Nothing's Ever Simple - (18 Parts) (complete!)

[W.I.N.]

Eeek--freaking adorable. And the hypocrite part was a lovely, adorable touch.

Thank you!

And Dean is a total hypocrite, but under the circumstances I think we can forgive him.

Ahhhh! I am so happy you posted another chapter so quickly! And it is a great one, too. I love the interaction. Dean's swearing every time he sneezes from the pain is kind of adorable in a mean way. :-D

And the ending... Dean does want Sam to take care of him, I know it. Secretly.

I can't wait for more.

You rock!

You're welcome, and thank you! I'm trying very hard to keep the chemistry between them the way it is on the show. Poor Dean: broken ribs + sneezing = very, very bad, and I am an evil girl for doing it to him.

And he totally wants Sam to stay and fuss over him, but he would rather die than say so.

~W.I.N.

[Tari]

Yay!! New chapter!! *does happy-dance* Perfect end to an otherwise totally crappy day. Dean... sneezing... and injured... and sneezing.... *melts*

[iluvsneezes]

Be still my heart, this is such a good story!

[starpollen]

I admit I was getting a little tired of seeing all the Supernatural fics in the Stories thread these past few days... but I LOVE THIS. Thanks so much for not keeping it a one-shot. Sam's drawn-out sneezes that he fights tooth and nail are definitely hot. And yeah, I got all mushy with broken-hearted Dean. Great fic!

[W.I.N.]

Yay!! New chapter!! *does happy-dance* Perfect end to an otherwise totally crappy day. Dean... sneezing... and injured... and sneezing.... *melts*

I know! Sneezy!Dean makes me all squishy inside. Hurt!Sick!Dean does... Things... to me. Things, I tell you!

*cough*

Be still my heart, this is such a good story!

Thank you! You're so nice to me.

I admit I was getting a little tired of seeing all the Supernatural fics in the Stories thread these past few days... but I LOVE THIS. Thanks so much for not keeping it a one-shot. Sam's drawn-out sneezes that he fights tooth and nail are definitely hot. And yeah, I got all mushy with broken-hearted Dean. Great fic!

I am very flattered you're enjoying my story. I'm working VERY hard on it, so it's nice to know my efforts are paying off.

Although I can't completely agree with you about the proliferation of SPN stuff.

Every show/fandom has its day. I expect the current trend will calm down soon enough, once we've all finished posting our stories.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

And the story continues! Working out the next chapter (possibly two) in my head, but we're definitely drawing to a close now. I know, I know, I've been saying that for a while, but this time I mean it, I swear!

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 16

The weather was still clear, but the temperature had dropped several degrees, and by the time Sam reached the river he was shivering with cold, his nose dripping almost faster than he could keep up with tissues. He stopped, took stock of his supplies, made sure he was well-stocked with both ammunition and minimal first-aid supplies (and tissues): he didn't want to get caught off-guard by the nixies in the middle of their territory. On top of running like a leaky tap, his nose was also on fire, and he was beginning to wonder if this little expedition was a good idea.

“Hiihi'ih... hi'ihihii'ih... sniff! Hi'ih... hii'eeh!” he pressed his knuckles the underside of his nose, instinctively trying to stave off the impending sneezes, but there was nothing doing. He pulled a tissue from his pocket, feeling self-conscious and ridiculous, all the more so because there was no one around. “Sniff! Heeh... HESHOO!” he buried his nose and mouth in the tissue, feeling relief course through him down to the soles of his feet. “HEISHOO! Uh... hiih! HISHOO! HEISHOO!”

He blew his nose into three tissues, debated taking another decongestant, then decided it would have to wait until after he'd found the nixies' nest. The meds would ruin his focus, and he was feeling well enough without them, albeit a bit congested and more than a little sneezy. Well, there were worse things in life.

The nest was definitely going to be near the water, and most likely not too far from the place where the nixies dragged people into the water. They were fiercely territorial, only killed when people came too close to their nests, or so the lore held. Lore wasn't always the most reliable source of information, which was why Sam's father had kept a notebook, and why Sam had started keeping his own notebook, although he wasn't sure if Dean had noticed him doing so. He found Dean's clothes and boots, stuffed them in his pack. The clothes Dean could do without, but the boots would have been expensive to replace. Luckily, nixies didn't care for clothes, although this was the first time Sam had heard of them ever convincing their victims to strip off first. That might be just a quirk of this particular creature.

“Hiih... HISHOO!” It was a little easier not to stifle when there was no one for miles, but it still felt awkward. He could just imagine Dean smirking at him, and felt a flush creep up his cheeks as his nose kept tickling. “ISHOO!”

He blew his nose for the millionth time, stuffed the tissue into a pocket, and was about to keep going when he paused, listening intently. Yes, there it was, unmistakeably a woman's voice. It sounded like crying. He unslung the shotgun from his shoulder —loaded with buck shot this time— and made his way slowly along the bank, keenly aware that he was in the territory of some very powerful and very nasty creatures, and that if he didn't watch himself he might find himself on the wrong side of the river. His boots squelched in the mud, making sucking sounds that sounded louder than gun shots in his ears. So much for stealth, but as he approached the source of the noise he realized that there was no need to be stealthy, spotting the hunched figure sitting on the wet ground, facing away from him.

“Carrie?”

She didn't look up, her shoulders shaking with uncontrolled sobs. She was still wearing the same dress, now filthy and mud-stained, the entire skirt wet rather than just the hem. Her hair was uncombed and bedraggled, her bare legs scratched and dirty, shoeless. As Sam approached he caught sight of a pale, bare foot that didn't belong to Carrie.

“She's dead,” Carrie choked out, cradling Jill's naked body in her lap. The grey eyes were blank, staring up at the cloudy October sky. “What did you do to her?”

Still wary, he dropped to a crouch beside her, ready to jump away if she so much as twitched. “I'm sorry... I had to get her away from Dean before she killed him. I didn't think I'd hurt her that badly.” He was shocked, a little numb, seeing the lifeless form on the ground. Rock salt was usually harmful only to spirits, and even then it only dispersed them temporarily. He'd never heard of it killing anyone or anything before, and Jill had been very much alive —if pissed off— when he'd last seen her. “She swam away from me.”

Carrie scrubbed at her eyes with both hands, smearing mud on her cheeks. “I told her she shouldn't. I begged and pleaded, but she wouldn't listen to me.”

Sam leaned over, gingerly touched Jill's cheek with two fingers. There was no sign of the monster he'd seen the night before, only the cold, stiff body of a girl who'd once been pretty. The skin was waxy to the touch, and when he drew away his fingers they left a livid mark on her cheek. Definitely dead. He felt inexplicably sad, even though he'd never met the girl, didn't know how he was going to tell Dean, even though she'd tried to kill him.

“I don't know why she did it,” Carrie said, her voice still distorted by tears. “It was like... she couldn't help it. We kept having to move, and I hated it. You don't know what it's like, always having to keep moving around, always worrying about people asking questions.”

“I have a fair idea,” Sam said mildly.

“She was my sister, you know? She took care of me, looked out for me. She was always the strong one, and now I don't know what I'm going to do...” she started sobbing again, and Sam had to forcefully remind himself that he was talking to a potentially murderous water-spirit.

“I don't understand. How come you're...” he fumbled for words.

“Not murdering people by drowning them?” she smiled bitterly through the tears. “I don't know. I think it's because there's more human blood in me. We're half-sisters. Same mother, different father. Jill's father... I don't know who he was, but he must have been a full-blooded nix. My dad was just some mechanic my mother met at some stupid barn dance. I don't even have fangs. I just can't keep my damned clothes dry. Stupid, isn't it? Some water-spirit I turned out to be.”

He shook his head. “No, not stupid. Weird, sure, but not stupid.”

She laughed, a small, sad sound. “I suppose it is weird. You're not really a U.S. Marshall, are you?”

“Guilty.”

“I figured. Policemen don't believe in nixies.”

“Most people don't anymore. You know, I'm kind of glad I don't have to kill you.”

She sniffled, and he handed her a fresh tissue from his pocket. “You and me both.” She scrubbed at her nose with the tissue. “We just got here. What am I supposed to do? I'm so tired of always having to leave the places I love...” she sounded very young, very lost.

Sam's nose was tickling, and he was torn between welcoming the interruption, being embarrassed, and running the risk of leaving himself vulnerable to a girl who was still an unknown quantity. “Hih... hi'ihii'ihi'iih.... hu'iihih! Hep-KSHH!” he stifled the sneeze into his sleeve. “'Scuze me.”

“Bless you. It's not good to stifle, you know.” She hadn't moved so much as a muscle.

He sniffed. “So everyone tells me.”

“I don't know what I'm going to do without her.”

He reached out, put a hand on her shoulder. “There's no reason you can't stay, so long as no one else gets hurt.”

“I wouldn't know where to start. She's always looked out for me.”

“I know the feeling.” Sam sighed quietly, wiped his nose while he considered his response. “But she's gone, and you have to figure out how to make it on your own, now. You have a job, people like you here, you've already got a home. You need to go to the police, tell them that Jill is dead. The way she looks...” he patted her shoulder reassuringly, “they'll assume she drowned, just like the others. It'll all go unsolved, and eventually people will stop talking about it. They always do.”

Carrie struggled to her feet, no longer crying, although tears still streaked her cheeks. “You should go. It would look... weird... if you were with me.”

“I'm sorry.”

She hunched her shoulders, hugging her arms to her. “Yeah.”

He puffed out a breath, steeling himself to say words he knew would put a gulf between him and this vulnerable, hurting girl. “You know that if people start dying again...”

“You'll have to come back and kill me. I know.” She turned away, started picking her way slowly along the bank, bare feet sinking into the mud. “Don't worry. I don't plan on ever seeing you again.”

Sam sat next to Jill's body for a long time, just staring out at the river. It felt a little bit like holding a vigil, though he wasn't quite sure why he did it. He didn't notice the time go by until he realized that he was chilled through. He got up, slung the shotgun back over his shoulder, shoved his hands into his pockets, and began the long trudge back into town.

[crazy_cat_girl]

I really like how Carrie is not a malicious nixie. Nice twist. And Sam is ever the caring, concerned and kind hunter. :-D I love it.

I can't wait for the next part. Poor Dean really did like Jill...

[Aprilcot]

Me too! And there's so much I can't think where to start.

Words can't explain so I'm just gonna have to do this and apologise for my lack of time to read this fantastic story!!!!!!!!

I love it so please continue!!!!!

I will die if you don't!!!!!

[Lady Blessington]

Love me some congested sneezy injured Dean having his temperature taken by Sam and crying and being snuggled. <3

[W.I.N.]

I really like how Carrie is not a malicious nixie. Nice twist. And Sam is ever the caring, concerned and kind hunter. :-D I love it.

I can't wait for the next part. Poor Dean really did like Jill...

Yeah, I tried writing her as evil, but it didn't work. She didn't want to be a bad person. So instead she ended up being Sam's mirror image: the younger sibling, always in her older sister's shadow, hating the fact that they had to move around all the time, but unfailingly loyal.

Me too! And there's so much I can't think where to start.

Words can't explain so I'm just gonna have to do this and apologise for my lack of time to read this fantastic story!!!!!!!!

I love it so please continue!!!!!

I will die if you don't!!!!!

Aww, I don't want you to die! Don't worry, I plan on finishing it.

Thanks for taking the time to comment.

Love me some congested sneezy injured Dean having his temperature taken by Sam and crying and being snuggled. <3

Aww, so do I. Hence why I wrote it.

~W.I.N.

[iluvsneezes]

What a great chapter! I love sneezy Sam *melts* I can't wait for the next part, but I don't want it to end either.

[W.I.N.]

What a great chapter! I love sneezy Sam *melts* I can't wait for the next part, but I don't want it to end either.

He just wormed his way back into my head, and I couldn't ignore him anymore.

I am working out the next part in my head, and will post it as soon as it's ready.

~W.I.N.

[kilala]

Can't wait for the next part... I can't imagine that cold water helping either of their colds.... hehehehehe

Uh, yeah, probably not. Dean has bigger problems right now, but no, getting dunked in a freezing river isn't going to do them any favours.

~W.I.N.

THIS IS AMAZING! I am so addicted, you are an incredible writer, the plot line and the sneezyness and your choice of words is perfect! I love it, I've never watched supernatural but now I think I might have to

[W.I.N.]

THIS IS AMAZING! I am so addicted, you are an incredible writer, the plot line and the sneezyness and your choice of words is perfect! I love it, I've never watched supernatural but now I think I might have to

Aw, thank you!

I absolutely recommend the show. It's a really REALLY fun watch.

~W.I.N.

[doggo]

I don't have a clue what this fandom is, but damn I've been eating this fic up! There's boys, and there's an awful, nasty, miserable cold one passes to another, and getting wet and sick and all teary and GAH! All my favourite things! And so much caretaking! This fic is _so_porn_.

Thank you for sharing this. I love it.

[W.I.N.]

Thank you for your lovely comment!

The fandom is a TV show called Supernatural. It's an awesome show, full of fun fluff combined with massive angst, monsters, and great writing. I can't recommend it enough.

~W.I.N.

I don't have a clue what this fandom is, but damn I've been eating this fic up! There's boys, and there's an awful, nasty, miserable cold one passes to another, and getting wet and sick and all teary and GAH! All my favourite things! And so much caretaking! This fic is _so_porn_.

Thank you for sharing this. I love it.

[W.I.N.]

And the story keeps on growing! This part got waaaay unwieldy, so I'm splitting it into two before I lose my mind.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank mads3rv3r for all her awesome fics which I have blitzed through in the past few weeks. She is an inspiration, and I owe her stories more than I can ever express properly.

I'll do my best to get the story finished soon, I promise!

~W.I.N.

****

Part 17

Sam stopped at the diner again on his way back to the motel, bought two large styrofoam bowls full of soup. Balancing them precariously, he managed to unlock the door, nudged it open with his him.

“I brought soup,” he started, pulling the door shut, then turned to find his brother's bed empty, the bedclothes in complete disarray, pulled halfway off the mattress. “Dean?” he put down the soup, dropped his bag, heart suddenly trying to make a hasty exit through his mouth.

He found Dean sprawled on the floor, partially tangled in the sheets which had wound themselves around his legs. Sam knelt next to him, gently turned him over with one hand, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. Dean groaned softly, then his eyes focussed, and he managed a weak grin, tried to speak around the congestion.

“Sabby. Took you logg edough.”

Sam wasn't sure whether he wanted to hug Dean or throttle him. “Dammit, Dean, what the hell are you doing?” He shook his head. “Wait, never mind. Let's get you back into bed first.” He slid one hand under Dean's shoulders, the other under his knees, and lifted him easily, wondering when his brother had become so light, frail almost.

“Quit fussig,” Dean flapped half-heartedly at him as he tucked him back into bed, flinched as the movement aggravated the pain in his side.

“I find you passed out on the floor, and you want me not to fuss. What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to make yourself worse?”

“I wadted clothes,” Dean said pointedly. “It was freezig id here, ad you left be daked as a jaybird, bro.” As if to illustrate his point, his breath hitched suddenly, his face going slack. “HEPTSCHUH! Uh... sod of a bitch!”

Sam let out an exasperated puff of breath. “You couldn't wait until I was back?”

“Hate waitig. I'b fide. Could I just habe by clothes?” Dean's brow creased, and he pressed a hand to his ribs carefully before coughing into the other, unable to entirely suppress a moan of pain. Nonetheless, Sam pulled a t-shirt and a pair of boxers from Dean's bag and wordlessly helped him into them: Dean's movements were still clumsy, his limbs refusing to cooperate entirely, and Sam wondered just how long it would take for the nix's venom to work its way entirely out of his system. It wasn't as though this was extensively documented, he thought wryly.

“You still feeling pins and needles?” he tucked the sheets and blankets around Dean, trying to repair the mess his brother had made of them when he'd fallen.

“Dot as bad as before.”

Sam checked his watch. “You're about due for some more codeine.”

“Thagk God.” Abruptly Dean cupped his hands over his face. “HAPTSCHUH!” He flinched, made a small keening noise, pinched his nose shut, stifling the rest of the sneezes that threatened, his face turning red. “Nggk! Hnnksh!”

“You're going to rupture a blood vessel.” Sam was back with pills and a glass of water. He wasn't sure that he really ought to be encouraging his brother to mix codeine and decongestants, but with Dean sneezing and coughing every few minutes, it was obviously hell on his injuries, and he'd never get any rest otherwise. He'd just have to monitor him really closely.

“I'll tagke those odds.” Dean let Sam drop the pills into his palm, took the glass of water with a shaking hand, didn't so much as murmur a protest when Sam left his hand there to steady the glass while he drank. “Whad did you fide out?”

“Have some soup while I talk,” Sam broke out his best negotiating tactics. He picked up one of the styrofoam bowls, removed the lid, handed it to Dean along with a plastic spoon.

“Dod't wadt ady dabbed soup,” Dean grumbled, but reached for the bowl at a quelling look from Sam, taking it with a resigned air. A moment later Sam lunged forward before he spilled the scalding liquid down his front, and Dean flinched from the sudden movement, closed his eyes briefly against the pain.

“Woah, okay,” Sam grabbed the bowl. “Let me help.”

Dean glared at his hands. “It's the dabbed vedob. I cad't feel by figgers.”

Sam dipped the spoon in the bowl. “I won't tell anyone if you don't,” he said, lifting the spoon meaningfully.

“Sud of a bitch,” Dean moaned, leaning back against the headboard. “You tell adyode about this, I will persodally end you.”

“Trust me, this isn't exactly a picnic for me either.” Sam lifted the spoon to his mouth, waited for him to swallow. “Anyway,” he said hurriedly, trying to cover up the awkwardness of the moment, “we don't have to worry about the nixies anymore. I talked to Carrie this morning: turns out she's only about a quarter nix, if that much, and she's given me her word it's all over.”

Dean gave him a look that managed to be disbelieving even while being glazed with pain and fever. “You took her word for it?” he snorted. “What about... uh... what about Jill?”

Sam winced. “I'm sorry. She's dead.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly. “Good.”

“I'm really sorry, Dean. I know... I know how much—”

“Sabby, so help be, if you dod't shud up, I will kigk your ass.”

“Have some more soup.” But after a couple of mouthfuls Dean twisted his head aside, clumsily pushed his hand away. “Come on, Dean, you need to eat.”

Dean shook his head. “I cad't. Gonna be sick.”

“Okay,” instinctively Sam reached out to smooth the sweat-soaked hair from Dean's forehead, pulled back at the last minute. “We'll try again later. Do you need the trash can?”

“No. I'b good. Just... need a binute.”

It was more than a minute. Sam put down the bowl as his brother lay back, breathing hard, eyes closed, watching him carefully until his breathing evened out. There was nothing to do but wait, and while Sam was better than Dean at waiting, it didn't mean he was actually good at it. He tried not to pace, tried not to make any noise that would disturb Dean's sleep —God knows, he needed it. He settled in a chair, book in hand, although he spent most of the time looking over its spine at Dean's face, creased with lines of pain. The minutes ticked by on the digital alarm clock on the night stand, agonisingly slowly, stretched into hours. After a while he couldn't quite help himself, reached out to place a hand gently on his brother's arm, ready to pull away at a moment's notice, but Dean didn't stir, showed no indication that he'd felt anything. Heat seeped from his skin into the palm of Sam's hand, so hot it felt like placing his hand on a working radiator.

“Dean?”

There was no answer. Dean shifted uncomfortably on the bed, mumbled something under his breath that Sam couldn't hear. He got up, fished the thermometer out of the first aid kit again, coaxed it into his brother's mouth. He bit his lip, staring at the digital readout: 104.2. It had gone up considerably since that morning, looked like it was climbing still. He blew out an exasperated breath, unsure who he was even angry at, went to the bathroom to soak another facecloth in cold water. He went back to his chair, pressed the cloth to Dean's burning skin, murmuring soothingly to him when Dean coughed and moaned, struggling weakly against something Sam couldn't see.

“It's okay. We have to get your fever down again. Shh, it's okay.” He wiped the cloth methodically over Dean's face, his neck and shoulders, soaking the t-shirt he'd helped him into earlier. After a few minutes it was obvious that it wasn't helping. He stroked Dean's forehead. “I'm sorry, bro. I know you're going to hate this, but I have to get your fever down. Just... sit tight, okay?

“I'll be right back.”

[shygreeneyes]

Hey, WIN?

You're awesome.

You cannot begin to imagine how much I needed this right now.

[W.I.N.]

Hey, it's my pleasure. I'm glad you're still liking it.

~W.I.N.

Hey, WIN?

You're awesome.

You cannot begin to imagine how much I needed this right now.

[crazy_cat_girl]

I love this fic so much. What a lovely chapter. :-D

[W.I.N.]

Thank you.

I was a little worried about it, so I'm glad it turned out okay.

~W.I.N.

I love this fic so much. What a lovely chapter. :-D

[doggo]

Oh the prince of discomfort and stubbornness! I want to feel his brow too.

[W.I.N.]

Poor Dean. He really does lend himself well to torture, doesn't he?

~W.I.N.

Oh the prince of discomfort and stubbornness! I want to feel his brow too.

[kilala]

aww poor dean, I want to take care of him! This just keeps getting better, I love it you are awesome

[W.I.N.]

This is it, folks! I couldn't quite sort out the tone, so I may have to come back and fix this chapter, but the story is done. Thank you all for bearing with me this whole time.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 18

There was an ice machine just outside the motel door, and Sam filled a bucket with the vaguely-slushy chips (the machine obviously needed fixing), which he placed just inside the bathroom door. An ice bath wasn't his first choice, but it was either that or a hospital, and he didn't think Dean would thank him for that. He started by half-filling the tub with lukewarm water —starting directly with cold water would be too much of a shock. He pulled off his own shirt —no sense in getting it soaked as well— and hurried back to Dean's side.

“Dean? I know you're going to hate this, but you're in serious danger of damaging your brain, dude.” Gently he propped his brother up, started working his t-shirt over his head, grimacing in sympathy when Dean flinched and tried to pull away from him. “I know, I know,” he said soothingly, “I know it hurts. This is going to make you feel better, I promise.”

He pulled Dean to his feet, half-carried and half-dragged him into the bathroom, sat him down on the edge of the tub, propped against the wall, and tugged off his boxers.

“S'm, no... please...” The plea came out an agonized moan.

“I'm sorry,” Sam felt as though he spent his life apologizing to Dean. For lying, for telling the truth, for hurting him no matter what he did. Even when he was trying to help, he ended up hurting him. “I'm really sorry. I have to do this.”

Dean gasped, jerked and thrashed when he came into contact with the water, and it took all of Sam's strength, leaning on his chest with all of his weight, to keep him still. “Easy, Dean. Easy. I've got you. Hold still, please. Please, Dean. Please just let me do this. It'll be over soon, I promise.” He kept murmuring reassurances that hardly made sense anymore, turned on the cold water tap, letting the temperature of the water drop gradually, degree by creeping degree, using a facecloth to wipe his brother's face and chest. When the bath was almost full he started adding the ice, slowly, watching Dean's face, checking the circulation in his hands and feet, checking for frostbite, no matter how unlikely it was.

“S'm?” Dean's eyes fluttered open, came to rest on his face, and Sam felt the tightness in his chest loosen, just a bit.

“I'm right here. You're running a fever. I had to put you in a bath before you poached like an egg,” he said with a small smile, and was rewarded with a smile in return.

Dean's voice cracked, but he sounded lucid. “Don't cry now, emo bitch. You know I hate it when girls cry.”

Sam couldn't help but give a snort of laughter. “Dude, don't start, or I'll blackmail you with your little episode from last night for the rest of your natural life.” He kept working gently with the facecloth as he spoke.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” Dean's eyes closed again.

“I get a cold for one day, leave you unsupervised for less than twenty-four hours, and you manage not only to get sick, but to get poisoned, half-drowned and beaten all to hell. You cried like a girl,” Sam informed him, still wiping his face.

“That was the venom,” Dean mumbled. “Can't be held responsible for that.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude. You lost all your points.” He reached over to the sink, picked up the thermometer he'd placed there. “Open your mouth.”

“Saaam...”

“You don't open your mouth, you stay in the bath.” Dean's eyes flew open long enough to fix him with a glare, but he let Sam put the thermometer under his tongue.

“Okay, five minutes and we'll pull you out.”

“Mm.” Dean let his head rest against the edge of the tub, coughed, and made that terrible, muted sound of pain that sent stabs of sympathetic pain through Sam's chest. For a moment Sam thought he might be unconscious again, but Dean reached clumsily for his hand, clutching at his wrist with numbed fingers. “Have to go.”

“What?” Sam leaned closer, thinking he must have misheard.

Green eyes opened, stared at him with feverish intensity. “Please, Sam. We should go.”

There were a million and one reasons to stay, and most of them started with 'Dean was sick.' He was sick, injured, burning with a fever barely kept in check. Common sense dictated that they should stay until he was better, until the fever was gone, until he could hold himself upright without excruciating pain. Sam himself was still exhausted, though not nearly as badly off. A car trip was just about the worst thing for them.

“Dean...”

“Please, Sammy.”

Sam bit his lip, swallowed, heard the quiet desperation in his brother's voice, knew he couldn't refuse. He never could refuse anything his brother asked for, the way Dean could never refuse him. It was the source of all their problems; the source of all their strength, too. Whatever common sense dictated, it obviously wasn't what his brother wanted, or needed. “Okay. Let's get you up.”

It took longer than he wanted to get Dean dressed warmly enough to go outside, to pack up their things and stow them in the trunk of the Impala. He was tired, still feeling run-down from the damned cold he couldn't quite shake, although he knew he was definitely on the mend. He could feel Dean's impatience, felt the urgency building in him as well, though he couldn't quite understand why it was. He just knew they had to get out of there, the sooner the better. To his surprise, on one of his last trips to the Impala, he found Sylvia Matthews waiting for him outside, arms folded across her chest, staring at a puddle on the ground.

“Uh... Mrs... uh, I mean, Sylvia. What're you doing here?” Sam glanced back involuntarily at the motel room, where Dean was dozing uncomfortably on the bed. He didn't really want to talk to anyone, let alone the grieving widow of one of the nix's victims. He just wanted to get out of there.

“I saw Carrie Higgins today,” she said, the words spilling out as though she was afraid that if she didn't speak now she might never be able to again. “I heard what happened to Jill, and I wasn't sure... I thought it was them, and I was, I don't know... I wanted to apologize. But I need to know I'm not crazy, and you and your partner are the only ones who've talked to me without treating me like I'm broken or insane.”

Sam felt his shoulders slump, and he reached out, touched her forearm gently. “You're not crazy. I promise, whatever was going on before, it's over now. You don't have to worry anymore.”

She nodded, dashed tears from her eyes. “I'm sorry. I know you have other things to worry about. But I just needed to know that no one else is going to die like Donald and those girls. Like poor Jill.”

Poor Jill, indeed. But Sam simply shook his head. “No, no one else is going to die. I promise.” He hesitated, struck with an idea then plunged ahead. “I know it's a lot to ask, but I think maybe you should talk to Carrie some more. She's all alone now, without Jill to look out for her. I think she could use a friend.” Or a mother, but Sam didn't say that.

Sylvia nodded. “Is your partner okay?”

Sam glanced back at the motel room again. “Not really. He got injured last night. I'm taking him back today, to get him some proper treatment.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Well, you're looking better, at least.”

“Yeah. Look, we, uh, we've gotta go. You'll check on Carrie?”

Another nod. “Yes, I will. Thank you.” She opened her mouth again, then thought better of whatever she was going to say, turned and walked away without looking back.

Sam finished packing up their gear, hurrying as much as he could, then went back to where he'd left Dean, curled up on his uninjured side on the bed, but more lucid now than he'd been in hours. He helped him to his feet, draped Dean's arm around his shoulders, wrapped his own carefully around Dean's waist, mindful to avoid the broken ribs as much as possible. When he tried to settle his brother in the back seat, Dean pulled back, turning panic-filled eyes on him, and Sam understood all too well the need to be as close to his brother as possible. Without a word he eased him into the passenger seat instead, tucked a blanket over his legs, propped him up with pillows to support his ribs and his head, and placed the bottle of painkillers in Dean's hand. He'd be needing them soon enough.

He switched on the ignition, called Bobby to ask if they could crash there for a few days, knowing ahead of time what the answer would be, drove much faster than was his wont. It took all his self-control not to look over and check on Dean every few minutes, knowing just how much Dean hated feeling as though he was under a microscope. He'd lost track of how long he'd been driving when Dean finally spoke up, his voice quiet, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Why'd you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Why'd you let us leave? I could tell you wanted to stay another couple of days,” Dean kept his voice carefully neutral.

Sam shrugged. “You said you wanted to go.”

“As simple as that?”

“As simple as that.”

“Huh.” Dean leaned back in his seat, his eyes closing again. “Well, thanks.”

A moment later he was asleep, and with one more glance to make sure he was all right, Sam kept driving.