Dean pushed himself slowly into a sitting position; squinting his eyes a little as the room tilted slightly. The damn headache his been nurturing for the past couple of days, ever since the last hunt just didn't seem to get any better, no matter how much rest he got or how much pain killers he's been forcing himself to take.

It was stupid, really. He told his father that he was thrown against a grave stone by the angry spirit of Jim McKoye, but the truth is he simply tripped. And if that's not embarrassing enough, it was after the hunt was over. He was walking back to the Impala, trying to decide which way will take him the fastest to Navada, where he is supposed to meet up with his father in a couple of days, when his foot jammed into a root or something and he fell over, hitting his head on a grave stone. He woke up a few minutes later with what will become a nasty black eye in a few hours and a persistent headache, which he hasn't been able shake.

Dean got up tiredly and went to the bathroom; shaking his head slightly as he got a good look at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit – the nasty bruise around his left eye was still the shade of purple, though it was beginning to fade to yellow around the edges, and truth be told he looked just as tired as he felt. He has to look more alive by the time he meets John, or he will never hear the end of it, or worse – his dad may not trust him enough to let him hunt solo again.

He stripped quickly out of his clothes and got into the shower, turning the heat up until the water was steaming hot. He just doesn't seem to get warm enough these last few days. Letting the hot water ease his sore muscles he thought that maybe he was coming down with something. He could already feel the slight joint pain he always got when he was running a fever. He'll simply have to stop in the nearest pharmacy to restock some aspirin to get his fever down or to stop it from rising – he has to be on top of his game for this next hunt.

It was one thing when he was hunting by himself and didn't have to worry about covering anybody's back. It was an all deferent story when he was hunting with someone else, especially his father. He has to be fit or someone else will pay the price; and worse – he'll let his father down. Deciding that getting sick is not an option, Dean turned the water off, and quickly dried himself, leaving only his hair all wet and dripping. It will also help with the fever.

He walked out of the bathroom completely naked (one of the few benefits of traveling alone), pulled a clean set of clothes and got dressed. It was already past 8 PM, which means he will have to drive all night if he wants to meet up with John first thing tomorrow morning as he had said he would.

He than quickly gathered all his things, stuffed them into his duffle bag and left, forgetting the half full bottle of aspirin on the night stand. It's definitely going to be a long night.

---

Dean finally pulled in front of the motel, which read "The Desert Motel" at 7:52 AM, 8 whole minutes ahead of schedule. His whole body ached from the long drive, so he slowly got out of the car and stretched painfully, absently rubbing his sore neck. Looking up at the sun he couldn't hold back the groan as he felt as though the hot summer Navada sun bore holes into his eyes. It was almost painful. The sun was so hot and it wasn't even 8 AM. He fucking hates the desert.

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, swiping the sweat away. The affect of the aspirin he had taken a few hours ago was slowly wearing of, and he wasn't really sure, but his fever might have picked up a notch. He made a mental note for himself to get a new thermometer, something he really hasn't gotten around to do since it broke a few months back.

He peaked into the car again, taking the aspirin bottle, he bought at an all night pharmacy, from the gloves compartment and dry swallowed two tablets. Stretching up again and turning around he almost jumped as he came face to face with his father.

"Are you sick?"

"Jesus dad, you almost gave me a heart attack". Answered Dean, mentally kicking himself for taking the pills in front of the hotel, where his dad could see him, instead of waiting until he had the privacy of the motel's bathroom.

"Seriously Dean, are you sick?"

"Just a little under the weather." He replied quietly. There was no point in lying.

John squinted his eyes at him, examining his son.

"Because, you know I need you a hundred percent for this one."

"I know" Dean answered as he grabbed his duffle from behind. "I'm fit for this hunt, don't worry". He answered a little too harshly.

"OK." John gave up. He would simply have to keep an eye on his son for the next few days. The kid really did have a particularly high tolerance for pain and a tendency to lie about it. "Let's go inside so I can fill you in. It's too hot outside. Fucking desert".

"It looks bad." John said once they were inside, slightly indicating with his head towards Dean's injured left eye.

"It's not so bad…. Really dad, I'm fine." Dean said, deciding to postpone his much needed shower. There is no point in alarming his dad even further. Taking a shower to relax his sore neck and to warm up could wait. Though it is weird that he hasn't been able to warm up, considering that it is summer time and he is in the desert.

"So, what are we up against?"

"I'm not really sure." John answered. "There have been several deaths in the area these last few months. All the victims had disappeared after hiking in the desert, not too far from this town, but their bodies were discovered less than a week after they had been first reported missing."

"So, you think we might be dealing with a wendigo?" Dean asked as he set down and started cleaning his Glock. Anything to keep his mind off the persistent headache and the cold feeling that crept up his body.

"Wendigos usually live in the woods. It's not like them to live in the desert. Food is harder to come by in this area."

They set in silence for a few seconds, considering the next course of action. Dean cleaned his gun again taking it apart and putting it back together, not really paying attention. John went over his journal once more – trying not to stare at Dean, the kid really didn't look so hot; but he also knew that if he mentioned anything to Dean again it will just piss his son again – and a pissed off Dean could literally put himself to an early grave just to spite him. It was his way of rebellion – Sam would yell and slam doors and storm off, Dean would internalize whatever he was feeling and would become quiet, silent. And if he were sick he would just stop taking care of himself (not the he normally did such a good job at it – he usually channel all his energy to take care of his father or brother). He could really act like a for year old who tries to get back at his parents by stop breathing – it would be funny, if the kid weren't really sick.

"Let's just go into town, talk to the people. Maybe we're dealing with something different. Is there anything suspicious about this town?" Dean finally broke the silence, interrupting John's thought.

"Not really. I have been doing some research but nothing seems out of the ordinary. You know… apart from the 6 dead bodies… so I was thinking…."

Please don't say hiking in the desert, anything but hiking in the desert… anything but hiking… anything but hiking… Dean kept reciting over and over in his head.

"We will head out into the desert. Maybe draw this thing to us. Do some close hand research? And once we know what we're up against, we'll go back prepared. What do you think?" John asked. Not that Dean's opinion really mattered – it's not that he does not respect the kid. Because he does. But he's got more experience and the bottom line is that he's got the last say. They will always end up doing whatever he decides – but he just wanted to make sure that Dean was paying attention. He really does look awful. And it's not just the bruises. He just looks plain sick.

"Sounds good." Dean answered as expected.

"We should get out now before it gets too hot." John said as he started packing his weapons.

"I'm all set." Said Dean as he pulled a thin long sleeves shirt. He was really freezing.

"You're kidding right?" Asked John as he saw Dean wearing the shirt. "It's like 90 degrees out. Are you sure you okay?"

"I just don't want to get sun burns, alright?" He answered angrily. "I told you I'm fine. So just stop asking" He snapped and walked out of their motel room, picking the Imapla's keys on his way out. There is no way he was letting his dad drive his baby right now.

---

They had no problem locating the route the second and third victims had taken when they had gone missing.

"Are we going to walk the entire track?" Dean asked after an hour walk in the hot desert sun, silently praying that the answer would be no.

"No. We will have to go back to town and come back when we are properly prepared. We have got to play this one smart, Dean. First of all, we are not really sure what we are up against. And second, the fifth victim was a hunter…." That one really got Dean's attention. He turned around to face his father. "He came out here after the forth body had been found." John went on. "He was the one who called me, actually. He was a good man and even a better hunter. If this thing got him…." He suddenly stopped mid sentence as he watched Dean looking up in the sun's direction and visibly cringe. Squinting his eye's shot. "Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just looked directly at the sun." He knew it sounded lame but there was no way he was going to admit to his father that looking at the sun was so painful that it felt like been punched in the face. "This thing didn't even have to work too hard. Look…" He said and looked back up, pointing in the general direction of the mountains, willing himself not to let it show how painful this slight motion was. "It probably just stayed on the slopes and followed them as they made their way in the canyon. It's almost too easy. It's a perfect place for an ambush."

"You're right. It means that this thing is smart. It knows this area well and it knows what it's doing."

"Maybe it is a wendigo." Dean speculated. "Nothing else seems to make sense." He stopped for a second, leaning against a rock in the only place that was in the shade, taking slow long sips of water. It was even hotter now that they were approaching 10 AM, but he still felt cold, too cold.

"I don't know Dean. That what I first thought, it was what Dale thought too. But the there are little things that just don't seem to add up – like that it hunts his victims in the desert and that it works during day time too and…" He stopped abruptly when he realized that Dean wasn't really paying attention. "Hey. Hey!" He nearly shouted until he got his son to turn his head and look at him. "This is important, you hear?!"

"Yeah, Dad. I know. It hunts in the desert and during day time and it doesn't hold on to it's victims for very long – unlike wendigoes." He finished, making sure his dad knew he was up for this.

"Let's just go back to the motel. Get some rest. Do some research." John said, he would never admit out loud that he had been wrong. Offering Dean some down time to relax was the closest thing to an apology he could offer.

"I thought you would never ask." Dean said as he pushed himself off the rock. "Wooaa" Dean said as the world was spinning around him and he had to grab the rock to steady himself. "I just got up to fast and spent too much time in the sun." He said before John gets the chance to comment about it, as he walked past his father.

John grabbed his son's upper arm as he passed him by and violently turned him around. "No bulshitting Dean." He said in a low voice. "I need the truth – are you feeling alright?"

Dean contemplating whether he should lie to his father. But that usually didn't end well when it came to his father. So he decided to level with him. "I'm fine. Really – I have a slight fever, and that nasty bump to the head I took a couple of days ago is sure not helping – but I have hunted with worse. Look, I was up all night driving and we just spent two hours walking in the sun in the middle of the summer. I just need to get back to the motel, take a shower and rest for a little bit, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." John said, not really sure. Something still doesn't feel right.

---

Dean woke up some time after 3 PM and the first thing he noticed was that his father was gone. The room was quiet. The drapes were pulled together, which dimmed the light. And Dean noticed that his father had left his lunch for him on the table.

He then allowed himself to moan out loud. The sleep didn't help one bit. If anything he felt even worse. His head was throbbing so badly he actually thought it would burst open and he was so cold he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering. His neck also felt so stiff that he could barely turn his head. Deciding that this was definitely time for some aspirin he pushed himself to a sitting position with too much effort.

The nausea he did not expect. It hit him so surprisingly that he barely made it to the bathroom in time. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and retched violently. Not that he had anything in his stomach to expel but bitter bile. But once he had started he could not stop. He heaved over and over again. His stomach clenching painfully with each heave. His headache intensifying ten times fold.

"Dean?" He heard his father's worried voice.

"In here." He answered quietly. No point in lying – he had left the bathroom door open – his father could probably hear him throwing up all the way to the parking lot.

"Here" John drew circles slowly on Dean's back. He could feel his son's muscles straining with each painful retch. He could also feel the tremors and the heat radiating from his son's body.

Finally after almost 10 minutes the heaving finally stopped. Dean pushed himself off the floor, flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth to get rid of the bitter taste of bile. Gratefully accepting the glass of water his father offered.

He went back straight to bed and curled under the covers, squinting his eyes against the bright light that flooded the room once his father drew the curtains open.

"Dean?" He could feel his father shaking him slightly. "Dean, I want to take your temperature" John shook him again.

"It's not s'bad" He answered slurring his words a little, rolling on his right side away from his father, trying to go back to sleep.

"Come on, Dean. You're practically burning up." He said as he rolled his son back on his back forcefully. Dean just stretched his arm and waited for John to hand him the thermometer, which he grabbed and shoved in his mouth without even opening his eyes.

"Could you close the curtains" He asked around the thermometer.

"The light hurts your eyes?" John asked worriedly – it's not a good sign.

"It just disturbs my sleep, s'all." He answered tiredly, picking the worry in his father's voice – he really doesn't want to cause anymore trouble.

"103.8" Dean announced once the thermometer beeped. "Looks like you're on your own on this hunt, dad" He said dejectedly and rolled back on his side as he pulled the covers over his head.

"Fucking desert." Dean mumbled as he fought to keep his eyes from drooping

"Just go back to sleep, Dean" John said and patted him slightly on the back. "I'm heading out to talk the rangers who patrol the area."

"Call me if you need anything" He added as he walked out, but by then Dean was already sleeping restlessly.

---

A/N – okay, so here is the deal, I don't know how to continue this fic (I had it planned in my head only this far) so I'm offering this challenge (I don't know if this is the right way to put up a challenge, but I don't know any other way….) –

You can continue this fic, which ever way you see fit. You can throw Sam in if you want to, you can even copy it and modify it according to your desire. I'm not a big slash/wincest fan, but you can also do that (just don't forget to alter the rating if you do).

I named this fic "The Desert", so if you accept this challenge please refer to this title, though you may change the title to your fic if you want to….

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