A/N: Well... I got sick... And so therefore Sam must get what I have. Really, how mean can some people be? I was talking with an old friend I hadn't seen in years in a store at night, hardly anyone else there, the aisle was completely empty except for us, and this group of young adults come through with their attack dog (tried biting me when I went down another aisle) get all butt hurt that we're talking. We made room for them to pass, they could have gone around, but nope. They cursed us out and one of the guys coughed on me. Two days later I had the worst sickness I ever felt. My mom almost drove me to the emergency room multiple times but I was dead weight and she couldn't carry me. I had convulsions and gained a stutter for about two weeks.

Thankfully I'm better now, so I'm able to give Sam my pain XD This is written to the best of my memory and what my mom tells me, so hopefully it's okay. This was supposed to just be a filler story but it ended up gaining a little bit of plot to it... Whoops lol Hope you enjoy!

When consciousness first hit Sam in the early morning, he knew that it wasn't going to be a good day. His whole body ached in a way that only sickness could achieve, his joints burning and muscles twitching. He could feel the heat wafting from his skin as well...

He knew exactly who had gotten him sick too. Philip Tyler from History class, the school bully who had been out sick the week Sam had transferred in and who had taken it as a personal slander against his being, tormenting Sam at every opportunity he could. And while Philip's fever had been down enough for him to return to school, that didn't mean his fake cough over Sam's shoulder in class was any less contagious.

Example given: Sam's current state.

He slowly lifted himself to sit up in bed, bleary and burning eyes scanning the motel room. Dad sat at the table, eyes scanning over the newspapers regarding his current case. A case he wanted Sam's help on...

"Dad...?" He called weakly, and man, he didn't expect his voice to sound so bad already.

John looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed. "You alright, Sam?"

He saw the way his dad's eyes softened, knowing the answer already. But Sam still shook his head, a cough jerking his body and alerting him to his headache. He groaned, leaning forward and placing his head in his hands.

His dad was by his side, footsteps ever quiet, as his cool and rough hand brushed against his cheek. "You're warm... Looks like you earned yourself a day home from school." His hand went to Sam's shoulder, squeezing firmly before he left to the bathroom.

Sam didn't get sick often, he took pride in his immunity. But the few times that a bug had managed to latch onto him was the worst... Because he became clingy and needy and desperate for physical comfort, things he couldn't dare bring himself to ask. Sure, his dad had gotten better after their talk in the hospital after Sam's encounter with the Yellow-Eyed Demon and even more so after the lamia incident at his school all those months ago; he was more open, called in, and showed his care more often. But Sam couldn't imagine the man sitting in his bed and holding him... He was fifteen, he was too old for that anyway.

But that didn't make it any less hard to be alone.

John returned not long later, a paper cup in one hand and a pill bottle in the other. Sam eagerly reached for the water, gulping it down to try and quench the tickle in the back of his throat that threatened to turn into another cough.

"Save some for the medicine," John commented, holding his hand out for Sam to take the two pills. Sam reluctantly pulled the cup away from his mouth and took the offered pills, downing them quickly so he could go back to drinking.

After he had drank all the water, his dad took the cup from him and nodded back to his pillow. "Go back to sleep; the more you rest, the faster it'll go away."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. Sleep promised relief from his pounding head and burning eyes, he would welcome it with open arms. With all the grace of a newborn fawn, he fell back into his pillow, dragging his blanket up with him. It didn't take long for sleep to overcome him again, and he wasn't entirely sure if he dreamt his dad's hand brushing through his hair or not.

The next time that Sam woke up, it was to John's voice. His eyes cracked open and he instantly regretted it. He felt even worse than before...

"Yes, ma'am, I understand, thank you for reaching out." Ma'am? Why would his dad be using formalities with someone over the phone- oh... Oh, they were on a case. Damn.

He heard John sigh, and the gentle thunk of his phone on the table. Risking another peek around the room, Sam squinted to see his dad standing by the window with a hand in his hair. There had to have been a break in the case... Meaning that his dad would have to leave to check it out.

Sam hated the thought of being alone, but he would hate himself even more if he were the cause for someone dying when his dad could help...

"You can go if you have to," He murmured, John turning to look at him. "That was one of the witnesses, right? You can go, I'll be fine here. I'll just sleep the day away, so you don't have to worry."

A look Sam wasn't familiar with crossed his dad's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, John turning to face him fully and walking to the bed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir." Sam tried to smile, but it didn't feel like one. "It's just a little cold, I'll be fine by myself."

"Atta boy," His hand brushed against Sam's cheek again before nodding to himself. "I won't be more than a couple hours. I'll buy some soup for you while I'm out." Sam nodded, sinking deeper into his pillow as he watched his dad grab his bag of weapons and start to the door. "Call if you need anything."

And just like that, John Winchester was gone and Sam was by himself. It was no matter though, he was used to being on his own by now, being sick made no difference. He'd just sleep the time by.


If Sam had known how quickly he's health would have deteriorated, he'd have begged his dad to stay.

He hadn't been able to go back to sleep after John had left, instead just laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. His eyes started to cross and cause him to see double, so he tried looking somewhere else thinking he was just staring at the same spot for too long. Nope. His head swam and his eyes blurred and he still saw double no matter where in the room he looked.

Within the first hour of being alone, after he had closed his eyes tightly to stop the dizziness from making him nauseous, the muscle aches got worse. He had never felt that kind of pain before, his skin so sensitive to the point that just having his clothes and bed sheets touching him hurt. And the pain kept building until his muscles started spasming. He was sure every muscle in his body was spasming, jerking him so badly it would look like convulsions from an outsider's point of view. He just wanted it to stop... He just wanted to sleep.

He suffered in his bed for two more hours, the chills that had started to rake down his nervous system being his last straw. He forced himself out of his bed, his legs shaking and barely holding his weight. He stumbled to the bathroom through sheer power of will, leaning heavily against the door so it closed behind him. He prayed he wasn't about to make a mistake, but he was desperate for relief at this point and the medicine wasn't helping.

Slowly, his hand trembling, he turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it. He debated if he should even bother with taking his clothes off, but then decided that it would be much harder to get wet clothes off than dry.

When he stepped into the heated spray, his sigh of relief was instantaneous. His muscles relaxed and he had to hold his hand against the wall to keep from falling down when his legs almost gave out. This was definitely the best decision he could have made.

Ten minutes later, however, he regretted ever getting out of bed. His stomach was in knots and he was sure he was about to throw up, pair that with his rapidly decreasing strength and he wasn't exactly sure if he'd make it out of the shower.

But he was stubborn if nothing else, so he shut the water off and wrapped a towel around himself. He was involuntarily hunched over, his feet barely lifting enough to get over the edge of the tub.

He decided to push his luck just a little further, taking the extra moment to throw the other towel onto the floor in front of the toilet. While this motel was one of the better ones, Sam did not trust the cleanliness of the bathroom floor.

He dropped to his knees and leaned over the toilet the second before his stomach twisted sharply. He gasped, which triggered the ache in his throat to set off a cough, which soon escalated into dry heaving into the motel toilet.

He knew nothing would come up, he hadn't eaten anything that day, and the water from earlier already seemed to be gone. But it didn't stop his body from trying... To make everything even worse, the tremors were back again, his body shaking like he was having a seizure.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed on the bathroom floor, it could have been minutes, it could have been hours. He knew that he wasn't going to get off of it until Dad came back and helped him. And wouldn't that be embarrassing? He was fifteen years old and he wouldn't even be able to properly dress himself without help.

His stomach knotted up again just as a wave of dizziness hit, and Sam wasn't sure if he was going to lean forward in a futile attempt to rid his body of food, or lean back as he passed out.

It was in between the decision when he heard footsteps outside the bathroom door. Dad-



His head went forward, leaning against his arm on the toilet and tilting enough so that he saw as the bathroom door opened. Sure enough, there stood Dean, brows knitted in worry as he quickly came to kneel next to him.

"Hey, kiddo," The warm and rough and gentle hand Sam took comfort in was on his back, rubbing soothing circles against his heated skin. "You're braver than I thought, sitting on a motel bathroom floor."

"I had- I had to..." His voice came out a whisper, his head swimming. "What... What're you...?"

"Dad called me, asked if I could come look after you for a bit." His hand paused at Sam's shoulder blades, patting softly. "I knew you were sick but I didn't expect to find you on the floor. Let's get you back to bed before you get some weird disease."

Sam nodded, his arms bracing against the toilet but giving out as soon as the slightest weight was put on them. Dean wrapped an arm around his chest before his face could hit the toilet.

"Whoa, whoa, easy... Don't push yourself, okay?" Dean's words were muddled, far away and underwater. Or maybe Sam was the one underwater, his head still swam and spun from trying to get up, and his ears felt almost stuffy... like when you went underwater and an air bubble got trapped in them.

Dean's hands moved to help hold Sam up better, gripping just under his elbows and leading him to where Sam could only guess was his bed. He shook his head weakly though, tugging back.

"No... No, Dean, clothes, I need clothes."

His brother seemed to appraise him, probably judging if Sam had enough strength to get dressed on his own. But then he found himself seated on the toilet lid with Dean's hands on his shoulders.

"Do you think you can put your own underwear on?"

No, he didn't think he could. But he damn well would; he wasn't about to make Dean dress him. So he nodded and watched through blurry eyes as Dean went back into the room to search for clothes.

While he waited, Sam leaned over himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach in an attempt to stop the nausea. With Dean's warm hands no longer there, the cold closed in on him like a spirit. If he had enough energy to open his eyes, he wondered if his breath would frost. He wouldn't be surprised if it did. Had it always been this cold? Why did he think taking a shower in this cold was a good idea? He felt like he was about to freeze to death...!

Something soft and warm covered his head, being tugged gently over his shoulders and down his body. He opened his eyes and saw... darkness from whatever was covering his head. He uncurled and brought his hands up, grabbing the fabric and tugging, his head going through a hole so he could see Dean kneeling in front of him once more, pulling a shirt over him.

Gentle green eyes looked at him, giving a small smile. "You looked cold, but I couldn't find any long sleeves in your bag. Figured you could wear mine while I'm here."

Sam looked down at the shirt, now obviously soft from being so worn. It was a Led Zeppelin shirt, something from a concert if the design was anything to go by. Knowing how much Dean loved the band and the few concerts he managed to go to, Dean must cherish this shirt... and to let Sam use it while he was sick, probably going to sweat through it and ruin it... He wanted to tell him no, to take the shirt off, but he also was too tired to lift his arms over his head. So he remained silent as Dean maneuvered him into the sleeves.

Once his top half was covered, Dean handed him his underwear. "You want me out the bathroom or just to turn my back?"

"Out," His voice croaked. He barely caught Dean wincing at the sound of it, but he focused more on not passing out as he took the clothing and waited until the door was shut behind his brother.

Out of all the sicknesses that Sam had experienced, he had never felt this bad before. The soreness in his throat was sharp and ragged, every swallow irritating it and making him feel like he needed to cough. But one small cough turned into a larger fit that would steal his breath and leave him in a near panic to breathe again, which did nothing to help with the headache that was bordering on a migraine. That wasn't even mentioning the thousands of little needles pricking at his skin, or the trembling of his muscles.

With great difficulty and only two near-falls, Sam managed to finish getting dressed and opened the bathroom door. Dean was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, head low, and right foot against the wall. He lifted his head when the door opened, concern barely hidden in his eyes.

"You okay?"

Sam looked down at himself, his shaking legs and white-knuckle grip on the doorframe. "No... I- I can't... Dean, I don't think I can..."

Dean was in front of him in a moment, hand under Sam's arm to help keep him up. "Alright, just take it easy. I got you. Let's get you back to bed, slowly."

He took a step, but the moment he let go of the frame his legs went out and it was only because of Dean's hands on him that kept him from faceplanting on the stained carpet.

"Whoa...! Whoa, okay, okay, I gotcha, it's okay." Dean muttered, more to himself than to Sam. Which was fine because Sam really couldn't comprehend too much more than how miserable he felt.

And then his world was spinning and he was on his back, Dean's arms under him as he was carried to his bed. Dean somehow managed to pull the covers back and hold Sam with one arm, then gently set him down and pulled the covers over him. With his body relaxing Sam was almost positive that he was in heaven.

He drifted to sleep with Dean's hand on his forehead.


Dean had gone out for maybe five minutes, getting his bag and phone from out his car. He promised his dad that he'd call when he got there to let him know how Sam was, but after witnessing how bad it was, how weak his little brother was, Dean had stayed by his sleeping side for thirty minutes before deciding Sam was deep enough in sleep for him to be gone to get his things.

His bag was on the ground outside their door and his dad's number half dialed when he heard the first whimper.

He snatched his bag from the ground, phone shut and in his pocket as he walked back inside. He paused in the doorway though, staring at Sam's shaking form under the covers.

"Sam?" He asked, taking a step inside and setting his bag on the desk chair, kicking the door closed behind him. Sam's body jerked again, the whimper almost loud enough to be a cry. Dean was by his bed in an instant, hand going to rest on his shoulder, "What's wrong-"

It was a cry of pain when Dean touched him, Sam's body jack-knifing on the bed in an attempt to get away from the pain. His hands jerked back as fast as they could, his eyes widening as he struggled to keep his calm and not freak out with Sam. "Okay, okay, okay, alright, okay, no touching, got it." His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure what to do with them now that physical comfort was off of the table.

Another whimper of pain, another shuddering jerk of his body, and Dean felt helpless.

As far as he could tell, the shuddering seemed to be Sam's muscles spasming rapidly; and if he wasn't mistaken, it was getting worse. When Dad had called him to say that Sam was sick and needed to be watched, Dean had been under the impression it was just a fever. He could handle a fever, he impersonated enough medical staff for cases to know basic fever care. But this... it was more than just a fever. He's never seen muscle spasms this badly before, and the pain of being touched... Did this require a hospital visit? Should he call his dad to let him know how bad it was? Hell, even his mom or Ellen would know better than him in this situation.

Sam's eyes open blurrily, trying to focus on Dean. A pained moan that sounded similar to his name left his lips and it was only then that Dean noticed the tears filling his eyes. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight. Sam's hand unclenched from the sheets and opened, palm up, towards Dean.

"I'm here, little brother," He said as he took Sam's hand firmly in his. "I'm here, I'm not leaving you."

Sam's grip on his hand was weak, but he calmed somewhat at the contact. Though the muscle spasms were still going strong.

"Hey, do I need to take you to the ER? This looks bad, Sammy..."

A slight shake of the head was his answer, blurry eyes slipping closed from the pain it must have caused him. Dean swallowed thickly but reluctantly relented and held on to Sam's hand, his other hand coming up to brush through his messy hair. Sam flinched at the first touch, but he soon relaxed and moved closer. After some shifting, Sam's head was resting on his thigh with his other hand fisted in the fabric of Dean's pants.

The silence of the room was only broken by Sam's pained whimpers and the rustling of the sheets with each jerk of Sam's body. It took a moment longer than he was proud of, but Dean noticed that his pants were getting wet from Sam's silent tears. And wasn't that something? Seeing Sam cry, seeing him suffer... Dean had never felt his heart ache so badly before; it was almost as bad as that yellow-eyed demon or the lamia having Sam in their grasp. And while those had been physical enemies that Dean could have fought, he had been helpless to save Sam as he was now. Why was it that every time Sam was hurting, he could do nothing about it? Why couldn't he help his brother? Why couldn't he save him from pains he should know nothing about?

Sam's hand flexed then clenched on his pants, his nails scrapping Dean through the fabric as another shudder wracked his body. Dean closed his eyes as his hand tightened around Sam's, his other hand massaging his little brother's scalp.

"Just try to relax, Sammy." Dean whispered, "Try to sleep. I'm here, I'm not leaving you."


Dean woke up to his phone ringing in his pocket and Sam's hair in his face. It took his mind a moment to catch up to his surroundings before he was able to register that he was supposed to answer the phone before it woke Sam. It had taken him so long to go to sleep last night, finally calming down enough when Dean laid next to him and started humming in a desperate attempt at peace. After all that, no way was Dean letting a phone call wake him up.

Slowly, carefully, Dean got out of bed, and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him before taking out his phone. He inwardly groaned as he saw his dad's name on the screen; he didn't have time to call him last night.

"Hey," he answered, his voice hushed. "I'm sorry I didn't call you last night, it got pretty bad and I didn't have the time."

"Is everything okay?" John's voice, normally so stoic, held a barely concealed note of concern.

"Honestly? I don't know." Dean ran a hand through his hair, "He was throwing up in the bathroom when I got here, and he didn't have the strength to get back to bed after. I got him to sleep for a little bit and I swear I was going to call you then, but he woke back up and he was in so much pain he was crying. Everything hurt him, and his body kept twitching. I should have given him pain pills or something but... I was scared he'd choke on them."

"How high is his temperature?"

"Not too bad, really. I kinda thought it would be higher."

"Okay, if it gets as bad as it did last night, take him to the hospital." John's voice was calm, and it helped ease some of Dean's nerves. His dad knew what to do, Dean didn't have to figure it all out himself. "I'm hunting a werewolf and I've chased it out of state, but I'll be back by tomorrow night. Think you can take care of him until then?"

He couldn't, he was not qualified for this. This was something serious probably and he had no idea how to help Sam... "Yeah, yeah, definitely. You do what you have to do, Dad. I'll keep Sammy safe."

"Good. Let me know if anything changes."

The line went dead shortly after, Dean taking a deep breath and nodding to himself in encouragement before walking out the bathroom. He paused in his steps though, eyes widening as he saw Sam awake and staring at him.

"Hey, Sammy," He smiled gently, voice soft as he went to sit on the edge of the bed. "Did I wake you?"

"Dad find the werewolf?"

Dean tried to hide his wince at how hoarse and weak Sam sounded, not to mention the obvious notion that their dad would not be returning to him anytime soon. "Yeah, he tracked it out of state. He'll be back by tomorrow night he said. Think you can stay alive until then?"

It was meant as a joke, but the way that Sam's eyes drifted away from him to stare at the ceiling told Dean that the humor was lost.


"Why does it have to be me?"

Dean frowned in confusion, head tilting in curiosity. "What?"

"Why am I supposed to be the one the Demon's favorite? Why am I supposed to be some... some boy-king that sits on a throne? Am I the Devil?"


"I want to be normal." The words were whispered, but they held so much weight that it forced the air in Dean's lungs to leave. "I just want to be normal, have a normal family, go to the same school for longer than a month. I want to go to college. Maybe get married, go visit Mom and Dad on the holidays with you. I want a dog." Tears were starting to slip out the corner of Sam's eyes and Dean didn't even think when he wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Sam's hands fisted into the back of his shirt.

He didn't know how to respond, because he knew that as long as the Demon was out there then Sam would never be safe. He had seen how the Demon stared at his little brother at the Roadhouse, that sick longing in his pale yellow eyes. He would stop at nothing to get to Sam, to fulfil whatever plans he has for Sam.

"It's even worse now that I know what it's like..." He sniffled, the front of Dean's shirt staining wet. "She showed me what I could have, and then it was taken away. He took it away from me again. Like it's his job to keep me away from a normal life."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Demon. He broke me from the lamia's illusion. She was Mom, waiting for me to come home. She just made cookies, and she hugged me and wouldn't let me go. And then the Demon destroyed it all again."

If Dean didn't know how to respond before, he definitely didn't now. His brain couldn't come up with how to even begin his next sentence. Should he comfort Sam or ask for answers? How would he comfort him for not having a normal life? Even compared to him, Sam's life was far from normal. At least Dean got to stay in school and had a stable home for when he and his mom weren't hunting. He also didn't have a weirdly obsessed demon following him around.

"Sam," He patted his brother's back in an attempt to get his attention, "What do you mean the Demon broke you out of the lamia's illusion? He was there?"

"He's always watching me." A shudder wracked through Sam's body, Dean couldn't tell if it was from a chill or the idea of the Demon watching him. Probably both. "I'm his favorite so he wants to keep me alive. He called my name and I woke up. Like he owns me..."

"Hey, he does not own you!" Dean couldn't bring himself to care about Sam's flinch, his heart was beating too loudly in his ears to think of anything other than the fact that the Demon had been at the school, the Demon had saved Sam. And Sam never told him. Did he tell Dad? But surely Dad would have informed everyone else... Sam kept this to himself.

Dean thought back to that day in the hospital when Sam's visions were revealed, how he called himself a monster and freak. He thought he had chastised Sam about it, but... he was an idiot to think a few words would be enough to change his little brother's stubborn mind. He supposed he ought to at least be grateful that Sam wasn't afraid of his family hunting him down...

"Sammy," He nudged his shoulder to get Sam's attention, "Listen to me, okay? I swear I won't let him get you, I don't care what he thinks. You're his favorite? Well you're my favorite too. I'll stop at nothing to make sure he never gets his hands on you. I'll cover you in every ward I can find, I'll make you shower in holy water, I'll do everything, okay? And if he's listening in now, then let him know that he isn't getting past me. I swear to you, Sammy, you hear me?"

Sam pulled back to stare at him, eyes wide and face flushed from the fever, but he nodded. He understood Dean and that's all that mattered at the moment.

"Good. Now try to go back to sleep, I'll make some soup for you when you wake up, okay?" Dean stood up, patting Sam's shoulder before stepping away from the bed. He needed a moment to allow his thoughts to process everything...

"De'n," Sam's voice called, halting Dean by the small kitchen area. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, Sam's eyes half-lidded and struggling to stay awake but with a small smile on his face. "Thank you... I'm really glad that we met and got to be close again."

All the thoughts that had been swarming his mind from Sam's confession paused, a warmth spread through his chest. Of course of all the people in his life, Sam would be the one able to turn his world upside down and then right all the chaos with a few simple words. It was nearly scary the power that Sam had over him after such a short time of actually knowing and talking with one another.

Dean smiled back at him, his shoulders sagging as he turned to face Sam fully. "I'm glad we're close again as well, Sammy."

With those words, Sam allowed his eyes to close all the way and drifted off to sleep. Surprisingly, the chaotic thoughts didn't immediately resume either. Dean felt a small amount of peace as he watched his little brother sleep, knowing that whatever happens in the future, in this moment Sam was safe. And really, that's all that mattered in the end. Dean would do anything to make sure that Sam was safe.


In a corner of the room, unbeknownst to the brothers, a pair of yellow eyes watched them with a twisted grin. Watching the Winchesters was always entertaining; the way they thought they were alone, how they struggled with knowledge, even their little human declarations of protection.

He hadn't expected John to call his oldest son in, Singer maybe, but not Dean. But oh how interesting he made things. Perhaps he should start peeking in on Dean and Mary now as well, seeing as how determined Dean was to protect his baby brother. It would all be futile in the end... but they'd make interesting bargaining chips in the future.

Those yellow eyes shifted to watch Sam's sleeping face, crossing the room in two strides to stand over his bed. He looked so sweet as he slept, cheeks flushed with the fever; so innocent, so pure... so unknowing of the taint in his veins or the weight of his destiny.

Azazel ran a knuckle down his cheek, "Soon, my boy, soon. Your time is coming."

Sam's eyebrows scrunched together, a soft groan leaving him as he began tossing in the bed. Dean was at his other side in a second, placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering soothing words to him.

"Sammy, hey, Sammy, it's alright. It's just a nightmare, man, you're okay."

If only he knew.

Azazel watched them for a moment more before leaving. He had work to do, plans to modify, people to kill. But soon, Sam would be his.

A/N: I have some very exciting news! For myself, anyway. My birthday is on the 30th this month (January) and I have been saving up for months... And I finally got enough money to go to my first SPN convention! SPNDallas, here I come! I didn't have enough to get the photo op with Jared and Jensen like I wanted, but I am getting one with Richard Speight, the actor for Gabriel! My family thinks it's a waste of money, but it's my birthday and I'm going to enjoy my last days of freedom! If anyone is going to go, please let me know! I'd love to meet new people and bond over a common interest!