I don't own Supernatural, not one bit of it, so if you are planning on suing, please, please don't

I don't own Supernatural, wish I did, but I don't. So please don't sue, I have no money anyway and I'm only borrowing the brilliant characters.

Also, thanks for all the reviews, I love them.


Sam was hunched in the backseat of the car. His book was closed in his lap and his chin rested in his palm as he watched the fields and trees blur by out the window. Dean sat in the front and kept up a play-by-play of the last few hunts with John, like they were talking about a football game. Every now and then, Dean would catch Sam's eyes in the rear view mirror and Sam would turn back to the window.

Sam had been unusually quiet when he and Dean had come home from school. John didn't have much time to investigate after Sam's answer of 'fine' to John's question of 'how are you, how was school?' He packed his boys up and were on the road under an hour of them coming home. There was a restless spirit at a camp that he wanted Dean to help him with.

At thirteen, Dean was getting hands on training, like he had been for the past three years. John took him on more hunts, gave him more experiences to learn from. Sam always came along, but mostly he waited by or in the car.

Sam had only been let in on the secret a year ago. All this talk about hunts and ghosts and demons fascinated him and scared him, though he'd only admit the first part to his brother and dad. Mostly he just liked being in on the secret, knowing what everyone else in his family knew.

"Sam could help me." Dean said, his eyes caught Sam's in the mirror again.

John glanced back at his son. "We'll see."

Most times, Sam would want to help. He didn't always want to move or go on some too long car ride, but the hunt was an adventure. He didn't know what he wanted more, to be with his dad and brother, or to have a normal life like his friends at school. He know from as long as he could remember, that Winchester and normal never could end up in the same sentence or thought or life.

"How about it, Sam?" John's eyes found Sam's in the mirror.

He shrugged. "I guess."

In all truth, Sam wasn't feeling the best. His head sort of throbbed and his stomach didn't feel quite right. He wouldn't say anything, it wouldn't change a thing if he did.

John pulled into the camp and parked in front of a cabin. The place was creepy even in the mid-afternoon sun. Dean got out of the car and Sam crawled out a few minutes after him. John got the supplies from the trunk and issued Dean his share.

John looked over at Sam leaned up against the car. "Stay with the car, Sam. Dean and I will be back soon. Couple hours, maybe."

Dean expected Sam to argue against it, but he didn't. Sam simply shrugged. "Okay."

Sam had been talking about this hunt for a week, ever since dad said that maybe he could help. Now all the sudden, Sam didn't care. Dean was about to ask him about it when John summed him. Sam watched them walk around the cabin before he climbed back into the car.

He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands and folded his arms across his chest. He rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. His head throbbed more and he took a few slow breaths to calm his stomach. He fell asleep without meaning to.

John and Dean returned to the car a few hours after sunset. The hunt was a success if the black eye Dean would have in the morning, his split lip and the cut across John's arm were ignored. Sam was curled in the backseat when Dean glanced back at him. He shifted and sighed in his sleep.

"He all right?" John asked as he started the car.

Dean shrugged. "I guess."

"How's your head? You got banged around a little"

"Okay." Dean leaned back in the seat.

The hour drive home was silent. John and Dean both running the hunt back in their minds, looking at what went wrong so that it shouldn't happen again. By the time John pulled up in front of the house, the adrenaline had faded and he and Dean were worn out and sore. He turned off the car and they sat there for a few minutes in the silence.

"We can leave the bags until morning." John looked back at Sam.

Dean pushed open his door and climbed out. He leaned against the car in the cool, damp night.

John reached back and touched Sam's shoulder. "Sam, Sammy."

Sam shifted and buried himself deeper in his sweatshirt. John reached in and lifted his son from the backseat. It was then that John noticed how warm his boy was in his arms. A line of worry formed between his eyes.

"He's almost too big for that." Dean smirked. "He wouldn't let you if he was awake."

John carried Sam inside and gently placed him on the couch. Dean dropped into a chair and sighed. John stepped into the kitchen and returned with a thermometer.

Dean sat forward, his eyes on Sam. "What's wrong?"

"Probably nothing, go on and get ready for bed."

Dean didn't move, but John didn't really expect him to. He watched his father take his brother's temperature. Sam woke and he looked over at Dean. Sam pushed himself up a little.

John's eyes covered his concern. "You feel all right, Sam?"

Sam looked over at his dad and nodded.

"You sure?"

He nodded again.

John sighed. "Get on up to bed, then."

Sam slid off the couch and walked up to his room. He knew that John and Dean would talk about him, but his head hurt too much to care. He pulled on a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt and climbed under his tangled blankets. He felt the room spin around him and his stomach ached.

John sunk into a chair and took a slow breath.

"Is he running a fever?"

John nodded slightly.

Dean looked towards the room. "How high?"

"101. 4"

Dean stood.

"Dean." John pulled a bottle of advil from his pocket and tossed it to Dean. "Try and get him to take one of these."

He caught it and went up to the room he shared with Sam. His brother was curled under the blankets, already asleep.

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed. "Sammy."

He shifted and opened his eyes.

Dean dumped out one of the pills and took the water from the nightstand. "Take this."

Sam sat up on one elbow and did as he was told. He sunk back into his pillow. He fell back asleep within minutes. After a while, Dean climbed under his own blankets and turned out the lamp.

On his way past, John stopped in the doorway and looked at his boys. Sam was sprawled out under his blankets. His face was pale and he sighed in his sleep. John slipped into the room and rested his hand on his youngest's forehead. The fever hadn't gone down. He brushed Sam's hair back and wondered what Sam wasn't telling. He glanced over at Dean and headed off to bed.

Sam woke early in the morning. The room was still dark around him. His stomach clenched painfully. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered out into the hall. The floor seemed to shift under his feet as he stumbled to the bathroom.

He closed the door most of the way and turned on the light. He was blinded for a few moments. He lowered himself to the floor and leaned back against the wall and waited.