A/N: Hey, everyone, here's another chapter. Sorry for the delay- I had writer's block and it was really bad, but then I came up with this. Hopefully you will all like it, so just let me know what you think.

Disclaimers: I do not own Supernatural nor am I a medical professional.

Enjoy!

D is For Delirium

Sam unlocked the motel room door, trying to hold a heavy grocery bag in his arms at the same time. After a few failed attempts and a muttered swear word, the door swung open. Sam stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"Dean?" he called. "Dean, I'm back!"

There was a groan from one of the beds. Sam put down the bag on a small coffee table and went to stand by Dean's side. Dean was wrapped in the bed sheets, face buried in the pillows, and only his light brown hair was visible. Sam leant forward and shook Dean gently.

"Hey, Dean, wake up."

"'M 'wake," came the muffled reply.

"Then get out of the blankets." Sam shook his brother's shoulder. "Come on, let me take a look at you."

Dean groaned and Sam was obliged to forcefully rip the covers from his older brother. Sam bit his lip in worry. Dean was pale and a sickly shade had crept into his skin. His face was slick with sweat and his hair was stuck onto his forehead. He shivered as the warmth of the blankets was taken from him.

"Dean!" Sam cried, dismayed. "You look worse than ever! What have you been doing?"

"Banging a few chicks," Dean replied hoarsely, and Sam threw him a look. Dean coughed weakly.

"Seriously, Dean, I left you for half an hour. You can't be this sick. Have you been drinking any water?"

Dean shook his head.

"Why not?"

"'S too far away," Dean replied. Sam glanced over at the bedside table, literally six inches from Dean. Sam was worried. It really took that much effort to reach for a glass of water?

"How do you feel?" Sam asked.

Dean clearly thought that was a stupid question and didn't deign to respond. Sam sighed.

"Do you feel worse?"

Dean nodded.

"Like crap."

Sam reached forward and stuck his hand to his brother's brow. Dean frowned and tried to slap his hand away.

"Quit that," he said.

"I'm taking your temperature," Sam announced worriedly, a frown plastered onto his face. "Sit up."

Dean struggled to sit up in the bed, his weak arms barely supporting him, as Sam rummaged through the grocery bag. After a moment or so, he whipped out a small thermometer. Dean groaned when he saw it.

"Aw, man, you're not going to stick that in my mouth, are you?"

Sam smiled. "Open wide, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth and Sam slipped the stick under his tongue, waiting for a reading. Dean was less patient. He began to fiddle with the thermometer.

"Quit moving it around, Dean," Sam ordered, "or the reading will be all wrong." Dean didn't see how that was really that bad. Sam continued talking. "Then we'll have to do it all over again."

Dean pouted at Sam, a look quite undignified with the thermometer hanging out of his mouth. The thermometer finally beeped and Sam pulled it out of his brother's mouth.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Dean said tiredly.

Sam gazed at the reading, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

"103.1, Dean. 103.1. How are you even still lucid?"

Dean sighed.

"Can I sleep now?" he asked, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

"Only after you drink some water and take some ibuprofen." Sam handed him a few pills and the glass of water. Dean swallowed the pills obediently and washed them down with two small sips of water. Sam watched him worriedly, watching his hands shake. Dean placed the water back on the nightstand.

"Drink some more, Dean," Sam said, worried.

Dean shook his head.

"Please."

"No," Dean decided, and that was that. He nestled back down into the bed, wrapping the blankets tightly around himself. Sam watched him nervously. He'd give Dean a few hours. If he wasn't doing any better, then he'd give Bobby a call.

"Bobby, what do you know about fevers?"

"What?"

"Fevers, Bobby, what do you know about them?"

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"Dean's sick, Bobby, really sick and he's got a bad fever. I don't know how to lower it."

"Where are you?" Bobby asked.

"Minnesota."

"Can you get over here?"

"It's a few hours drive, Bobby, but yeah, I can get there by sundown."

"Good. I'll be ready for you."

"Bobby, wait." Sam looked nervously over at his brother, who was as white as a sheet and shivering violently under the blankets. "Should I really move Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam, it'll be fine." Bobby made his tone as reassuring as possible. "I'm sure he'll be all right. It's probably just an average stomach bug. Maybe even food poisoning, the places you boys eat."

"His fever is 104.5, Bobby."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"You idjit! Why didn't you do anything?"

"I tried! I gave him medicine and made him drink some water, but nothing's working, Bobby! No one ever taught me this stuff!"

"Your daddy never did?"

"He taught Dean, not me. No one ever taught me anything!" Sam was worried and angry, and his tone clearly showed that. Sam heard Bobby sigh through the phone.

"Look, Sam, if his fever is really that bad then I'm coming to you, okay?"

Sam sighed in thanks. He was beyond relieved that he didn't have to move Dean. Bobby continued talking, his tone as soothing as he could make it.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I know you've had it rough. But everything will be okay. "

"Do I need to do anything else for him?"

"The same stuff you've been doing before. Oh, and just make sure you keep a wet towel or washcloth on his brow until I get to you. Replace it every twenty minutes or so. And if he wakes up try to make him drink a little. You got all that?"

"Yeah, got it. Thanks, Bobby."

Sam waited anxiously for four hours for one of Bobby's dilapidated cars to drive into the motel parking lot. He had food ready for Bobby and himself, and had been trying his best to take care of Dean, although his brother had gotten no better. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, an ancient mini van drove into the parking lot. Bobby jumped out of the car, a small bundle in his hands. Sam went out to meet him.

"He's worse, Bobby," Sam said without preamble. "I did everything you told me and he's worse. How could he be worse?"

Bobby turned to Sam and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The boy was pale and nervous.

"Don't worry, Sam. It'll be fine. Just fine."

"But what if it isn't?"

"If his fever gets any worse, we'll bring him to the hospital, okay?"

Sam went white, but he nodded slowly in agreement.

"Come on, let's go see how your patient is doing," Bobby said and Sam led him inside. Bobby looked around the motel room worriedly. Sam's bed had clearly not been slept in, and used washcloths and towels littered the motel's small tables and hung off chairs. Bottles of medicines lay scattered around the room and food that Sam had brought lay untouched on a counter. The most worrying sight of all, though, was Dean wrapped up like a burrito in the motel's hideous off-yellow sheets. None of him was exposed besides the top of his light brown hair, but Bobby could see him shaking from half-way across the room. He walked forwards and gently shook Dean's shoulder.

"Dean?" he called. "Can you hear me?"

Dean didn't respond, instead only continuing to shake. Bobby firmly grabbed his shoulder and turned him onto his back. He frowned. Dean's eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping, but his eyes moved uneasily under the lids, as if roving about the room. His lips were parted and he murmured incoherently to himself. Bobby turned to Sam, alarmed.

"How long has he been like this?"

"An hour," Sam said nervously, biting his fingernail.

Bobby shook his head, wishing that Sam had called him. He placed his hand on Dean's forehead and the young man tensed at the touch, a frown drawing over his lips. Bobby backed away from him nervously. Sam stepped forward.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, and that was enough. Dean's eyes shot open and he began fighting the covers off of himself, a hoarse and primal cry of pain rising from his throat. Bobby and Sam rushed to him, trying to calm him down. Dean fought them off viciously with all the strength he had. He began screaming, his tone desperate and afraid.

"No! No! Sam! Not Sam!"

Sam tried to capture his struggling brother in his arms. Bobby caught Dean's fist as it sailed dangerously close to Sam's ear. Dean kept screaming.

"Leave him alone! No! Stop!"

Sam looked very confused, but Bobby immediately began rambling to the delirious Dean.

"Easy, Dean, Sam's right here, he's safe. No one is hurting him."

"No! Sam!"

"Dean," Sam said, finally trapping his older brother's hands in his own, "Dean, it's all right. I'm here. I'm safe. I'm with you."

Dean started to cry and Sam nearly dropped his hands in fearful surprise. He had rarely seen his brother cry.

"Sammy?" Dean asked quietly, and he sounded lost and afraid, like a child. Sam swallowed his fear and squeezed Dean's hands reassuringly.

"I'm right here, Dean. I'm safe. No one is going to hurt me. And no one is going to hurt you, either, I promise."

Dean nodded, took a shaky sip of air, then leant forward in exhaustion, resting his head in the hollow of Sam's shoulder. Sam wrapped his arms around his brother comfortingly, then cast a glance at Bobby. Bobby shook his head.

"We should bring him to the hospital," the older man said.

"How? He can't walk, Bobby."

"Well, you can carry him, can't ya?"

"Yeah, but what if he goes all delirious again? What if I drop him? I think we should just call an ambulance."

Bobby shook his head.

"A bunch of strangers touching him and prodding him with needles? He won't react well, Sam. He hardly recognizes my voice and he only responds to yours."

Dean shook weakly in Sam's arms and he coughed violently, his entire frame shaking. When the fit passed, the smallest whimper escaped Dean's lips. Sam felt his heart twist into a knot.

"Bobby," he said, and he hated how desperate he sounded, "just call 911." Bobby hesitated, and Sam added, in a sort of hollow plea, "Please."

Bobby sighed and turned to the motel's yellow phone, dialing 911. As he relayed their location and how Dean was doing, Sam kept a hold on his brother, murmuring comforting platitudes whenever Dean so much as twitched. He never wanted to hear Dean scream like that again and he would do anything to prevent it.

Within ten minutes, sirens were heard wailing in the distance and Sam felt Dean tense in his arms.

"Keep Sammy safe," he muttered.

"I'm safe, Dean," Sam whispered in his brother's ear. "You're doing a great job. I'm safe."

Dean relaxed somewhat at Sam's words. Sam looked up at Bobby, who was moving to the motel door. He swung it open quickly, then stepped outside so that the paramedics would see him. Sam saw Bobby wave them down. In a matter of seconds, there were four EMTs standing inside the motel room. There were three men, tall and well built, and a blonde girl, hair in a ponytail under a dark blue cap. She stepped forward hesitantly, laying her heavy medical bag on the carpet.

"Dean?" she said quietly. Dean tensed at the unfamiliar voice. "It's all right, Dean, I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Emma, okay? I'm not going to hurt you. Neither are my friends. We won't hurt you."

"Sam. . ." Dean muttered. Sam patted his brother's back reassuringly.

"They won't hurt me either, Dean."

Dean turned fever-bright eyes onto Emma. She smiled at him. A vague tendril of thought in the back of Dean's mind told him how pretty she was; he tried to smile back at her, but it came out as more of a grimace than a smile. But Emma didn't seem to care, much to Dean's relief. He relaxed somewhat and Emma came closer.

The paramedic caught Sam's eye and he nodded. He placed his hand on Dean's arm and spoke to him quietly.

"Emma and the others are going to take you to the hospital now, all right?"

Dean tensed.

"You?" he asked his brother.

"I'll be there too. I'll stay with you, Dean. Till the end of the line, okay?"

Dean nodded slowly, hesitantly. Emma turned to the other paramedics.

"Can we get the gurney over here, Tom?"

Tom and another EMT disappeared to grab the gurney. They returned with it quickly, pushing it over to Emma, Sam, and Dean. Emma kicked something on the leg of the gurney and it became smaller, level now with the side of the bed.

"Sam and I are going to help you onto the gurney now, all right, Dean?"

Dean nodded, although Sam doubted he really knew what was going on around him. Emma took one arm and Sam took the other and they helped move him onto the gurney. Emma took his legs and swung them over so Dean was laying down. Sam noticed, in his peripheral vision, that one EMT was interviewing Bobby for information. He turned to them, frowning, and didn't see Emma grab a strap and cross it over Dean's chest to keep him in the gurney. Dean panicked as the strap tightened over his chest and began to struggle and scream.

"No! No! Don't hurt me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Emma and Tom tried to calm him down, but that had the opposite effect as Dean only continued to fight and scream more loudly.

"I didn't do anything! Leave me alone! I'm sorry!"

Sam and Bobby rushed forward, pushing the EMTs aside. Sam ripped the chest strap off of Dean, knowing that it reminded him of far too many tortures. Bobby swore quietly.

"You idjits!" he yelled at the paramedics. "I told you to be gentle with him- not to strap him down!"

"The strap is just standard procedure-" Emma began, but Bobby cut her off.

"I don't think this is 'standard procedure,' sister," he hissed. The EMTs quailed and exchanged nervous glances as Bobby turned away from them. Emma whispered to another paramedic, asking for the IVs. He disappeared.

Bobby leaned back over Dean. His green eyes were wide and bright and his face was pale and sweaty. Sam was whispering reassuringly to his brother and Dean kept muttering something to himself over and over again. Bobby watched as Dean's eyes slowly drifted closed, although he continued to mutter. Bobby frowned at Sam.

"What's he sayin'?" he asked.

"Sorry," Sam replied. "He keeps saying he's sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I don't know." Sam was worried- Dean rarely apologized for anything, much less this many times. He looked up at Bobby. "Do you think this has something to do with Hell?"

Bobby paled.

"Lord, I hope not."

Dean finally quieted, his eyes closed and his tongue still in unconsciousness. Emma and the other paramedics came forward and wheeled the gurney out to the ambulance. Sam climbed inside with them and Bobby followed in his car. In the ambulance, they stuck Dean with a few needles for blood draws and IV lines to keep him hydrated and wove an oxygen cannula over his face to make breathing easier on his lungs. Sam held his hand the entire time and was strangely grateful that his brother never woke up.

Two days and some type of lung infection later, Dean was completely lucid, although completely miserable. He was on antibiotics that he hated and he despised all the coughing he was doing. As he lay in the hospital bed, fidgeting with his ID bracelet, he watched his brother sleep uneasily. It was clear Sam hadn't left the hospital- his hair was tousled, there were bags under his eyes, and he was wearing the same clothes as he had three days ago. Dean sighed. He didn't remember much, but he knew that it had been bad.

There was a knock on the door and Dean called to come in, voice quiet enough to keep Sam from waking up. Bobby slipped inside and he smiled when he saw that Dean was awake. He was holding a small bundle in his hands.

"Hey, Dean," he said, "glad to see you're up."

"Glad to see you too, Bobby, although I was hoping for a hot nurse to come in instead." Dean shrugged. "But I guess you'll do."

Bobby chuckled, his warm laughter filling the entire room. The laugh woke Sam and he groaned and fidgeted, then woke up completely with a jolt. His eyes darted about him rapidly, then settled nervously on Dean. Dean smiled at him, but the way Sam was staring at him made him uneasy.

"Easy there, Sammy. How'd you sleep?"

Sam grimaced and rubbed his neck with his hands. His eyes were still fixed on Dean. Dean frowned at him, about to say something, but Bobby interrupted.

"I've got something for you, Dean," he said, holding out the bundle. "You hungry?"

"Starved," the Winchester answered.

Bobby untied the bundle and revealed a small microwavable bowl. He opened the lid and revealed a steaming hot bowl of soup.

"Chicken dumpling soup," Bobby announced. "The best type of food for a sick body anywhere. Here, try some."

He handed Dean a spoon and pushed the soup to him on the bedside table. Dean took a hesitant sip of the soup, then his eyes widened and he began shoveling the rest of the soup in his mouth. Sam laughed- the first laugh Bobby had heard in days.

"What's in that, Bobby?" he asked.

"Can't tell- family recipe," the hunter answered with a wink. "My mother used to make it for me. I brought it for you a few days ago, but. . . ." He trailed off, eyeing Sam worriedly.

"This is fantastic," Dean said, his mouth full of dumpling. He didn't notice Bobby's upset tone, but was only focused on the food. "So good."

Sam grinned at Bobby and Bobby saw most of the worry fall out of Sam's eyes. His brother would be fine, just like the doctors had told him. Just fine. But Sam couldn't get out of his head his screaming brother, all the deliriously muttered apologies, how Dean had woken up screaming in the hospital and wrenched all the lines out of his arms before Sam could get to him, how he had to stay with Dean in order to keep him calm and stable. Those memories wouldn't leave him and Sam figured he'd have nightmares about them later.

But for now, the only thing Sam had to worry about was his annoying older brother who wanted to leave already even though he had just woken up.

"When do we get outta this place, Sammy?"

Sam smiled wearily.

"Soon, Dean," he answered. "I promise."

Let me know what you think!