A/N: This story is now complete. Thank you for reading. This chapter is all fluff. You have been warned.

Dean's fevered, medicated dreams leave him disoriented when he wakes up. He doesn't have time to dwell on that fact for very long because he starts coughing, and all of his attention is focused on getting air into his lungs and keeping said lungs inside his chest.

A strong hand helps him sit up, and the change in position makes it easier to breathe. A glass of water is placed at his lips, and the cool liquid puts out the fire in his throat.

"Not too fast," a voice says as the glass is pulled back slightly.

It's not Sam's voice and Dean almost panics before he focuses in on Mr. Moore's face. Jess might have had her mother's eyes, but the rest of her features came from her father. He takes a couple more slow sips and is relieved when he manages a few normal breaths in a row.

"Kathy had to volunteer at the church," Mr. Moore says as he sets the glass on the nightstand. Dean shifts so that he's sitting up under his own power, and Mr. Moore's hands drop back to his sides. "She volunteers every Sunday night, so they rely on her, but I told her we had things under control here. How are you feeling?"

"Hot," Dean answers in his rough voice, realizing it's true as he says it. He pushes off layers of blankets and tugs at the shirt that's plastered to his body with sweat.

"That's good. It means your fever broke. Do you want to get cleaned up? It might make you feel better. I'm no genius when it comes to laundry, but I think I can handle washing those clothes. You can wear something of mine in the meantime."

His hesitation passes quickly, overshadowed by his need to use the bathroom and wash some of the sweat from his body. The sheets around him are soaked too, he realizes.

Mr. Moore doesn't wait for a response, and instead opens a closet to pull out a couple of fluffy white towels and washcloths. "Your brother fell asleep in the middle of the game," he says as he moves around the room. "Right in the middle of the second quarter. He's absolutely conked out. Must need the rest."

Dean says nothing, knowing it's true.

The older man disappears for a minute, returning with a few layers of clothing that he places next to the towels. "Bathroom's right there," he says, nodding to a door. "There's soap and shampoo and plenty of hot water. Just don't overheat yourself too much. Don't want your fever going back up again. Can I get you anything else?"

"Thank you," Dean says in lieu of answering the question.

Mr. Moore smiles and claps Dean gently on the shoulder. "You're welcome. Just leave those clothes outside the door. I'll start a load of laundry."

Dean is grateful he's alone when he pulls himself out of bed and feels like a newborn colt for the first few steps. By the time he reaches the hall he's doing better, and he can hear sounds of a televised football game floating from another room.

The shower is exactly what he needs; easing some of his aches and making him feel something close to human again. The clothes are a little big, but he manages by folding and rolling around the edges. He neatly stacks his used towel and washcloth, and he's not surprised when he opens the door to find that his dirty clothes are gone.

He bypasses the bedroom where he's been sleeping and follows the sound of the television to a cozy living room. His eyes immediately fall on Sam, who's stretched out in a plush recliner, sound asleep, half-empty bottle of beer near his hand. It's a good sight.

"Hey there," Mr. Moore says, standing. "Got everything you need?"

"Yeah, thank you." He clears away some of the hoarseness from his voice. "I was just going to hang out in here until Sam wakes up, if that's okay. We should get going after that."

"Well, you're more than welcome to hang out with me," Mr. Moore responds, pausing to place a rough palm on Dean's forehead, "but you've still got something of a fever, and I don't think you two should be going much of anywhere tonight. Come on," he says, taking Dean's shoulder and gently guiding him back towards the bedroom. "Kathy will have my head if she gets home and you're not in bed, and you don't want to be responsible for that, now do you?"

Dean's confused, but doesn't put up much of a fight. In the bedroom, the sheets have been changed to another soft, dry set, and he suddenly feels a lot more tired than he did a few minutes ago.

"I made some soup while you were in the shower," Mr. Moore says as Dean gets settled. "I'm not a cook, but I can open a can with the best of them. Think you can eat? I'll be right back," he says without waiting for a response.

He coughs a few times and is happy to see a fresh glass of water on the nightstand. Mr. Moore returns a few minutes later with a couple of items on a tray, and Dean thought things like that only happened on TV or in the movies.

"Chicken noodle," Mr. Moore says as he helps Dean get situated against a few pillows. "Hope that's okay. Oh, and that," he says, motioning to a slightly steaming mug, "is a little cold remedy of my own. Hot water, lemon, honey, and a little whiskey. You seem like the kind of man who can appreciate the healing powers of a hot toddy.

Dean chuckles softly. "You bet."

"Cheers," Mr. Moore says, holding his bottle to clink with the mug.

Any remaining awkwardness Dean feels disappears with that first sip, and who knew that contentedness and sickness could go hand in hand?

They chat for a little while about sports and cars, and Dean's surprised how easily the conversation flows. Before he knows it, the mug is empty and there's just a small amount of broth left in the bowl. There's a noise from somewhere down the hall, and Mr. Moore checks his watch.

"That'll be Kathy," he says. Sure enough, she appears at the door just seconds later.

"Hey boys," she says like it's the most natural thing in the world. "I'm so glad to see that Sam's getting some rest. And look at you," she says to Dean. "Looks like you're feeling a bit better. Oh, good, you ate something, too."

"His fever broke," Mr. Moore adds as his wife slips an arm around his waist. "He got cleaned up and changed, and we've just been shootin' the breeze while he ate a little soup."

"And a hot toddy too, I see," she says with a smirk, motioning to the mug. "You men," she teases, rolling her eyes.

"Can't argue with what works, honey," Mr. Moore says.

"Yeah, yeah. Here," she hands him the tray. "You clean this up and get back to your game. I'll take over from here."

"Yes, dear. Get some rest, kiddo," he says on the way out.

"I will. Thank you."

Mrs. Moore sits on the edge of the bed, a soft smile visible in her eyes. She smoothes her hand over his forehead, cheeks, and the back of his neck. It feels a little bit like heaven.

"Now, how are you feeling, sugar? You're still warm, but a lot better than before."

"I feel better," he says honestly.

She smiles. "Yeah. Good. You're gonna be just fine. Want some of this for your cough and throat?" She holds up the small tub of whatever she rubbed on his chest before.

"Yes," he says, not hesitating to pull off the shirt. "Please," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

Mrs. Moore hums while she rubs the gel into his chest, a song Dean doesn't recognize. His eyelids grow heavy, and he thinks he dozes off for a second. When he wakes again, it's only so that she can help him slide down off the pillows into a horizontal position. He rolls onto his side facing her, and she tucks the blankets around him.

"Need anything, honey?" she asks, running fingers through his short hair and rubbing his back through the blankets.

"No," he mumbles. He wants to say thank you, but that would take more energy than he has at the moment.

"Sleep well," she says, and he drifts into a heavy, deep sleep.

….

When Sam wakes the next morning, it's already light in the room. He stretches on the chair. The Moores had tried to get him to sleep in an extra bed, Jess's old room, but he was comfortable right where he was, with the framed picture of her on one side; the box of her things on the other. It was the best night's sleep he'd had in as long as he could remember.

He stands and stretches again, enjoying the feeling of relaxed, limber muscles. He can hear murmured voices and the sounds of cooking in the kitchen. Something smells amazing, and his stomach growls.

"Good morning," he says as he walks into the sunny room. He's pleasantly surprised to see not only both of the Moores, but also his brother sitting at the table. Dean's clothes look clean and wrinkle-free, the glassy fever in his eyes is gone, and it looks like he's breathing normally with a cup of coffee in his hands.

"Good morning, Sam," Mrs. Moore says with a bright smile.

"Morning," Mr. Moore adds. "Did you sleep well?"

"Definitely," Sam responds, and even that is an understatement.

"Have a seat," Mrs. Moore nods towards the empty chair next to Dean. The table's already set for breakfast. "Can I get you some coffee?"

"Yes please." He claps his brother on both shoulders as he walks past. "Good to see you up and around man. How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Dean says, and though he doesn't sound 100 percent back to normal, it's also obvious that he's telling the truth.

"His fever's down," Mrs. Moore explains. She places a mug in front of Sam. "I think he's on the mend."

"Good," he responds, taking a tentative sip.

"I didn't know what you boys would want for breakfast, so…"

"So she made everything," Mr. Moore interrupts, chuckling.

Mrs. Moore scoffs and rolls her eyes at her husband, though the statement is true. There's eggs and bacon, sausage, hash browns, toast, and pancakes, all in plentiful quantities. Sam comments that it's like a small restaurant.

Conversation flows easily as they eat, and even Dean seems to have a good appetite. When they're finished, Sam leans back in his chair and pats his stomach. "I guess I don't have to worry about my jeans being too loose for a little while," he says, and he can tell Mrs. Moore takes it as the compliment he means.

"Can we clean up?" Dean offers, his plate empty.

"Nah," Mrs. Moore responds. "I've got all day to do that. Don't you worry about it."

The brothers exchange a glance, and it's obvious that they're both on the same page.

"Okay," Sam says. "Well, we should probably get going."

"Are you sure?" Mr. Moore says. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you'd like."

Though the offer is put out there, it seems everyone in the room knows it won't be accepted. There's almost something in the air that registers it's time for the boys to be on their way.

"No, thank you," Sam responds. "We appreciate you letting us stay, but we really need to get back to business." Even as he says the words, they sting a little bit.

They move to the front door where the box of Jess's things is waiting.

"Well, next time you boys are in the area, please stop in and say hello, okay?" Mrs. Moore says, hugging Sam and gently tugging her fingers through the long hair at the back of his neck.

"Yeah. Don't be strangers," Mr. Moore adds. He shakes Dean's hand, then pulls him in for a hug instead.

"We won't," Dean promises. "Thank you so much for taking care of me," he says as Mrs. Moore takes her turn giving him a hug.

Sam smiles as he sees her palming Dean's forehead and neck, one last check for a fever. He must pass inspection because she lets him go. "Thank you again, Mr. Moore."

"It was really good to see you," he responds with a pat on the back. "Come back anytime."

They exchange their goodbyes, and within a few moments Sam and Dean are back in the Impala. Dean's obviously doing better, but he still doesn't put up too much of a fight when Sam offers to drive. They're back on the road, and even though it's only been 24 hours, a lot has changed.

Dean breaks the silence as they enter the highway. "So. That's what we've been missing all these years, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam says, and it ends up coming out more like a sigh than he intended. A picture of Jess flashes through his mind. "It comes with a price, though."

"Yeah," Dean nods, seeming to understand completely.

Sam clears his throat a few minutes later. "You want to go talk to that officer today?"

"Sure." The tone of Dean's voice is agreeable, but definitely not overly-enthusiastic. It means it's back to business as usual.

They pass a sign that says, "Thank you for visiting Palo Alto. Come back soon!"

And they keep driving.