A/N: Okay, so I am tagging again. They won't be quiet. Sheesh. And I did tell Sam that Dean and a Snark have an important meeting and still, he insisted that this came first. I guess like the rest of us, he misses quiet moments with his brother, hurt or not. (Okay, it's me, you know Dean's hurt.) So, here it is, a little scene, it takes place sometime soon after they got to the cabin. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I am slowly catching up on replies. Hugs you all. Warning: Brotherly angst with a side of schmoop ahead. Title, and quoted lyrics are from Iron Maiden.

Remember Tomorrow

There is a soft wind blowing in the trees, it's cool against my face, the scent of nature fills my lungs. I think I love it here. It's not like Hell in any way, it's easier to silence the voices, easier to drive the things away. And He doesn't like it outside. I'm not sure why, but he never talks to me out here. He does in the cabin, and I have to go inside to check on Dean, I really don't want to go in, but I need to. My brother needs me.

He's not doing very good.

Bobby left early this morning—or late last night, depending on how you want to count the time. We're not sure, but we think there might be an infection in his leg. He has been getting slowly sicker, hiding it in that annoying way he has, until he was coming back from the bathroom and decided to pass out. Cunning, Dean, really. There are times I kind of want to smack him. I know it goes both ways, and when he's sick and hiding it, the urge gets stronger. And right now? I really want to smack him. Or something.

You see, I think he might be dying.

That's why Bobby left, off to find antibiotics to hopefully fight off the infection. Dean's fever started climbing about nine and went up and up until it hit the panic zone for both me and Bobby about two. He left about an hour later, saying he would find somewhere to get something to stop the infection. God, I hope it's an infection. What if it's not? What if it's something more in our line? What do I do? I'm not sure I'm even... Without even consciously thinking about it, my right hand brushes over my left. Anchoring me.

If Dean needs me, I'll figure it out. It's the way we work.

Opening the door, the first thing I notice is Dean is up. "What are you doing?" I snap, my voice harsher than I intended because of worry.

"Where were you?" Dean takes a step, stumbles on the cast and I leap forward to catch him. "Why did you leave?"

"I just went outside for a second," I stammer, guilt beating against my chest. I shouldn't have left him. He always gets bad when he has a fever.

"Outside?" Dean frowns. "Where are we?"

"The cabin?"

"My leg?"

"It's broken," I answer, helping him back to the couch, settling him down and pulling the blankets back over him. "Remember?" I'm not sure he does. That started about midnight, as his fever got into the scary high range, he would wake up and ask what was wrong. Dean always gets delirious with a fever, and this one was getting bad.

"Yeah, that's why it won't bend?" Dean says, but it really is more a question than an answer.


"I don't feel right."

"You have a fever."

"Oh." Dean sighs. "Has it gotten bad yet?"

"Not really. You haven't started watching Hannah Montana or singing ABBA."

"If I start singing ABBA you have to promise to shoot me."

"I will, I promise." Same promise, every time. It's my own fault. He had the flu a couple of years ago, and in the middle of a 102.3 fever—when I was desperately trying to get it down and debating throwing him in an ice bath—he'd all of a sudden starting singing "Dancing Queen". I was worried, panicked, but what kind of brother would I be if I hadn't taken the time to film that?

"That's something." Dean blinks at me. "You okay?"


"No, Sammy, I mean, how are you?" He meets my eyes, and he's there, lucid, despite the fever.

"He means are you having a chat with me," Lucifer says from the corner.

"I'm making it." I am. Barely. Actually, caring for Dean is giving me focus.

"Liar, liar pants on fire," Lucifer adds. I really want to answer him, tell him to just leave, but acknowledging him won't help reassure Dean that I'm okay. So I ignore him, settling for brushing the hair out of my face and flipping him off at the same time. "Mature," Lucifer laughs.

"Sammy?" Dean's focus is wavering. He's in pain. I don't need to ask, I don't need him to tell me, I don't even need that one to ten scale they use in the ER. If it's registering like that, he's up at a nine or a ten or higher. He processes pain differently, even now, years after his encounter with Delia.

"I'll get something, Dean." We have a collection of pre-loaded syringes of pain meds. Sam-without-a-soul might be one of the worst creatures to ever walk the earth, but he was very good at collecting things he thought would be useful. I have a vague memory of getting these, very vague, because it is tied up with a death that I don't think I want to think about too much.

I sit down on the edge of the couch and swab Dean's arm. The fact that he offers it to me—it means a lot. There is trust there, still. Maybe when my brother is all the way back in his right mind the distrust will be back, and I can't blame him, but right now, it's just us, like it always has been. I give him the dose, he sighs, the taut muscles relaxing as the pain begins to slide away. "Better?"

"Yeash," Dean slurs. "Sammy?"


Dean reaches out for me, I take his hand. My brother is tactile, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. What I express in words, Dean handles with touch. A nudge, a shove, occasionally a punch. Often this—his hand in mine. My first memory is Dean's hand holding mine. I have no idea how young I was, it's just one of those memories that are a flash. Warmth, safety, my brother's hand. Through the years, that contact has saved my life—more than once. Whether it is just anchoring me, or actively pulling me from danger.

"Am I dying, Sammy?" he asks, his voice full of fear.

"Not if I can help it."

"Yeah, like you can do anything." Lucifer is cheerful about the whole thing.

Dean's hand tightens. "Tired, Sammy."

God, Dean, I know. You were tired before everything. I don't say that of course. "I'm here, Dean, you can sleep."

"Missed you so much," he says, his eyes bright. "I thought you were gone when Cas..." His voice trail off. That is another wound on my brother's already too-wounded soul. I don't think I can ever forgive Castiel, not for what he did to me. Honestly, I needed to be put back together. The wall was going to come down sometime.

But he hurt Dean. I think Cas forgot that rule. Or maybe he never realized that I am deadly serious about it. You hurt my brother, that's it. I don't care what you do.

"Where does that put you, Sam?" Lucifer asks. "Seems to me, you've hurt him once or twice."

I have. I know it, but I will do everything I can to make up for it. Can I? Who knows. I'm a mess. I think Dean is not doing very good, even before this infection set in. Those bridges are down the road. Right now, my brother is sick. That's all that matters.

"I'm here, Dean," I say softly. Dean's eyes are brimming and he yanks me down against him in a tight hug. "I'm here."

I don't know if he's crying or not. He's very still for a long time. When he lets go I move so I can sit with my hand on his chest. The patented Dean Winchester Life Support Monitor. Dean covers my hand with his and gives it a gentle squeeze. He smiles at me and closes his eyes, a few minutes later he's asleep.

I watch over him, not moving, even though Lucifer has decided to sing Gilbert and Sullivan's greatest hits. I don't move when the walls melt, or when the claws tear at my skin. I don't even move when Bobby shows up with the antibiotics and gets the IV going.

I promised Dean I would be here, and here I will stay until I know he's okay. I've got his back, and I need him to know that right now.

Maybe I need to know it too.

Remember Tomorrow
Unchain the colours before my eyes,
Yesterday's sorrows, tomorrow's white lies.
Scan the horizon, the clouds take me higher,
I shall return from out of fire.

Tears for remembrance, and tears for joy,
Tears for somebody and this lonely boy.
Out in the madness, the all seeing eye,
Flickers above us, to light up the sky.

Unchain the colors before my eyes,
Yesterday's sorrows, tomorrow's white lies.
Scan the horizon, the clouds take me higher,
I shall return from out of fire.