AN: Wow, I haven't written fanfic in a really long time. But as I sat squinting at my Christmas tree tonight, I couldn't get this story out of my brain. Please forgive any typos...I wrote quickly. Thank you for reading!

Summary: Sam has a fever and is seeing a Christmas tree Dean can't see.

"What are you doing?"

Sam's lying on the bed where Dean left him, but his head is cocked at an unnatural angle and resting on the nightstand instead of the surprisingly soft motel pillow.

"There's a Christmas tree in our room," Sam says. His voice gives out on the last couple of words, but Dean is fluent in sick Sam.

He follows his brother's gaze to the window, where there's a definite lack of a Christmas tree. He sets down the provisions he bought, the groceries Sam won't eat and the Tylenol he clearly needs, before pressing his palm to Sam's furnace of a forehead. "Hate to burst your bubble, but there's no Christmas tree in here. It's not even Thanksgiving yet." He slides one finger under the flap of the box that promises fever reduction.

Sam squints one eye shut. "I know it's not really in the room," he says, more breath than sound. "Just looks like it is."

On the fever scale, Dean's not so sure there's a difference between believing there's a Christmas tree in a motel room in the middle of November or just seeing one, but if there is, he hopes it's a difference in their favor. "Here," he says, holding out three Tylenol and the bottle of water he told Sam to drink before he left. The water line still sits well above the bottle's label.

Sam's movements are sluggish as he sits up a little, takes the pills out of Dean's hand, and swallows them one at a time with sips from the bottle. "Thank you," he says, the words audible thanks to the lubrication of his inflamed vocal chords. When he lies back down, his head clunks against the nightstand and makes the lampshade wobble.

"That can't be comfortable," Dean says. "You want anything to eat?"

"It's like one of those books." He squints the same eye again.

Even though that's a no on the food, Dean still unearths a microwavable bowl of chicken noodle soup. Starving the fever didn't work. "What books?"

"You know. The ones."

Dean glances over at his brother and wonders if a trip to the doctor is in their future. "Refresh my memory."

"The ones with the colors. And the patterns. And the hidden pictures."

Somehow, from the deep recesses of his mind, Dean does remember. They'd lifted the books from a waiting room when they were young and in need of a way to pass endless hours in the car. Sam was always better at them than Dean was, moving the book slowly back from his nose and spotting the three-dimensional image in no time. Dean was impatient and ended up looking in the answer key at the back for most of them. "Oh, yeah. What were those called? Magic Eye?"

"Magic Eye," Sam echoes. "It's a Magic Eye Christmas tree."

Dean follows his brother's one-eyed stare again. No Christmas tree. No Magic Eye book. Nothing. "You didn't fall and hit your head while I was gone, did you?"

"You can't see it from there," Sam says. His voice is already starting to go again, but the "duh" is still evident in the tone. "Just right here. Come see."

Dean sighs and sets down the chicken soup. He stands next to his brother's bed, even bends down a little, but doesn't see a thing. "No offense, Sammy, but I think whatever tree you're seeing might be the one and only perk of the fever you're running."

"No," Sam says and chokes on the vowel. "Not from there." He vacates the nightstand and scoots away from the side of the bed. "From here."

Dean doesn't move. "If I do this, will you eat some soup?"

"Yes."

He flops down on the bed and shifts around until his neck is in the same unnatural position as Sam's was. He knows he's in the right spot when the fake wood feels warm against his temple. When he looks over at the window, he's surprised to see that there is, in fact, a pine tree draped with white lights in the distance. It's probably been in some overenthusiastic decorator's backyard since Halloween.

"See it?" Sam asks.

"Yeah. I do."

"Told you. Now squint your eyes a little. Like a Magic Eye."

Dean does. At first, nothing changes. All he sees is condensation around the edges of the window indicating a broken seal. He wants to give up, but there is no answer key in the back of this book. A few seconds later, something happens. His vision blurs and the lights grow rounder and brighter. From this angle, the tree lines up perfectly so it does look like it's sitting in their room. "Oh yeah," Dean says. "There it is." The sight somehow makes him feel better, and he wasn't even feeling bad to begin with.

"Told you," Sam says.

"You did." Dean sits up and does a little geometry. If taking care of Sam were involved, he might have actually passed that class. He leans up against the headboard and arranges a pillow on his lap before patting it. "Here. Try this."

Sam gives a confused look but lies down anyway.

"Can you still see the tree?"

"Not really." He coughs. "Too low."

Dean shifts his legs under the pillow to better support Sam's head and neck. "Now?"

Sam squints. Smiles. "Yeah."

"More comfortable than the nightstand?"

"Much."

They lie there for a while. As Sam starts to fall asleep, so does Dean's left leg, but he doesn't move an inch. He can't see the tree from this angle, but knows it's there, and he knows Sam's here.

That's all that matters.