"I dunno Bobby." Dean hesitated; hand on the trunk, ready to push it closed yet not able to do it. "You sure about this?"

"Gavin is a trusted hunter Dean, that hunting cabin of his up in Montana is safer than my house, you'll be fine there."

"That ain't it Bobby and you know it." he glanced back at the house, attention abruptly brought back to where he stood when Bobby slammed the trunk closed. "I just…don't think this is a good idea."

"Dean, we ain't going over this again, it's been settled…..you need to get your ass in that there car and high-tail it up North to that cabin. Trust me, I've been there, you'll love the town. Women, beer, pool and poker, what more could you want?" Bobby walked around and opened the driver's door. "Get it and get going." he waited. "Sam will be with me, he'll be fine, now, go away."

"Okay, yeah, but….it's just,"

"Two weeks Dean, and if he needs you I'll drive him up there, we ain't gonna be more than a day's drive from you at any given time, okay? Last thing you want to do is get him sick and well, let's be honest, time apart will do you both good." Bobby spoke calmly when what he wanted to do was throttle the stubborn fool dragging his feet in front of him. "If I need you, I will call, ok? I promise." though he spoke in a firm tone, it belied the anxiety coursing through him.

He hated leaving either brother alone, but it was better to get Sam away from Dean before Dean made him sick. A cold Dean could easily fight; a cold would land Sam in the hospital. A place they couldn't risk Sam being. Of course, Bobby couldn't recall the last time Dean had a cold, certainly not since childhood, but a body's natural defenses could only withstand so much, and even Dean could be worn down and need time to recuperate.

"Fine." Dean got into the car and shut the door. "Good luck."

***000***

Nearly a week had passed when Bobby got the phone call. Gabby, short for Gabrielle and some relative of Gavin's who had set her to spying on Dean called to say perhaps someone should come get Dean, for he was being not only stubborn, but stupid. Get Dean? What kind of trouble had the pain in the ass gone and gotten into now? Not that it mattered, for he and Sam would leave immediately to retrieve wayward brother regardless of the reason, but seriously?

This barely legal bimbo, for she sounded all of sixteen on the phone, expected him to believe that Dean Winchester had taken himself to see a doctor? Sure, Bobby had sent him off suffering from a cold, but hell, nothing being worthy of a trip to the local clinic. She wanted him to believe the eldest sure-footed Winchester had fallen down a flight of stairs? Really? Believe he'd been sober, neither feverish nor delirious, not chasing some sex kitten nor running for his life from some axe-wielding evil creature out to kill him when he took said-unplanned tumble? Ha!

Not likely and so unbelievable that Bobby doubted she was telling the truth. He'd called Dean, asked if everything was all right, asked if anything happened or gone wrong or felt off. Nope, he was hunky-dory, a-ok, tip-top shape, right as rain, fit as a fiddle. Which meant of course, that some part of Gabby's story was true and Dean was an ass. It'd been enough to convince Bobby to take Sam and high-tail it north.

Bobby sent a glance towards the passenger seat where a 6'4 man was as sound asleep as a person could get in the front seat of an old Chevy. Man in the eyes of the world maybe, but to him a kid; the small, mousy, book-smart kid who'd been all of four years of age when he'd first met him.

The happy-go-lucky, all-was-right-in-his-world spunky tot who bounced and flounced his way around the salvage yard and tore through the house, slamming doors, scattering rugs and upending piles of stacked newspapers and books, darting away with a giggle when Bobby swatted at him with his hat. Twenty-five years later and just getting a smile out of Sam required strength, patience and gumption Violence, loss and death had wiped away that happy little boy and some days, Sam couldn't pull it together and get out of bed.

Bobby pulled off the road when they were about an hour outside of town. Might as well get something to eat before reuniting the brothers. He knew how Sam had fared during the separation and it hadn't been good. Had he not had Bobby and the meds he probably wouldn't have made it. Dean would have gotten a call from the police or a hospital telling him his brother had flipped out and had been admitted to a psyche ward for evaluation. Course, had Sam not had Bobby, no force on earth, in heaven or in hell would have separated Dean from his brother.

"Sam? You hungry?" he knew better than to reach out and shake the younger man awake. "Sam? Hey!" little more sharply. "Sam!"

Sam woke slowly somewhat groggy from the last round of meds Bobby he'd taken before beginning the ride to Montana. He'd been fine with Bobby, hadn't needed to be taken to a hospital and locked up and given more treatment than Bobby or Dean could give him. Anyone ever came near him again with prozac or valium or any other drug remotely related they'd need dentures.

"We're about an hour out, I'm hungry….I can get it to go…."

"No." Sam sat up with a yawn. "I can eat…have you called him?"

"Hell no. Let him think he pulled one over on me, don't want to give him a chance to find a way to hide whatever it is Gabby thinks we need to know about."

"So, you think he's actually sick?"

"Dunno, but you know your brother never does anything half-assed."

"He never gets sick Bobby. A cold maybe but never the flu or a virus, never anything Nyquil doesn't work on."

"He hasn't had an easy time of it lately Sam. He hasn't eaten or slept….he spent a year without you, it took him months of that year for him to even function….then he went through getting you back, fighting Eve, losing Lisa and Ben, losing Cas, losing you…there was Gwen and Samuel and Rufus, he's beat…."

"Yeah, yeah. I know, ok." Sam reached for the door handle. He didn't want to hear any more, didn't need to be reminded yet again what he had put his brother through. Didn't want to admit that despite knowing all he had cost Dean to lose, he couldn't be sorry he'd been the one Dean chose to remain with.

Sam took the opportunity to walk around the parking lot while Bobby filled up the cars. It felt good to breathe fresh air and stretch. He was full of knots and cramps from spending all day in the car. He stayed within Bobby's sight, knew better than to wander off, last and only time he'd done that, and it'd been without intention, he'd been rewarded with the sound of a shot-gun cocking and a threat to shoot his ass full of rock salt. No, Sam didn't know how it felt to be shot with salt but Dean did and Sam had been with him while he struggled through the aftermath and it was enough to convince him he didn't want any part of his body feeling the sting of salt from the force of a shot-gun.

His fingers played with the bracelet around his wrist. He hadn't taken it off since Dean had fastened it with the threat that if he ever saw Sam without it, Sam wouldn't like the consequences. He'd thought about insisting on a necklace, but necklaces weren't a favorite subject of Dean's and the dog tag that would hang from the chain would hamper and impede him in a fight and he was rather fond of his teeth, so a bracelet it had been. A bracelet with both Dean and Bobby's cell numbers engraved along with four simple words: in case of ER.

Sam sighed, he'd had plenty of time to think about wearing it, hadn't wanted to, saw no reason to, had hated it until the day he'd lost Dean on a crowded sidewalk. He'd become disoriented, then scared, then panicked and had had a complete and public meltdown. He'd come to his senses to find Dean kneeling in front of him, a hand on his shoulder, pressing a cup into his hand. Some kind-hearted lady had tried to assist him, saw the bracelet, recognized the red-medic alert symbol and called Dean.

"You done dancing around?" Bobby called. "Let's eat."

***000***

It was still daylight when Bobby parked in front of the cabin and shut the car down. They both expected Dean to come out onto the porch but the door remained closed. Sam shot Bobby a look as they climbed the steps and had to knock. The door was opened by a pretty brunette dressed in pink fleece with pink fuzzy slippers on her feet - bedroom attire and it was obvious she felt at home.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh, Gabby?" Bobby questioned. He didn't think so, this girl looked older than Gabby had sounded on the phone.

"No." she didn't move or smile nor offer her name. It was obvious she wasn't pleased to see them and had no intention of letting them in. "You are?"

"Coming in." Bobby announced, palm flat against the door and shoving. "DEAN!" he bellowed, surprised when the girl held her ground and Bobby bumped against her.

"He's not feeling well, you need to come back tomorrow." she put her hip against the door, using her full body weight in attempt to close it.

"We know. It's why we're here." Sam frowned. "Dean?"

She was no barrier to keep them out when both Bobby and Sam wanted in. She kept her feet only because she managed to keep her hold on the door. Bobby knew his way around the cabin and led Sam straight to the flight of steps that led upstairs from the kitchen. Hell, Sam would still be looking for the steps had Bobby not known where they were.

"Dean!" Bobby called out; scurrying up the steep steps faster than Sam thought a man of his age could go. Certainly faster than he could go and he was taking them two at a time. The long ride in the small car didn't allow for loose limbs and relaxed muscles. He'd never complain about the Impala again and damn, if these were the steps Dean had supposedly fallen down, Sam could understand why, they were narrow, steep, dark and enclosed. "Dean! Dammit, answer me boy!"

"Heh?" Dean raised his head, yawning sleepily as he blinked blearily up at the two men who crowded the doorway of the bedroom. "Sam? What are you doing here? his eyes cleared and realization dawned on him that Sam and Bobby both stood in the doorway. "What's wrong?"

"With me? Nothing." Sam grinned, his earlier alarm easing now that he saw Dean. "Nice welcome back, by the way."

Dean let his head fall back against the pillow. Had two weeks passed already? He'd spoken to both Sammy and Bobby several times during the last couple days, but still, didn't seem like two weeks had passed. He'd been out most nights since arriving, found the locals to be friendly, had found a decent bar and met a girl who was willing to play house.

Bobby had said Sam was doing great, better than expected actually, had taken him on a few easy hunts, mostly salt and burns. He'd easily dug up whatever grave necessary without tiring, had eased right back into whatever role and identity they'd had to assume. Had strayed off the path a couple of times further than Bobby was comfortable with, but had responded to Bobby's authority without argument. Bobby was grateful every time he called, Dean answered, if he hadn't, nothing would have stopped Sam in his mission to get to Dean.

"You sure you're ok?" Dean rubbed his eyes. "Bobby? Is he ok?"

"He's fine, he ain't the reason we're here. Who the hell is Gabby?" Bobby demanded.

"Who?" he squinted at the light. "Gab…..oh….sweet kid…. her mom is something to Gavin. Come's over to clean, do laundry, get groceries, and make sure I haven't burned the place to the ground."

"And the pink fuzzy powder puff who let us in?" Bobby pushed.

"Oh, um…..huh, Lorie, Lacey….Lottie….starts with an L." he sat up, rubbing a hand long his jaw. "So, it hasn't been two weeks, has it?" he covered his mouth with a closed fist, wracked with a coughing fit.

"Nice cough." Sam commented. "You didn't have that when we left you here." he'd had a cold, sure, but not that deep wet cough that sounded suspiciously like bronchitis.

"Did you fall down a flight of steps? Did you take yourself to the local clinic?" Bobby asked impatiently. "Dean, hey, I'm talking to you!"

"What the hell are you blabbing about?" his eyes were watering. Sam sensed a presence behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Miss-starts-with-an L hovering in the doorway.

"How long you had that cough?" Bobby asked. "You didn't have it when you left us to come here. Damn you Dean, what the hell have you been doing? You're supposed to be here resting, getting your head together, not playing house with Pinky Tuscadero over there." he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm supposed to be worrying about Sam, not you, can't you, just once, behave?"

"What are you doing here?" Dean rubbed the palm of his hand against his chest, caught Sam staring at him and dropped his hand. "Gabby called you? I'm gonna kill that brat!"

"You're sick." Sam announced. "My god, you really are! You're sick!" he exclaimed gleefully, clapping his hands. "Mr. Iron Man is sick! What is it? You think maybe it's the flu?"

Dean's eyes were webbed red and swollen in their sockets. "Gee Sammy, don't sound so happy." another fit of coughing. "Not the flu, not bronchitis, upper respiratory infection."

"Oh, let me enjoy the rare time you're shown as human." Sam grinned. "Bobby, how do I reach this Gabby girl?"

"Hell if I know!"

"Number's on the fridge." Dean yawned. "Catch up with you later?"

"In a minute." Bobby said, catching Sam's eye as Dean rolled to his side, back to Sam and pulled the blanket up to his shoulder. "Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"Going back to sleep." he murmured sleepily. "Go away and lemme alone."

"How late is the grocery store open?" Sam asked Bobby. "Think the town has one?"

"How would I know? I'd guess ten or so, ask Gabby when you call her, she should know."

"Why don't you leave him alone?"

Both Bobby and Sam turned to give Lottie identical looks. Bobby was taken aback, but Sam was amused. He'd dealt with this since he was nine and his brother hit puberty. Women, no matter their age, always wanted to take care of Dean. He was used to it and he knew how to handle well-meaning women whose attentions were unwanted, both by him and by Dean. Well, he didn't want this one around but maybe Dean did.

"Lottie, right?" he gave her a smile, wondered briefly about her frown then shrugged it off. "Why don't you go downstairs and make him something to eat? Bobby and I just want to talk to him, okay?"

She tossed her hair over one shoulder, gave a harrumph and stalked out of the room. Sam rolled his eyes, just what he wanted to deal with, a pissed off-picked-up-in-a-bar bimbo who didn't know who she was dealing with. Bobby stood aside, recognizing the determined look on Sam's face, the look that said, he wasn't about to be ignored any longer.

Dean yelped as the blanket was ripped from his grasp under his chin. Before he could react, a hand grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. When he raised his hands to ward off further contact, his wrists were knocked aside and his cheek was slapped lightly.

"Hey!" he protested, half-heartedly attempting to strike out. "Knock it off, you prick."

"Then wake up and talk to me. We didn't drive all freaking day to be ignored. You're sick Dean, admit it. Now did you fall down the steps or not?'

"Maybe." he muttered. "So what?"

"Did you hurt anything? An ankle, maybe?" Sam pressed impatiently. "How did you fall anyway?"

"Um…no?" he paused, waiting to see if Sam was appeased by that answer. Apparently not. "Don't think so? Hell Sam, I dunno, what difference does it make? I'm not going anywhere." he scowled, then frowned as it occurred to him Sam and Bobby had come to get him. "Am I?"

"I can't deal with you right now." Sam rubbed his forehead wearily. "Bobby…."

"Go see what you can get out of Cotton Candy and call Gabby. I'll try to wake him up and get some straight answers outta him."

"Wait…..why are you here? Did you come to get me? Bobby?"

"Yeah, Dean, I hear you…Sam go on downstairs."

Sam entered the kitchen with the intention of sitting Lottie down and having a conversation. She sat at the table, look of defiance on her face, coffee mug in her hands. She was not going to be cooperative. Sam sighed, pushing his hair back, not wanting to get into an argument or have her verbally attack him.

He sent a casual glance towards the counter, thinking maybe a cup of coffee would be just the thing. Toaster, blender, block of knives, cookie jar, canister set, various bottles…..aah, there it was, coffee pot full of coffee. He'd drink it black, she didn't appear to be in any kind of mood to point him in the direction of sugar or milk and he didn't relish receiving a look of pity should he ask for flavored creamer.

"Do you know how late the grocery store is open tonight?" Sam asked, might as well make an effort to be friendly.

"There's plenty of food here, we're good."

"Yeah, but well….but….I…"

"Ten o'clock. It's just a cold you know."

"Yeah, but I know him and a cold is all I'm going to let it be." he picked up a mug, then the coffee pot. He glanced around a second time in search of sugar; it was probably in one of the canisters. His passed over then returned to rest on the variety of medicine bottles, mentally identifying each one. Dayquil, Nyquil, Vicks Formula 44D, Deslym…the only cold and flu liquid medicines safe to give Dean and there…..a small bottle of ….

"What is that?" he demanded, not realizing how harsh his voice was until she knitted her eyebrows together over the mug. Didn't matter, she would learn where Sam stood in Dean's life. Hell, Dean wasn't even sure of her name.

"It's coffee."

"No, that!" he pointed to the bottle. "What is it?" putting the mug on the table, he started towards the counter, feeling his heart pick up a beat. He put the coffee pot back, he wanted both hands free.

"Cough syrup." her tone was patronizing and Sam itched to slap the smirk off her face.

"What?! For who? Dean? You didn't give him any, did you?"

"Um, gee Sam, have you heard him cough?" she was mocking him. "I mean, aren't you here because he went to the clinic?"

He reached the counter and grabbed the bottle, turned it around and saw the prescription label. "He got this filled?" he couldn't keep the snarl from his voice.

"You left him here alone." she said snidely, taking a sip of coffee. Sam fisted his hand; a vision of throwing the coffee in her face made him feel slightly better and helped him control his temper. "And no, he didn't, I picked the prescriptions up for him."

"You gave it to him? Does he know what this is?" he was aghast. "Why? Why would you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?" he read the label, uncapped the bottle and took a whiff. "You gave him this?" he repeated. It explained why Dean wasn't acting like himself, it also explained the fall down the steps. "How long ago?" he turned to confront the girl, who was staring at him in fury. Bobby's raised voice pulled his attention and he walked over to the steps. He'd hoped Dean would have gone to sleep but didn't appear so. "Still waiting for an answer Lottie."

Another look, another sip, the bitch dismissed him and Sam's anger took control. With a growl, he snatched the mug from her hand, the coffee splashing out of the mug, over her hand and onto the table. She squawked, jumping to her feet, putting the chair, like it could stop him, between them.

"Lottie…." he stopped at the look on her face. "What? Let me guess, not your name….." he sighed, should have known better than to believe Dean would remember her name correctly. "I'm going to ask you one more time and you had better answer. Did. You. Give. Him. Any?"

"My name is Charlotte." she said coldly. "And yes." she bit out, and then added. "Don't you dare touch me."

"How long ago?" he asked a second time.

She glanced up at the clock. "An hour."

"Is this the first time?"

"No, I started him on it yesterday." she saw his face. "The doctor prescribed it for him, stop acting like I'm giving him illegal drugs."

"There's codeine in this, Lottie." he held the open bottle over the sink and poured the contents down the drain.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she came around the chair, hand reaching out to tug on his wrist. His opposite hand shot out to ward her off. She stopped just short of touching distance. "That was expensive!"

"Maybe you should go." Sam suggested calmly, reining his temper in was a struggle he was losing. One more look or dismissive shrug and he would pick her up, carry her to the door, deposit her on the other side of it and close and lock it behind her. He wouldn't give her the chance to make a decision. Dressed like Strawberry Shortcake or not, he didn't care, he would put her out on the street to find her own way back to wherever she came from.

"I'm not going anywhere." she stated. "I'm here by his invitation so get used to me being here. Someone needs to be here to take care of him."

"That's not going to be you." Sam seethed. "I'm here."

"It sure as hell hasn't been you this last week." she shot back. "He hasn't asked me to leave, so why don't you just stand aside, or better yet, go back to where you came from and leave us alone."

"You don't know him….." Sam paused as Bobby called his name. He wondered how she had convinced Dean to take the cough syrup in the first place. He didn't usually respond to strangers, let alone trust them but he wasn't going to ask her.

"Look, it's best if you leave. Bobby and I have it under control." he tossed the empty bottle into the sink. "Ever stop to wonder why he didn't already have prescription cough syrup with him? He throws a reaction to codeine. You wouldn't know if he were allergic to any medications or whether he throws reactions to any. You can't just go around giving people you don't know prescription medicine. For Christ sake, he picked you up in a bar!"

"He never told the doctor he couldn't take codeine, you want to blame someone, go right upstairs and ask him why he didn't say something. Don't you dare turn this around on me."

"SAM! God dammit!"

Sam hesitated, unwilling to let the moment go with Lottie, but the sound of running feet had him bolting up the steps. Yup, Dean and codeine were not a good mix.