. "What-"

"It's okay Sammy. I'm here. Jessie's here too"

"Dean!" Sam asked disbelievingly. "Are you really here?"

"Yeah, it's me, Sam. You had a really high fever and you need to stay in the water just a few minutes longer. Sam was shivering and his lips were turning blue. Jessica rubbed light circles on the corded muscles of his back while making soft soothing noises.

"Doing good Sammy, almost done." Dean kept his hands on both of Sam's shoulders holding him in place. Even in the cold water, Sam's eyes fluttered closed, and his head began to list to the side.

"Is he going to be all right?" Jessica's anxious voice reminded Dean that this wasn't a hotel bathroom but a bathroom in Sam's apartment; the one he shared with this woman standing next to him.

"Yeah, I think so. He usually is if you can get him through the fever part."

"You seem used to doing this … Did Sam get sick a lot as a kid?" Dean knew that once people got over being worried they became curious. It was inevitable and he was used to deflecting.

"He came down with stuff easy enough, I guess, never seemed to bother him until it would rear up and kick him in the ass." Dean turned away from her questioning eyes. This wasn't a getting-to-know you visit; this was about getting Sammy better.

Everyone was wet and cold by the time Dean deemed it safe enough to let the water-logged Sam out of the shower. Sammy's skin was mottled and his teeth were chattering together as he shivered in Dean's arms.

"Wake up Sammy. You can get out of the tub now. Let's get you warmed up." Dean shook his brother's shoulder gently as Sam woke up groggily. As Sam moved to get out of the tub, he shivered, nearly falling onto the floor before Dean caught his brother's quaking form.

"Dean," questioned Sam? "Where's Dad? Where are we? It's too cold here, Dean."

"I got you Sam, into bed," murmured Dean as he walked his brother down the hall, Jessica leading the way. The three of them stumbled into the bedroom, and Dean helped his not-so-little brother on the bed and under the covers. Jessica rubbed a hand over Sam's head.

"What can I do for him now?"

"Shared body heat works well," Dean answered scrounging up a brief tired version of his rakish grin.

Jessica smiled back as she curled up next to him on the blankets. Sam, already asleep, leaned into her touch like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a moment Dean felt a pang at seeing the evidence of his brother's happiness; then he shook it off. It was time to get some Tylenol and fluids into Sammy.

"I got this Jessica if you want to sleep too. I'm betting the floor wasn't too comfortable."

"Maybe," sighed Jessica. "Just for a little while."

Dean nodded once and turned to go get some water and medicine. When he returned, Jessica was asleep, her arm across Sam's chest. Sam's eyes were half open and he was muttering about salt.

"Dean, we need the salt, man! It's not safe here. The fire – the fire could come back, and I don't want to burn!"

The likelihood of Sam remembering the conversation was slim, but Dean crouched down to the bed. He gripped Sam's shoulder and said, "I will never let you burn, Sammy. Nothing bad is going to happen to you as long as I'm around."

"Okay, Dean."

Dean stood as Sammy settled back on the pillows, watching Dean from under heavy lids, as though he thought Dean might disappear if he closed his eyes completely. Dean looked down at his brother and ruffled his hair. "Go back to sleep Sammy. I've got your back. I'll let you know if you're needed." It seemed to be enough for Sam. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Jessica woke disoriented and slow. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and her limbs were heavy as iron. She rolled over to check on Sam and was startled to see Dean sleeping in a chair by the bed. He must have brought it in from the kitchen. He was slumped in it, his chin on his chest, arms dangling loosely at his sides. She glanced over at the clock. They had been asleep just over seven hours.

She tried not to let it creep her out that Dean's version of a bedside vigil had included watching her sleep. The nightstand held a mostly empty glass of water and a few saltine crackers. Sam was still sleeping, his head propped on several pillows and she was glad to hear his breathing sounded much easier.

Jessica looked back at Dean, the only proof she had that Sam hadn't just sprung into existence spontaneously. Now that Sam was better, she had so many questions to ask his brother- if he'd answer him.

They didn't look very alike. Jessica had noted they both had green eyes, but the shapes were completely different. Sam's eyes were slanted, while Dean's gaze was wide-open. Sam's hair was dark brown; Dean's was light brown with blonder ends. Sam was definitely taller but Dean was no slouch in the height department either.

Somehow, though she could tell they were brothers. Even if she hadn't been told she would have known. It was something in the way they carried themselves, how hard they could seem, and the distant shadows she could see in both their gazes. It had never made sense when it was just Sam, but now, having met Dean, she guessed it was a Winchester thing. They reminded her of her Uncle James; he was a marine and had seen action during the Gulf War.

She wondered how much older than Sam Dean was. He certainly seemed adept at taking care of Sam. More like a parent really than an older brother. And Sam… reacting that way, going on about salt and things in the dark! Jessica shuddered. It must have been one hell of a dream. Dean hadn't batted an eye though, he'd just given Sam more to drink and then tucked him in again.

When Sam had become restless, Dean had told him to stop… and he had.

"Stand down Sam," Dean had said, in a commanding voice. Sam had responded immediately, stopped his frantic movements, and had relaxed back down on the pillows. It was an odd and extremely interesting dynamic to observe. Maybe she was finally getting to see Sam without the secrecy that seemed to run in the family. She was getting to meet Sammy, someone she'd thought she'd never know.

Jessica shifted to get out of bed. Dean's tired eyes snapped open. She'd barely twitched a muscle.

"Hey," came his sleep roughened voice. "Get some rest?"

"Yes, I feel much better. Thanks for coming. Thanks for taking care of Sam," she said.

"It's my job."

His tone was serious and his eyes told her he meant it. The moment was broken as he rolled his stiff shoulders, stretching, hissing slightly as he raised his arms.

"The pay sucks, though." Dean smiled, and even exhausted and completely in love with Sam, Jessica took a minute to appreciate the wattage.

"How is he?" asked Jessica. She gestured in Sam's direction with her head. "Can you tell if Sam's any better?"

"Yeah, he's better," answered Dean. "I think the fever is breaking. He hasn't talked any funky stuff for a while now. He just needs rest and fluids, and I'm sure he'll be back to color-coding his library in no time."

"Thank God! I was really worried!"

Dean stood and walked over to the door. He paused and looked back over his shoulder. "You hungry, Jessie? I'm cooking."

Jessica realized she was starving and quickly climbed out of bed to follow Dean into the kitchen. Maybe she could ask some of those questions now, too.

A/N II: Thanks for reading! Reviews are love!