Summary:  Dean always thought of himself as ‘slightly stupid’ just smart enough to get the job done, just dumb enough to have to work at it.
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Dean shuffled into Tom’s kitchen, smell of coffee drawing him from his nap in the chair. He glanced at his brother, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders as he walked past.

“Have a good nap?” Tom smiled up from the newspaper he was reading, to Dean. “Cups are above the pot, left hand cabinet.”

Dean nodded his head, reaching into the cabinet, retrieving a cup, and pouring himself a steaming cup. He pulled out the chair, next to Tom, sat down, eyes taking in the small kitchen. It was a mix-match of colors, dirty dishes in the sink; definitely not a ‘woman’s touch’ in this room.

“So, Sam okay?” Tom glanced up from the paper to Dean.

“Yea, he’s still sleeping. I think the meds are wearing him out. I need to wake him and do a breathing treatment.”

Tom laid the paper on the table, finger pointing to the headline. “Man’s Remains Found off Highway 180”.

“Shit” Dean murmured. He pulled the paper to him, eyes scanning the article.

“Yea, I was hoping the creature was lost in the woods. I guess it got hungry.” Tom spoke, anger hissing in his tone.

“We are going to have to hunt this thing. I wanted to wait, but, now, I think I don’t have a choice.” Dean dropped the cup to the table, weary lines rising up around his eyes, left hand fingers scrunching at his eyebrow. “I can’t leave Sam alone, I know he thinks he’s not sick, but we both know he is.”

“We can go in the morning, obviously, the damn thing ain’t going anywhere. We’ll have to sit a trap.” Tom stood, grabbing the coffee pot and refilling his cup; reaching over to top off Dean’s cup. “I can ask…ask Debra to come over and stay with him.” Tom’s lips curled up in a grin, eyes gleaming at Dean.

“Oh man, that would really piss Sammy off.” Dean mused.

“I don’t really know anyone else that I would trust to take care of him.” Tom offered, body falling back to the chair.

“Well, I certainly don’t know anyone else.” Dean leaned his chin on his hand, elbow propped up on the table. “But, I better tell Sam. He won’t be happy. I don’t want Sammy on this hunt, I do know that”.

Tom looked at Dean, grin turning into a full blown chuckle, the thought of Debra Bruno taking ‘care’ of Sam making both men break out into laughter.

Sam heard the sound of laughter billowing around his ears. He’d recognize his brother’s cackles anywhere. He blinked his eyes open, taking in the strange living room. Deer heads hanging on every wall, gun cabinet in the corner, TV sitting on a milk carton. Where was he?Slowly his mind comprehended, remembering the hospital, and vaguely recalling their arrival at Tom Baldwin’s. He pushed the tattered blanket away from his body; pulling himself to a sitting position, pain slowly nagging at his stomach and chest. He heard the ongoing conversation in the other room, the laughter. What was so dang funny?

He pulled his body up to a standing position, legs feeling weak, unsteady. He heaved in a pull of oxygen, to still his spinning vision, and began walking slowly toward the sound of the voices; hand propping up on the wall with each step. He stood at the threshold of the room, just out of view, ears straining to hear the conversation, body slumping to the wall.

“I don’t want Sammy on this hunt, I do know that”. Dean’s voice rose up, then the laughter took a hold, both men laughing heartily as they drank their coffee between heaves of amusement.

What? Sam could not believe his own ears. Did Dean just say he did not want him on a hunt? Sam’s heart plummeted. He knew he did not like this Tom guy. Now his brother did not want him along, he had Tom. He and Tom could hunt, leaving Sam behind. The tears burned just behind his lids, as he stumbled back down the hall, returning to the couch, breathe coming out in little pants, as the pain clutched at his chest. Was it the surgery, or the feeling of utter betrayal by his brother, that made him feel so bad?

Dean pushed his chair away from the table, empty cup slamming to the Formica top.

“Call Debra, see if she will come here tomorrow morning. I’m checking on Sam.”

Dean stood, taking steady thumping steps to the living room. Damn cast is driving me nuts. He found Sam sitting in a slouched position on the couch.

“Hey Sam.”

Sam did not raise his head as his brother came into the room, staring intently at a dirty spot on the carpet. He quickly blinked his eyes, holding back the warm tears just behind his lids. Damn it, you big baby, get it together, Sam.

Dean rolled questioning eyes to his brother.

“Sam?”

Dean sat down on the couch next to his brother, placing his hand on Sam’s back, fingers moving in a small circle. “You okay?”

“Yea...yea.” Sam mumbled, sitting up quickly, pulling away from Deans fingers.

“It’s time for your medication, breathing treatment.”

Dean stood, reaching over to grab the pharmacy bag, the breathing machine and prescriptions inside. He pulled the apparatus from the bag and placed on the couch, next to Sam; he twisted off the top of the pill bottle, dropping two pills in his hand.

“Here Sam”, he nudged his brother, who reached out and grabbed the pills from his hand.

Dean recognized the shine in Sammy’s eyes, tears just hidden beneath the surface.

Sammy’s crying? He must really need his pain medication. Dean grabbed the bottle of water from the table, passing it to his brother. Sam seized the bottle from his brother’s hand, slamming the pills into his mouth, gulping down the water, then frowning at Dean.

“Dean, I don’t need you watching over me. I am quite capable of doing my own breathing treatment.” Sam declared, in a hateful voice, catching Dean by surprise.

“Well, okay then.” Dean huffed, turning his back to Sam; he limped back toward the kitchen. What the heck was going on with Sam, holy crap, he was only trying to help him. Sam on meds really sucked.

Sam watched as his brother gimped out of the room, tongue running around the corners of his mouth, pushing the pills to his hand. He looked at the pills, and then around the room. He smiled to himself, tucking the pills underneath the couch cushion. He would be damn if Dean would leave him behind, hunt without him. He certainly DID NOT need any stupid pain medication. He felt FINE.

Thirty minutes later, Dean shuffled back into the living room, eyes scanning over at his little brother. Sam was still sitting where Dean left him, eyes downcast, rubbing his unconscious fingers back and forth over his chest. The motion making Dean uncomfortable, the moment he saw it.

“Sam, I brought you some soup. Ummmm…You okay?” Dean sat the bowl down in front of Sam, on the coffee table, critical eyes taking in his little brother. Sam whispered out a low, almost inaudible reply.

“Yea”, was all Dean could get out of his little brother, his hand never ceasing the rubbing. Dean sat down next to Sam on the couch, reaching his own fingers to grasp at Sam’s hand firmly.

“I said I was fine”. Sam slammed out, wrenching his hand away from Dean. “And I am not hungry.”

What the hell? Dean leaned back on the couch, mind wondering back to what the doctor had said earlier, “The pain pills will make him a foggy, out of sorts, but, it is a necessary side affect.” That must be Sam’s problem; the medication was making him ‘out of sorts’. Well, an ‘out of sorts’ Sammy was better than a sick Sammy.

“Sam, Tom and I are going back out to his property in the morning. Okay?” Probably not a good idea to tell Sam that Debra Bruno was coming over early, or about their plans to hunt the second Chupacabra. He’d tell him in the morning, when he was not so upset.”

“Whatever”, Sam snarked out, his eyes never looking at his brother, fingers fiddling in his lap.

Tom Baldwin stood in the entry way, eyes watching Sam and Dean.

“Dean, I’ll be back later, I got to go get a goat”. Boy these two were like oil and water, he thought, slamming the front door shut.

“A goat, what the hell is he talking about?” Sam brought his curious eyes up to his brother, squinting in a questioning look.

“Nothing, Sam, nothing”.

“Whatever”. Sam stood on shaky legs, pushing past his brother; moving to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dean sighed, rising and returning to the kitchen. He would just leave Sam alone, let him rest.

It was late when Sam heard Dean open the bedroom door, walking over and looking down at him in the darkness, fingers fumbling with the lamp, his hand coming to rest on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam, wake up and take your medication and breathing treatment”.

“Leave me alone”, Sam stated, eyes remaining snuggly closed.

“Sam, please.” Words failed Dean for a moment. He wanted to help his little brother, but he was making it extremely difficult.

Sam heard the anxious tone in his brother’s voice, his mind trying to stay in control of his pain. Maybe he should have taken the pills earlier?

“No treatment, just the pills”. Sam sluggishly voiced, hand reaching for the medication, one eye squinting open.

Dean dropped two pills in Sam’s hand, helping him to sit up and swallow them with the water. He then pushed him gently back to the pillow, and without any thought, tucked him in. Is he tucking me in? Dean stepped to the other bed, slamming his tired body down on the mattress. Sam waited, listening, as Dean’s breathe evened out, body winding down into a heavy sleep. Sam then lifted his head, spitting the pills out into the darkness, hearing them ping against the carpet.

Sam had a restless night, the pain of his stitched stomach and chest causing him to be uncomfortable. The soreness was just beneath the surface, a continual ebb and flow that he could not get past, as he tossed and turned slowly beneath his blankets. His mind wearily replayed the words he heard his brother say to Tom Baldwin, “I don’t want Sammy on this hunt, I do know that”. He did not understand why his brother would not want him on a hunt. Ever since this ‘Tom Baldwin guy’ came into the picture; Dean had been all consumed with him, talking about him incessantly while Sam recuperated in the hospital. Now, his brother and Tom were going back out to Highway 180 without him, but for what? Dean had poked the Chupacabra in the head with his gun barrel and he had shot it in the head; that much Sam did remember.

Sam peered into the darkness; the room was silent except for the constant breathing of his brother. His mind went over the conversation with Dean from earlier, he was hateful to his big brother, he knew that, but his mind was still fuzzy from the pain medication. He was thinking more clearly now, although, now he was in pain. Guess you can’t have everything. He figured Dean was probably just looking out for him, not wanting him to get hurt; but it still hurt his feelings. Why was his brother talking to Tom and not to him? He finally let his tired body slump mindlessly into oblivion, the pain washing over him in a new wave; as he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Tom Baldwin nudged Dean with his hand, noticing the oldest Winchester had slept in the cloths he had on yesterday; he smiled.

“Dean”, he whispered in the dark room, the light from the hallway cascading across the beds. What? Was it already 4:45? Gees, he just went to sleep.

Dean blinked weary lids at Tom, than rose from the mattress quietly, eyes glancing over at his sleeping brother. Sam’s eyebrows were scrunched up in a slight grimace, but otherwise he looked peaceful. Dean stepped over to his bed, pulling the scattered blankets back up around his still form, standing silently, watching Sam’s chest rise and fall as he slept.

Dean smiled to himself, turning; he grabbed his shoes and tiptoed from the room. It was better if Sam did not come with them, he needed to rest, get better. They would probably be back before Sam even woke up to find Debra Bruno was his new roommate. The smile widened as he shuffled down the hall, the sound of voices, and the smell of fresh coffee waking up his senses.

“Morning”, Debra Bruno said brightly, as Dean entered the kitchen. Dean gave her a nod of his head. Way too early for her shit this morning. Tom motioned toward the backdoor, as Dean scurried to the coffee pot, grabbing himself a cup to go.

“If Sam wakes up, give him two of these”. Dean’s hand shoved the prescription bottle at Debra, who tilted her head, eyes twinkling at him.

“Sure doll”. She said, grasping the bottle from Dean’s hand, fingers lingering longer than necessary.

Tom grinned at Dean, as they exited the kitchen, headed for Tom’s truck, the highway, and the hunt for the second Chupacabra.

Sam awoke suddenly, pain radiating across his chest; he pushed off the bed with his wobbly arms, hitching in a breath. His mind was racing, remembering the conversation earlier with Dean. What was that Tom Baldwin had said, “I got to go get a goat?” Suddenly, it was very clear to Sam why Tom Baldwin was going after a goat. Chupacabra’s liked goats, cows, and deer, whatever animals they could attack quickly, sucking the blood from their bones, and then eating them. There’s a second Chupacabra! Sam glanced around the room, Dean’s bed was empty. His eyes found the clock on the wall; 7:30 a.m. Fear for Dean flooded over him in one fleeting motion. Dean had gone back out to hunt another Chupacabra; without him.

Sam’s bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor with a thud, as he reached for his clothes; body lightly shaking, he moved around the room. Why was he shaking, it wasn’t that cold. Sitting on the mattress, he leaned down to put on his sneakers, a wave of vertigo assaulting his vision. He blinked his eyes, clearing the weaving darkness from the edges; he stood and made his way out the door. Walking down the hallway, he heard the T.V. blaring in the living room. He glanced through the door, noticing Debra Bruno, squished in a too small chair, ample breasts tumbling over her body, snore hovering as she slept. What the shit was she doing here? He was going to kill his brother! He grimaced, tiptoeing silently to the kitchen, snatching his jacket off the back of the chair; his fingers reaching in his pocket, thumbing the keys to the Impala. He closed the door silently, and stepped quickly to the car.

The truck pulled into the grass, just beside Highway Marker 132, Dean and Tom exiting abruptly. Dean zipped up his jacket, hand slipping his handgun in the back of his jeans, grabbing up his shotgun. He wished Sam was here, to watch his back; Tom was a good guy, but Tom was not Sam. He followed Tom Baldwin, eyes glancing up at the goat Tom held over his shoulder. Poor little guy, he never knew what hit him. The wind whipped around his face, his hand tugged his collar up closer as they made their way toward the tree stand.

The sun had peeked up over the tree tops about two hours back, the dead goat hanging from the tree, swaying not ten feet in front of the tree stand. Tom had been nervous about making this little trek with Dean, but he also knew that they needed to kill this creature. Chupa ‘whatever’ Dean called it. He shifted on the cold metal of the tree stand, hand gripping his gun, eyes leering into the tree line.

“So, how did you boys come to hunt this type of shi…creatures?” Tom’s eyes never moved from the trees.

“Our Dad, he was a hunter, he hunted the bad, the ugly”. Dean’s lips smirked up in a grin, but his eyes never left his line of vision. “He raised us this way.”

“Why?” Tom could not help the curiosity in this word, he did not understand what these guys did, but he really wanted too.

“Our Mom, she was killed by, well let’s just say, it was not a normal death.” Dean sighed, eyes momentarily coming to rest on Tom.

“I’m sorry…So, you’re Dad, he was no normal hunter? He hunted this type of stuff; all the time?” Tom queried.

Dean’s eyes looked back out across the field, watching the goat, wavering in the breeze.

“Yep, and he taught us.” Dean narrowed his eyes, something moved in the distance. “Shhhhh, see that?”

Tom squinted; face straining to see what Dean was talking about. There in the hazy morning light, he saw the creature, sniffing its giant snout up into the air, head tilting up at an odd angle.

“Damn, it’s bigger than the other one.” Tom exhaled in one large breath.

Dean’s finger paused ever so lightly on the trigger. He would not miss this time.

“Dean!” Tom’s voice came out in a little shudder, as he saw something else moving in the bushes, not five feet the other side of the Chupacabra. “What’s that over there?”

Dean’s eyes scrunched up, he glared intently into the treeline, the bushes, the brush; sudden awareness washing over him, fear so great it threatened to stifle his breath. “Sam” he whispered.

Dean swallowed hard, trying to ignore the large lump that was forming in his throat. What the hell was Sam doing here? Hadn’t he left him sleeping snuggly in the bed? How did he get all the way out here, seven feet from the Chupacabra? His mind whirled as he tried desperately to get his thoughts in order. He had to do something, and he had to do it now!

Dean passed a fleeting look at Tom, as his feet moved hastily to the opening of the deer stand; his legs leaping for the ladder that led to the ground.

“GO”, Tom stated. “You get Sam. I’ll get the creature”. Tom’s voice was firm, no hesitation in his tone.

Dean’s legs barely touched the ladder rungs as he landed with a thump on the hard ground. Tom shuffled down right behind him, almost tripping over each other in their motions. Both men’s eyes looked up, the Chupacabra turning on its hunches, seeming to glare at Sam. Dean watched as Sam’s eyes grew wide, the realization of danger dawning on him. Shit! Dean sprinted toward his brother, oblivious to anything else, his line of vision never wavering; his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as the Chupacabra took five large steps, impending paw raring back for the kill.

Dean watched as Sam swayed on his feet, attempting to pull up his shotgun, but his weak arms not allowing it. He moved faster than he thought his cast would go, leaping at Sam, hands knocking into him full force, pushing him heavily to the ground. He felt the large paw of the Chupacabra bear down against his back, impact sending him flying over his brother, face first to the ground with a thud, his ears ringing as the darkness overtook him.

Sam had been wondering in the wooded area around mile marker 132 for about thirty minutes. His mind felt a little fuzzy, his breathing was labored, and he was struggling to stay focused. He was thinking, he should have seen the tree stand by now; found Dean and Tom. Had he taken the right path? Maybe he veered left when he should have gone right. He continued to shuffle through the bushes, feeling the breeze blowing through his hair, air feeling cool against his warm skin. He struggled to stand up straight as a wave of pain radiated across his chest; he stopped, leaning his left hand up against a tree, shotgun sliding to the ground, he pulled his right hand up, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He pulled in large gulp of air, pushing off the tree; his hand grabbing the gun, his wobbly legs unsteady with the motion. He concentrated on his feet, moving forward with great effort; continuing on his quest to find his brother. His blurry eyes blinked, and then peered through the trees. Glancing forward, he squinted, focusing ahead, he saw it; the tree stand. Gees, it’s about time. I got turned around somehow. At that momenthe saw a fluttering with his right eye, a slight movement; just outside his line of vision. His heart skipped a beat, as his nostrils took in a horrible stench. What the hell was that smell? He pulled his shotgun up with his shaky fingers; he could see his brother and Tom off in the distance, exiting from the tree stand in haste, running directly toward him.

“SAMMY” Dean shrieked.

“Over here, you son of a bitch” Tom yelled.

It was as if it Sam saw it all in slow motion, Dean’s voice screaming his name; Tom yelling. Funny, the Chupacabra noticed him about the same time he noticed it. His breathe caught in his chest; too close, no time to react. Get the gun up, shoot it. The animal made large steps toward him, it was all a blur. Dean?

Dean was in front of him, pushing him; knocking him off his feet. He felt himself falling, backward, legs flying out from under him, body thudding on the cold hard ground; the air being knocked from his lungs in one big swoosh. Dean?

Sam lay still, trying to seize his breath, calm his shaking body. The pain radiating over his chest and lungs was unbearable, but not as unbearable, as the fear that gripped him, assaulted him. Where was Dean?

Tom Baldwin yelled as loud as he could. “Over here, you son of a bitch”, then he watched as Dean jumped right in the line of the Chupcabras wraith; knocking his little brother to the ground. Tom saw Dean’s body make impact with the creatures paw, and then he went airborne, gun flying from his fingers, landing with a hard thud on the ground. Tom pulled his gun to his shoulder; eyes peering through the sight, aim steady, grip never faltering, and his finger pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced the Chupacabra, just above its right eye; it swayed, falling boneless to the ground.

Tom reacted quickly; protect your comrades, kill or be killed; take care of the enemy first, then take care of your buddies. The mantra in his head, the words he lived by in Iraq, coming back full force. He knew he needed to make sure their pry was dead; before he could take care of the wounded. He moved with stealthy steps to the creature, eyes bearing down on it; he pointed his shotgun, without hesitation, pulled the trigger; the shot ringing out through the countryside.

Sam rolled to his side, pain piercing across his back, through his chest; his eyes darting around, blearily looking for Dean, but falling on Tom Baldwin. He stood stock still, eyes piercing down at the Chupacabra, breath coming out in little clouds of air. Sam pushed himself up on his wobbly arms, pupils fixed on Tom; watching as he pointed his gun at the animal, and without a flinch; he pulled the trigger. The gun shot echoing through the trees. Then, in one quick step, he was at Sam’s side, hands releasing the gun; sternly grabbing Sam by his shoulders, helping him to sit up straighter.

“Easy, Sam…Take it easy. Just breathe, in and out.” His voice was kind, gentle, yet strong. His hand making a circle motion on Sam’s back; Sam looked into his eyes inquisitively. Who did this guy remind him of? His own mind was fuzzy, pain still causing him to pull his arms in around his stomach; try and hold the pain at bay.

“Wher…where is Dean?” Sam stammered out between waves of pain.

Tom helped Sam to turn slowly, positioning him so he could see his brother. “Stay here…he is right there, I will see how he is. YOU STAY PUT!” Tom’s voice was authoritative.

Is that an order? Sam’s eyes grew wide as he looked from Tom to his brother, lying face down on the ground, about six feet behind him.

“Dean…” he whispered, as Tom took large strides to get to him.

He watched as Tom placed his hand carefully under Deans neck; slowly turning him over to his back, Dean’s body moving limply in his arms. Tom saw the large bump on Dean’s forehead, cut just under his hairline. He moved his hands down his neck and over his body, checking for any other injuries.

“Is…is…he…he okay?” Sam stammered out, eyes moving up to Tom’s.

“I think so; I don’t feel any broken bones. He’s still got the bum leg though.” Tom’s lips curled up in a small smile hoping to ease some of Sam’s fears; watching as some of the tension in Sam’s face released with his words.

Tom removed his backpack from his shoulder, grabbing antiseptic and a cotton pad, he placed it on Dean’s cut. Dean’s head lolled to the side, his eyes fluttering open with the action.

Sam’s eyes never left his brother, or Tom. Who is this guy?

“What?” Dean slurred, pulling his head away from Tom’s hand.

“Easy there. Its okay, Sam’s right over there.” Tom pointed his finger, then watched as Dean’s eyes rested on his baby brother, then fluttered close again as he relaxed back onto the ground.

“Sam’s Kay?” he whispered.

“Yes, Sam’s okay”. Tom pulled out his canteen, pouring water over a rag; he rubbed it gently across Dean’s face; and Dean opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision.

“Deeeaaan?” Sam’s voice pierced through Dean’s hazy mind and he nodded to Tom, pushing with his elbows to sit up. Tom placed a strong hand under Dean’s shoulder, pulling him up, watching as his eyes met his little brothers.

“I’m fine Sam, just a bump on the head”. Dean leaned into Tom as he pulled his legs up to stand, swaying gently; Tom grabbed his elbow, steadying him.

“Sure dude, just a bump on the freak’n head. You flew in the air like six feet there.”

Tom Baldwin chuckled out as he held firmly to Dean’s arm.

Wow, this guy is awesome. Sam’s lips curled up in a grin as he watched his brother being scolded by Tom Baldwin. I like this guy.

Sam’s arms were curled around his stomach, legs lying out in front of him, shoulders slightly slumped. His eyes were burning, he suddenly felt really hot. Although he was sitting, his body unconsciously began to sway in a gentle motion; to and fro, to and fro. He pulled his pain filled eyes over to his brother, giving him the once over, a small grin falling to a grimace on his lips. He noticed that Tom Baldwin had a sturdy grip on Dean’s arm; holding him steady. That’s good, that’s good, he’s got Dean. He felt suddenly disoriented, confused as he looked at his brother and Tom.

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered over his lids, blinking, clearing his foggy vision; he looked with worried eyes at his baby brother. Sam seemed to be hugging himself tightly, breathe coming out in little gasps; the throws of pain racking his lanky body; he began to sway back and forth. Dean had seen this before; his baby brother rocking; he remembered that ‘his Sammy’ did this when he was child; feverish, moving, swaying.

“Help him.” Dean’s voice shaking, he pulled his arm from Tom’s vice grip; nodding his head toward Sam.

Tom smiled to himself. These two are quite a pair. He hastily stepped back to Sam, falling down to a crouch as he placed his hand on his back.

“How you doing there kiddo?” Tom’s face was a mask of apprehension, as he noticed the flushed cheeks in front of him. He felt Sam’s body shudder under his hand. He watched with curious eyes, as Sam moved his body in a steady rocking motion.

“He’s got a fever; we need to get him out of here’”. Tom offered as he looked with fixed eyes at Dean.

Dean stepped forward on unsteady legs; attempting not to make his nauseous stomach rebel against him. He squatted slowly in front of his brother, eyes resting on Sam’s face. Sam’s hair was saturated with sweat, sticking wildly to his face; his eyes disturbingly unfocused.

“Sammy” his voice low, distress radiating in his tone. “Look at me”. He reached one hand to steady his body against Tom Baldwin, the other hand cupping Sam’s chin with his fingers, pulling Sam’s head up, forcing him to focus on him. Gees, he’s burning up. Sam huffed out a little breathe of air, blinking bloodshot eyes slowly at his brother. He swayed; to and fro, to and fro.

“Kay.” Sam mumbled voice barely audible.

“Okay, let’s get you both out of here”. Tom said sternly, as he tugged Dean to his feet. Dean glanced at Tom, as he planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“Dean, stand still, while I get you’re brother”. Another direct order from Tom Baldwin. He watched as Tom soothingly placed both his arms around his baby brother, tenderly pulling him to his feet. A small moan was released from Sam's throat, his eyes hazily looking around.

Dean reached his arm hastily around Sam’s back, pulling him toward him; holding him firmly balanced up against his own wobbly body. Tom placed his arm around Sam, his hand resting on the back of Dean’s neck, fingers forming a firm grip that grounded the oldest Winchester.

“Okay, we are taking this slow”. Tom affirmed in a strong tone.

Dean nodded at Tom, his low voice whispering in his little brother’s ear. “It’s okay Sammy, I gotcha. Come on…Lets walk together, Sammy, come on.” Dean lips curved up in a smile when Sam rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, eyes drowsily looking over at him; his feet shuffling in an attempt to move.

Tom moved his large body so that he was balancing Sam and Dean both in his large grasp; the boys stumbling along together through the brush. He smiled at them both. It was just amazing how these two took care of each other.

The walk back to the truck was slow. While Dean seemed to get his bearings and become more focused; Sam became more disoriented and feverish. By the time they made it to the road, they were bodily carrying Sam between them.

Opening the truck door, Dean eased Sam into the seat, sliding himself in next to his kid brother, pulling him protectively in his arms. He watched through the windshield as Tom scurried to the driver’s side, the door swinging open, his large body dropping to the bench seat, he gunned the truck to the roadway. Dean’s lips formed a short-lived frown as he saw the Impala go by him in a blur. Left my damn car…again!

“This is too damn much dejuvu for me”. Tom’s voice was serious, a low mumble; his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His eyes glanced nervously from Dean to Sam and back to the road.

Dean shifted on the uncomfortable couch in the emergency waiting room. His brother was taken out of his line of view ten minutes ago; rushed through the swinging doors in a bustle of movement. He tapped the pen to the clipboard as his eyes blinked to stave off the blurry writing on the paper. Why did he have to do this again, Sam was just here two days ago? He felt Tom’s callused hands reach for the clipboard and pen, gingerly removing it from his shaking fingers.

“I got this”.

He watched as Tom walked directly to the front desk, dropping the clipboard to the counter.

“His name is Sam Winchester; he was here day before yesterday. He is back because he has a fever. Check your god damn computer”. With that, Tom turned and sauntered back to Dean, patting him firmly on the kneecap, he sat back down with a large thud, the couch giving a small shake with his motions.

God, he was just his Dad made over. Dean smiled.

Sam’s eyelashes fluttered over his heavy eyelids, they felt like they weighed a ton. He smelt the antiseptic aroma first, and then his ears began to register the sound of murmured talking around him. Dean, was that Dean?

He felt someone’s fingers mussing through his hair, a calming motion, over and over. Then he heard more low whispers. Was that his dad? He continued to fight his body to pull himself from this comfy place he was lingering, not quite asleep, not quite awake.

He felt someone grip his fingers in their own; a cool rag crossed his forehead. Ah, that feels good. The voices grew louder and he turned his head, leaning into Dean’s voice.

“Sammy….Sammy… I know your awake, open your eyes”. He heard Dean say; voice quivering with concern, just below the surface. He wanted to open his eyes, but this was just so comfortable, right here….dozing.

“Hey Sam, if you don’t wake up, I might have to get Debra Bruno to come for a visit”. A stern voice said.

What? Oh my god, not that woman. Sam’s eyes fluttered open, glassy irises looking at Dean, blinking; then looking to Tom. It’s Tom Baldwin, I remember him. I like this guy.

Dean chuckled. Well, that worked.

“Amazing” Tom stated, his lips curling up in a large grin.

Dean held tightly to his brother’s fingers for a few more minutes, passing the cool rag over his forehead again. He watched while Sam struggled to regain his equilibrium, his thoughts; his legs shuffling uncomfortably under the sheets.

“Shhhhh, its okay Sammy. Debra Bruno’s not coming, I promise”. Dean pulled the rag away from Sam’s face as he watched his eyes come into focus.

“Hey kiddo” Dean whispered as he dropped Sam’s hand back to the mattress, eyes glazing at his brother. “You gave me a big scare there Sammy, but you’re okay now, the fever broke.”

“Fever?” Sam’s voice weak, panic filled. “Where…where am I?”

“Easy there buddy”. Tom’s voice was deep, authoritative and Sam shifted his head and looked at him, eyes focusing, then a smile curling up on his lips. He sounds like my dad.

“Thanks Tom, for taking care of Dean”. Sam’s voice was low and whispery.

“Taking care of Dean….dude, it was you we had to physically carry out of the woods”. Dean’s voice was giddy with glee as he realized Sam was coming back to himself, coherent. “And what the hell were you doing in the woods anyway?” Dean's voice became louder as he spoke.

Sam blinked owlish eyes up at his brother. Better play this for all it’s worth.

“What?” Sam said in a small voice, sounding way younger than his twenty three years; blinking, staring innocently up at Dean.

“Okay, okay….we’ll talk about this later. You just rest now.” Dean placed a hand to Sam’s shoulder and gave him a little pat, watching as Sam’s eyes fluttered closed.

Tom chuckled as he watched the melodrama unfold before him. Sam was good, he would give him that. He knew just how to work his older brother. He on the other hand, would not be falling for the ‘poor little Sammy routine’.