good evening my pallys! How do? I hope this doesn't disappoint, i think this is okay, but you'll have to tell me...please! Also, no angst, much, so it might be a welcome relief. xxx

Read on and don't forget to review at the end. The Winchesters (which i don't own) will come a-knocking if you do...metaphorically speaking haha x


"Sammy, will you please stop florencing on me?!" Dean batted Sam's fussing hands away. "It's just a cold, for god's sake…."

Sam looked crestfallen. He loved his big brother and he felt like he could only repay him by looking after him. When Dean would let him.

Dean sneezed loudly, unsuccessfully suppressing a small moan as he wiped his hand on his trousers.

"Dean! That's disgusting!" Sam exclaimed. He wondered where Dean learnt to get so…uncouth. As much as Sam wanted to be like him, he hoped that was one thing that he might not inherit.

"What am I supposed to do with it? Keep it in? Do you know what happens if you keep a sneeze in?" Dean asked his little brother, quietly beckoning him to his side, as if to tell him a secret.

Sam's eyes grew wide. He liked secrets.

"Your eyes fall out!" Dean whispered, laughing as Sam pulled away, jumping in disgust.

"DEAN! That's so…." He cringed.

"Well, now you know. When a guy's gotta sneeze, a guy has got to sneeze…"

Sam squirmed, the very idea of someone's eyes falling out freaking him out enough to stop him sleeping for at least a week. However, there were much more pressing concerns as he saw Dean lower himself onto the bed, his brow furrowed in what, if Sam didn't know better, seemed like pain.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam said, walking to his brother's side.

"Yeah, Sammy…I'm good…" He forced a smile but it soon passed into a strained grimace.

"No, your not…I'll go and get dad" Sam was getting worried now, Dean was hardly ever ill, and when he was in pain, the best idea was usually to go and get dad.

"NO!"

Sam whirled round, shocked by the indignance in Dean's voice.

"No, Sam…don't get, dad. I'm fine…"

Sam looked at him disbelieving.

"Seriously, Sammy, I'm fine…I would tell you if I wasn't ," Dean looked away, knowing that his little brother could see straight through him.

He stood up, and closed his eyes against the throbbing in his head. He couldn't let Sammy see.

"Dean, you are so beyond okay…let me get dad-"

"I said no…he'll only get worried…"

Sam bowed his head, ashamed at the way that Dean was so brave and so selfless but when Sam was ill, all the young boy could do was whine. Why couldn't Sam be more like Dean?

"Anyway, we have that hunt tomorrow, and I'll be okay for that, so no need to tell dad is there?"

Sam looked at Dean reproachfully.

"I really should tell dad you know…I don't think he'd be very happy with me…"

"Yeah well, I won't be very happy with you Sammy. I tell ya, you'll be on the business end of my fist if you say a word…" Dean leaned in threateningly, resisting the urge to close his eyes as the room span. Of course it was spinning, it was perfectly normal. Dean wasn't going to pretend he was ill, when he was so obviously fine…

Sam leant back, a little scared but not because of Dean's threat (hell, he'd had more whacks from his little brother than he'd care to mention), but because this close up he could see each bead of sweat that lingered upon his big brother's brow. Dean was really ill.

Sam sighed and moved away.

"Fine, Dean. But if you're still unwell in the morning, you have to tell dad. Okay?"

"Okay, bro." Dean replied quietly, pretending to be engrossed in relacing his boots, when all he was really doing was trying to stay focussed on the room around him.

"Promise?" Sam thought now might be the time to break out the old Sammy eyes.

Dean wouldn't look. There was no way he was going to miss this hunt tomorrow. He'd been waiting for weeks for his dad to let him on another, and these days he was allowed to kill all the big stuff. Who needed a games console, when you could play the real thing?

Even so, the only way he was going to get a quiet night was if he appeased Sammy just this one little thing.

"Promise, Sammy. Now get to sleep, Pastor Jim' coming tomorrow, you don't want to miss all that god-bothering goodness, do ya?"

"It's called faith, Dean" Sam said as he tucked himself in, turning to the wall, his eyelids already drooping.

"Yeah, whatever. Night." Dean got up and tucked the covers in around his little brother properly, Sam making a righteous mess yet again.

"Night."

And Dean was free to go to sleep.


He fell into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning, trying to ease up on the mattress as it creaked loudly. He didn't want to wake Sammy. He knew can't have been looking good, and the pain in his head was not going to be easy to hide. He couldn't even breathe through his nose, and much to his own disgust, had to leave his mouth open, gaping dumbly, in order to breathe.

He was sweating like a pig, and not just a normal sweaty pig, it was more like a pig who had been ostracised from the pig sweating community for sweating too much. His sheets were wet with the stuff. And his deodorant was supposedly meant to stop this. Useless crap.

He rolled over, halting a coughing fit and consequently gagging, albeit silently, as he tried not to wake his little brother. He couldn't be doing with all that whining now.

He pulled at a tissue from the drawer beside him, and tried to cough, scraping at his throat to get the phlegmy lump that had formed there out. He felt like a freaking olive: stuffed.

He sighed as he rolled onto his back and felt another phlegmy lump gather there. He felt like absolute crap. Not only was he the dirt on someone's shoe, he was the amoeba on the bacteria of that dirt. He was really suffering here. Not that anyone would find out.

No longer able to sleep, but still incredibly exhausted, he laid back and waited until it was time to get up. He looked at his clock. 3 am. That wasn't too bad. Dad would be in at around 5.30 to get them up anyway, and at least this way he'd be able to feign his illness as tiredness because his dad wouldn't know he'd been up for hours.

5.30 came and right on cue, John Winchester burst through the door, pulling the covers off the bed and turning on the light.

"C'mon boys, time to get up now! Rise and shine, Sammy! Dean, get yo' ass together…"

Sam rolled over onto his back and groaned.

"Dad, it's a Saturday…can't we have til 7?"

"Ha, do you think these demons have a lie-in? C'mon the sooner you get up, the sooner you get pancakes…" John left that one hanging for a moment and then laughed as Sam jumped off his bed, and ran into the kitchen, no sign of the tiredness he'd seen just moments before.

Dean sat up in bed, and sighed as he swung his legs round.

"You okay, Dean?"

It took a moment for Dean to even register that someone was talking to him. He flinched and turned around to face his dad, looking somewhat bemused.

"Hmm?"

John cocked his head, concerned at his son's pallor and grogginess. Fine, Dean was no early bird, but he was never usually this tired.

"I asked if you were okay."

Dean smiled, but it was evidently strained.

"Yeah, 'course I am. Raring to go."

He stood up, too quickly, and was forced to plop straight back down again as dizziness overcame his leg muscles. Apparently someone had installed a funfair in Dean's mind today, and waltzers were the main attraction.

John flew to his son's side.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up into his father's worried eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good. Legs just asleep that's all." Dean got up and swallowed the nausea that rose from his stomach. He clenched his fist as he stifled the shiver that ran through his body. He basically did everything he could to make his dad think he was okay. He didn't need the hassle of his eldest being ill.

John watched his son stand up and sighed. Dean wasn't looking too great, but still, surely he'd know if he wasn't feeling his best. First of all, Sam would have told him and not only that, Dean was responsible enough to understand the need to stay off a hunt if he was poorly. Not entirely convinced by his own logic, John walked to the door.

"There's pancakes in the kitchen, when you're ready…"

"Thanks dad," Dean said quietly, a small smile on his face as he realised his father was really making an effort.

He stumbled forward after his father, but soon felt the wave of vomit rising in his throat. He gulped, taking a sip of the milk that lay next to Sam's bed. He wasn't going to throw up, not now, not right before a hunt.

Wincing, he continued forward and plastered on the biggest happy face he'd ever made, ready to show the Winchester world that Dean was fine and dandy.


"Dean! Psst!" Sam whispered harshly into the darkness.

"Hmm, Ssm?" Dean slurred. He felt weak and tired, and at the moment he was carrying too much. Laden with the duffel bag, he was almost doubling over with that and the added weight of his now heavy limbs. Why, why did he have to make like Hercules? And he didn't even get the fit broad to kiss it better. Life was full of lemons.

"You are swaying, man. You're still ill, aren't you? Dean, you promised," Sam whined, keeping a close eye on his dad who was only just a little bit in front.

"Shut up. I am fine…" He leaned heavily on the sticky wall, the already dark cave going a little bit darker.

"Dean?" Sam was at Dean's side at an instant, a cold, shaking hand on his shoulder. Sam was scared.

"I'm okay, Sam, don't worry." Dean stood up quickly and staggered forward, doing absolutely nothing to reassure his little brother.

"Dean?" Sam grabbed his brother by the arm, surprised at the heat of his skin and just how much the little touch had off balanced the older hunter.

Dean stood and waited for Sam to fill the humid silence. The air in this cave seemed to be getting closer.

"Can't you stop?"

Dean exhaled heavily, swallowing as the dizziness threw his legs into a spasm.

"Leave me alone, okay? Take fine for an answer, dude…"

He continued on, leaving the statement hanging as he remained upright, despite the haze that had seeped into his vision.

He stumbled on a loose rock as his knee buckled a bit. His hand flew to his own forehead as the insistent throbbing returned, and this time with vengeance. Apparently, pain didn't like it when you took paracetamol.

"Hey, boys! Keep up…it's best if we don't separate…" John shouted back, shining his torch through all the nooks and crannies, looking for the tell-tale symbol that would tell him what he was fighting.

Dean looked into his hand, confused to find the torch there hanging limply. He held it out in front of him, trying to focus on the light in order to hide from the darkness that was encroaching on his vision.

Sam could do nothing but watch as his brother stumbled forward, every instinct in his body telling him to scream for his father, but he couldn't. The words failed in his mouth as he remembered the look on Dean's face the night before when he had proposed the same thing.

Dean's torch flew out of his hand again and scattered across the wet floor as Dean's hand pushed at his forehead again, his back hunching as he doubled over in obvious pain.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted, dropping his own torch and running to his brother's side.

Dean groaned loudly, breathing deeply through the pain that was searing through his tummy, his head, his arms, his legs, his…well his entire body, to perfectly honest.

"S'okay… Samm…" The "y" never came out as Dean's knees finally gave into the pressure and collapsed from under him. Sam tried to catch him, but his brother was far too heavy for the small boy to carry and he watched as the older hunter rolled from his arms and into the muddy puddle beneath him.

Eyes widening in panic, Sam stood there for a minute watching as Dean's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body finally fell limp. Sam gulped.

"DAD!!"

No response.

"DAD!" Sam positively screamed as he stood by the unconscious state of his brother and backed away. He didn't know what to do.

"Sam? Are you in trouble? Where are you?!" John sounded worried, Sam didn't scream for nothing. What if he had missed something?!

"SAM!"

Sam could hear the signs of his dad getting nearer, puddles splashing around him as finally he saw his father career round the corner.

"Sam!" John ran to his side, relieved to see him unharmed, grabbing his youngest son's shoulders and running his eyes across his body just in case.

"Oh thank god!" John tried to pull Sam into a hug, but Sam resisted, just pointing in front of him. "Where's Dean?"

Sam merely continued to point as tears began to creep out.

"Sam, what is i-"

John stopped mid sentence as he saw his eldest son lying in a small pool of muddy water, the torch lying beside him, casting a sliver of light over his too pale face.

"Shit, Dean!" John left Sammy with a quick reassuring squeeze of his shoulder and skidding to kneel at Dean's side.

"C'mon son, wake up. Can you hear me? Open your eyes, Deano…"

Dean's head lolled to the side as his dad pressed his palms to his pale, hot cheeks.

"Dean, come on, show me those brilliant green eyes of yours"

As if on cue, Dean's eyelids fluttered as he fought to get them open.

He sighed with absolute relief as Dean rewarded him to a glimpse of those great big heart-warming eyes of his. They immediately melted his father's heart with just that one, small pleading look as he tried to sit up.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, little guy…" John pulled him close and held him as he got his bearings.

"Less of the little…" Dean rasped. Why did the world insist on spinning at him? They weren't even making it bearable like Kylie did. Oh those sweet gold shorts…

John laughed as he saw his eldest squeeze tighter into the embrace. No one was ever too old for a hug from their father.

Dean's breathing was laboured, and his skin was almost on the point of sizzling. And that was one sausage innuendo Dean didn't want to make.

He shivered and John pulled away, looking into his eyes. Far too bright and glassy. His fever was on the up.

"Right, Dean. We gotta get you outta here…" John made to get up and pull Dean into his arms, but he felt a stern arm on his own.

"No, Dad. You gotta finish the hunt…it's my own fault…"

John was a little taken aback at the strong words coming from his weakened son.

"No, Dean…I can't leave you here like this…Sammy's worried, c'mon, let's go…"

"Dad, no! Keep going, I'm not even that ill…"

Dean clawed his way up the side of the cave and the only thing that stopped him from falling straight back down was the strong arm of his father behind his back.

"Sure, Dean. That's not ill. Oh, Dean, why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?! This could've waited,"

Oh, Dean, why didn't I see this coming?

"People…would…die…we save 'em…dad…need…to…" Dean stopped talking, pausing heavily to catch his breaths which were coming fast and short.

John was filled with pride as he saw the selflessness in his son's actions. This boy was going to be a great hunter someday. And he would be the best brother John could ever wish for Sam. Hell, he was pretty bloody fantastic already.

"Dean, this can wait. You, on the other hand, can't…c'mon let's get you up…"

John grunted as he heaved his son's weight onto his side and looked at Sammy's sad, numb face.

"S'okay, Sam…Dean'll be fine. He's not feeling too well that's all…"

"I know…" Sam muttered under his breath. God, he was feeling guilty. Not only for not telling anyone when he knew Dean was sick, but because when Dean had really needed him, he had just stood there. Useless. Dean wouldn't have stood there. He'd have caught him.

"C'mon, let's get outta dodge, son…hang on, Deano," John murmured soothingly into his barely conscious son's ear.

Dean moaned shortly in response, grabbing his dad's knee as he doubled over and retched.

John sighed and rubbed his son's back in gentle circles. The sooner he got Dean home, the better.

He caught Dean around the waist as the vomiting rendered him exhausted.

"S'alright, son. Dad's here…"

He was about to pull Dean into his arms when he heard growling behind him.

Tentatively, Dean still clutched to his side he turned round, dreading what he was about to see before him.

The wolf howled loudly, its screech echoing throughout the dripping cave.

"Fuck" John breathed.

The growl became louder as it reared onto its hind legs. It was gonna strike.

"Sam, get out now, don't look back, just run as fast as you can…"

Sam gulped, his mouth dry.

"Sam…go…"

"But Dean…"

"I've got Dean, just run…"

Sam sniffed, and John knew that his little boy was terrified.

"Look, Sammy, I promise, me and Dean, we'll be right behind you, but what I really need you to do is get out…c'mon…go…"

Reluctantly, Sam moved back into the tunnel that led back to the entrance, not taking his eyes off his brother's limp body held upright by his dad's restraining eyes until he really had to.

John glanced round to check Sam was really gone.

He held Dean closer, tighter, refusing to let him go in his vulnerable state.

John could have released a hollow laugh there. Vulnerable and Dean…not quite a match made in heaven.

A bark reverberated throughout the damp cave and John stood his ground, unwilling to move for fear of startling the animal.

The bark morphed slowly into a dry, gruff laugh as John realised that he and Dean weren't the only humans in this cave.

A woman strolled out of the shadows, her head cocked back in maniacal laughter.

John was thrown into the wall, Dean's body forced from his grip. He winced as he heard the thwack as his eldest son flopped to the ground.

"Ah, Little Johnnie Winchester…enchante, my friend…" She swung her hips as she walked towards the hunter pinned to the side.

"Wish I could say it was a pleasure…" John retorted, spitting the plosive out of his mouth with nothing but venom in his voice.

"Well, that's not very nice is it?" she simpered, pouting at his as she stepped over Dean's motionless body and stood close to the eldest Winchester as he writhed against the wall.

"No use squirming, daddy-o, you ain't gonna get free…" She ran a delicate palm down his face.

Dean groaned loudly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. His back arched as he tensed up, the pain wracking his body. Where was dad?

"Dean!" John struggled against the invisible force against his chest, feeling the gritty wall scrape against his back.

"Hmm, sweet as this is, its gonna have to stop."

With a flick of her wrist, Dean slid to the wall, a hollow thud echoing throughout the tunnels as his head smacked against the bottom.

John swallowed, seeing the blood ooze from his son's head, slowly painting the damp floor red.

"Hurts, don't it? Seeing your family die? In front of your eyes…you didn't even hesitate…my son…"

"Was a murdering bastard?" offered John, remembering the exact hunt in which he had killed this witch's son.

"Don't you even say a word about him…You are going to watch Dean die, and you won't be able to stop it, not until its too late, anyhoo…" she sighed mockingly.

"Your son killed 4 people. 4 innocent people, with families. People who loved them."

"I loved him…"

John clenched his fist in fame as pain pushed through his body.

"Son of a bitch has never been more true…" he growled.

He breathed through the onslaught of agony washing through his limbs. His nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fist tighter, knuckles going white. That's when the realisation hit him. He could move his arm.

Keep her talking…

"I wouldn't worry sweetheart, you're next…"

She guffawed.

"Have you met my familiar, Johnnie? Rex, this is John, John, meet Rex…he's been dying to meet you, Rex baby…" She stroked the wolf's head softly, grinning as his harsh bark grew louder.

Rex jumped at John, and John shouted angrily as he felt its teeth pierce his arm.

"Fuck!" he shouted.

He was forced against the arm tucked behind his back, and the struggle to reach the dagger in his back pocket was over for at least a moment until John finally threw the wolf off his arm, relieved as it slammed into the side, sliding down it, defeated. It wasn't coming back for more, yet, John was sure of that.

And for the first time, she looked worried. Re-plastering the infallible simpering grin, she licked her lips seductively as once again she approached John.

"Poor Rex…all he wanted was a bit of love…"

She thrust her hips against his, and he grimaced, repulsed by her too-sweet scent and the curl of her tongue against his neck.

"Get away from me, bitch!" He spat.

"Hmm, that hurts John... What would Mary say?"

He wrestled the dagger out and without a seconds hesitation, he plunged it into her stomach.

She stumbled back, hands patting against her belly and looking at them in disgust when they came away bloody.

She screamed as she fell to her knees.

"Love, only dogs can hear you now. Lucky, I s'pose…" John smiled at her as she lay on the floor, smoke billowing from her familiar's nose, as he fizzled away with the death of the witch.

He breathed slowly, as he pressed a hand against his arm, bleeding profusely. He really didn't feel all that well. But that wasn't important. His son's were waiting for him…they needed him.

He whirled around as quick as his shaking legs would allow, and ran to Dean's side, the gash on his forehead still leaking, covering Dean's face with blood.

"Dean? Dean? It's dad, c'mon, its all okay, now…"

He pulled Dean up into his arms, not happy with the unresponsiveness. It wasn't in Dean's nature to cause worry, but he sure was doing it now.

"Dean? Fuck, Dean? Please, c'mon, boy!"

Dean's breathing hitched and then the unimaginable happened. He stopped breathing altogether.


Allow me a little artistic license here, as I do realise Kylie's Spinning Around was far later, but it's one of my fave bits , so please don't complain. Pretend all is well, and please don't get angry with me xxx

TBC...review me and i might just write some more...please!