It had been six months since their father died, and Sam was worried about Dean. He wasn't sleeping. He wasn't eating. He was running on caffeine and adrenaline. After getting the Impala fixed up, they'd been hunting almost non-stop. They'd barely solved a case before Dean would find another one. Often he would stay up late researching while Sam slept.

Today was no different. Dean shook his brother awake at 5:30 in the morning. "Hey, Sam. Wake up."

"Ughhhhh." Sam groaned, rolling over. "What?"

"Dude, Wendigo. Remember?"

Sam sat up slowly. Oh yeah. They'd been closing in on another Wendigo for a week now. The case should have been wrapped up by now, but the rainy weather made it impossible to track the damn thing. Today's forecast was clear, so they were going after it while they could.

"Did you sleep at all? What time is it?"

"Time to rise and shine." Dean ignored his first question, but Sam already knew the answer.

"You've gotta slow down, Dean. You're burning out." He said, getting out of bed anyway.

Dean gave no indication that he'd heard Sam, taking a swig from a bottle that looked suspiciously like alcohol. "Come on, it's not even 8:00!"

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere." Dean muttered.


They walked to the trailhead, toting their bag of supplies. Flamethrower, flashlights, guns, salt...the usual. Not even an hour later, it started to rain. It began as just a drizzle, but quickly progressed to a heavy downpour.

"I swear, God hates us." Dean said in frustration, nearly shouting to be heard above the thunder. They were soaked, and the sky was black. The whole point of hunting this thing during the day was to avoid the dark conditions that gave it the advantage.

"The forecast said it was gonna be sunny!"

"Yeah, well, when have the weathermen ever been right?"

"Over there!" Sam pointed to his left. There was a small cave. That had to be where the Wendigo was camped out.

They ducked inside, happy to be out of the rain. Their relief faded, however, when the smell of rotting flesh hit them. Dean wrinkled his nose. "Yep. This is it."

They retrieved the flashlights from the duffel bag, shaking the excess water off. The light illuminated a grim scene; human bones scattered about, creating a gruesome trail to follow. They went further into the cave, trying not to gag as the stink of death grew stronger. Soon enough, they came across the source of the smell, a body that had to be about a month old. The remains weren't skeletal yet, and it appeared the Wendigo was stripping off bits of meat at a time.

There were only three entrances to this particular cavern, so they waited. "He's gotta come back here eventually, right?" Sam whispered.

"Unless he's got other bodies stashed here somewhere..." Dean's voice trailed off as something caught his eye. A shadow, barely there.

It was watching them.

Sam shuddered, seeing it too. They'd seen a lot of scary shit, but Wendigos were terrifying. Dean reached into the bag for the flame thrower. He shoved it into Sam's hands, standing up and walking towards the dark figure. "Come and get me, freak!" He shouted.

"Dean, what the hell?" He barely had time to move before a blur knocked Dean off his feet.

The older Winchester gave a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "Is that all you've got?" He gasped.

What the fuck was he thinking? Sam pointed the flamethrower above Dean, and let loose a flame spurt just as the creature prepared to tear Dean to shreds. The Wendigo shrieked in pain, its tall, lean frame contorting in agony as the fire scorched him.

Sam dragged Dean out of the way as the bastard fell, taking its last breath. They watched the body burn out, making sure it was dead.

"Are you okay?" Sam shone the flashlight over his brother, checking for blood.

"I'm fine, let's get out of here." Dean mumbled, pushing away from his brother.

They hiked for another hour and a half, through pouring rain. When they got to the car, they were both shivering. Dean cranked up the heat as they drove back into town.

"So, what was that about?" Sam finally asked.

"What?"

"You know what. You basically gave that thing an invitation to eat you!"

"It was a strategy, Sam. I was using myself as bait. It worked, didn't it?"

"Well yeah, but you could have told me about it at least two seconds before!"

"Sorry."

Sam glared. "You need to stop with this Kamikaze shit. If you wanna kill yourself, there are easier ways to do it."

"I'm not killing myself." Dean said, drumming his fingers along the top of the steering wheel.

Sam wasn't so sure. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on his brother. He wasn't sure what was going on in Dean's head, but it wasn't good.


They got back to the motel, and Dean shoved Sam towards the bathroom. "You take the first shower."

Sam wasn't gonna argue with that. He tried to make it quick so there would still be hot water left for his brother.

He was out in under ten minutes, only to find Dean, still soaking wet, passed out at the table. He shook his shoulders, and the older Winchester awoke with a start. "Hey, it's just me. It's your turn."

"Thanks." Dean coughed as he stumbled toward the bathroom.


The next morning, Sam woke up on his own. That was his first clue something was off. Dean had been waking him up almost every morning for months now. He looked over, and was pleasantly surprised to see that Dean was still in bed. Good. He definitely needed the sleep. Sam got up and rummaged through the fridge. He took out some frozen waffles and began heating them up.

Dean didn't stir at the sound of the microwave, which was unusual. He was such a light sleeper, normally he would have woken up when he heard his brother get out of bed. Sam walked over to Dean's bedside, a bit of worry creeping into his thoughts. He shook Dean's shoulder gently. "Hey, sleeping beauty."

Dean groaned. "What?"

Sam chuckled at the irony that yesterday, their roles had been reversed. "Nothing. You were still asleep when I woke up, so I figured you must have died." He was only half joking. "Want some waffles?"

"I'm not hungry." Dean began to cough, and Sam frowned.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Dean rolled out of bed.

Sam let it go, but he made sure Dean ate something before they left the motel.


"Want me to drive?"

Dean snorted. "No way. I thought we established that I wasn't suicidal."

Sam rolled his eyes. "My driving is better than yours."

"Whatever." Dean laughed, which turned into another hacking cough.

"Dude, you're sick."

"No, I'm not."

"Then why are you coughing?"

"Shut up, bitch."

"Jerk."


Over the next week, Dean didn't get better. His cough grew deeper, and left him gasping for breath. He kept looking for cases, although they kept coming up blank. Sam was thankful for this fact, but it was driving Dean insane. They were staying at another shitty motel in Michigan. Dean spent almost every waking hour on the internet, trying to find something weird for them to chase. Sam, however, spent his time trying to convince Dean to take care of himself.

"I'm fine," He always insisted.

But Sam knew he wasn't.


About a week and a half after the Wendigo hunt, Sam awoke to his brother wheezing. He looked over, expecting to see Dean hunched over the laptop like he had been the night before. Instead, he was surprised to find that Dean was actually in bed.

"Hey, you okay?"

Dean didn't answer. Sam kicked off the sheets and uneasily shook his brother. Upon touching his skin, Sam discovered he was burning up.

"What, S'mmy?" Dean mumbled. He clutched the blanket closer to his chest. "Stop. 's cold."

Sam felt his anxiety rise. Dean was really sick. He tried to pull the blankets away. "You've got a fever. We have to cool you down."

"Nooo...freezing." Another cough wracked his body, and Sam successfully removed the blanket. Dean was shivering violently.

"I know, but you're sick."

"No, I'm not."

"Dammit Dean, Would you let me take care of you for once?"

"No."

Sam made a noise of frustration. Dean had always been a horrible patient.