"A few days downtime," Dean had told him. Just take a break, relax a little. January wasn't exactly the best time to vacation, but even so, it did feel good to ignore everything and just...hang out. Sam was completely okay with it. Especially after Michael and Uriel and Anna and...

And Mom. Not a ghostly apparition, not a vision from a demon, not a hallucination. Real, alive, beautiful in front of Sam for the first time that he could remember. Making that trip had been hard, and even though Dean had warned him, Sam was pretty certain no amount of warning could have prepared him for it. Dad had been hard enough, but Mom, well...

Taking a break was totally okay with Sam.

So day one of the break found them driving and picking random roads, seeing where their path took them. Castiel had flown off the night before, healed up and perfectly fine. It wasn't that Sam had ever wished the angel harm, but when he told Sam he considered him a friend, the need to see him well had intensified. So it was with a smile that Sam had seen his, god, friend, leave with all his feathers, so to speak. Dean had rolled his eyes but he'd smiled too.

Actually, he'd smiled at Sam. He hadn't done anything except stare at Sam. And Sam knew why, knew what had happened the instant he'd woken up on the floor of the motel room, healed but still shaky. Dean's voice gasping out his name in fear had still been ringing in his ears, and it hadn't been until Sam had seen Dean crouching in front of him that he'd realized his brother was still calling for him. He'd died. Again. Michael had graciously put him back together, as far as Sam had gotten from Dean, but that didn't mean anything to Dean. He was still all eyes and ears out for his little brother.

A tiny part of Sam wanted to bristle at the almost smothering mother-hen routine, but the greater part of him squashed it for the bug that it was. He'd missed this side of his brother, the one who grumbled but kept his eyes locked on Sam, ready to help or catch Sam if he so much as looked like he was going to stumble. Big brother mode was on and functioning just fine, and Sam was glad to see it.

Except that it triggered all of Sam's little brother reasonings, such as not wanting Dean to worry so freakin' much all the time, that it left creases in his brow that were becoming permanent.

And all of that came up because Sam felt...off.

Not terrible or anything. Just...off. Weird. Tired. Still a little bit sore from getting thrown and, well, skewered. Straight through the old wound from the last fatal stabbing, and as soon as Dean had found out about that he'd gone white in the face. Sam had done his best last night to keep that god awful look from his brother's face, and so far as he knew, he'd succeeded. All day Dean was still keeping tabs on Sam, but so far, nothing had pinged on big brother's radar, which meant that Sam had been successful in hiding the unshakable weariness and oddness he'd been feeling all day.

But when Dean decided to check into a motel early, Sam did everything he could to hide his gratefulness. "Not running all night?" he said instead, faking nonchalance.

Dean shrugged. "Can't enjoy a break if you're in the car all the time. There was a mention about a steakhouse on one of the food signs for the exit; I figured that was a good a reason to stop as any." He waggled his eyebrows and waited for the appropriate little brother response, which was for Sam to roll his eyes. Sam obliged him, leading Dean to give the patented big brother response: a smirk. It felt like the past two years hadn't happened, and that they were just two brothers on a road trip, saving people, hunting things. No angels, no demons. A way to breathe and get the energy to keep going. It felt good.

Well. Except for the eye roll, which had left Sam a little dizzy. He waited it out as best he could while Dean wandered the streets, searching for a decent look motel.

One was found, quickly thank god, and then they had their room. Getting out left Sam feeling extra tired, his muscles slow to respond. They felt weighed down by an invisible force, and no amount of stretching helped.

Maybe a small nap before dinner. Bringing that up with Dean would be a tad hard, but Sam could figure out a way to do it. Stretching out for a little bit, still tired from all the time jumping...

The room looked clean, and the beds looked divine. Without waiting for his brother Sam tossed his suddenly extra heavy duffel and let himself flop onto the bed with a sigh. Dean snorted in amusement behind him, but when he asked, "Tired, sparky?" there was a hint of concern.

Tread carefully, he warned himself. "Just happy to stretch out," he said honestly. Lying to Dean wasn't something he ever wanted to do again. Having him find out about how Sam was currently feeling, though...not an option.

Nothing was heard, then a few moments later the springs on the opposite bed groaned and squeaked. Pages were flipped, then Dean's huff of surprise. "Hidalgo's on in a little bit," he said, and Sam resisted the urge to sigh with relief. "You cool with dinner a little later?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Sam said, aiming for casual and failing. Dean chuckled and stretched out more on the bed, if the sounds of shifting sheets and springs was any indication. A short time to lay down and regroup, a soft bed beneath him, and the soft sounds of his big brother near him. Sam was a happy man.

It didn't last long. His bladder called out none too gently only a few minutes later, and with a groan Sam pushed himself up. As soon as he stood the room shifted slightly, and he was surprised at how shaky he felt. A small headache had built itself up, and it came pounding to the forefront before Sam realized he'd even had a headache to begin with.

Dean was frowning at him now, television guide barely held in loose hands. "Sam?"

"It always happens when you finally get comfy," Sam told him and moved himself towards the bathroom. Dean gave a short laugh behind him before he shut the door. As soon as the door was shut Sam leaned against the counter, trying to catch his breath, facade gone. God but he felt like crap. What the hell was wrong with him?

Just tired. This was probably what Dean had meant about the time travel, except they hadn't jumped a few years, they'd jumped decades. Dean was probably better at hiding it, that was all.

He was done and out in a few moments. Dean was back to reading the television guide, not even glancing up as Sam came out. Sam let his fake sturdy walk become a more casual slow one. The room still felt like it was going to come unhinged at any moment, and lying down was the best thing Sam could do now. Take a nap, then eat something, and tomorrow he was betting he'd feel ten times better.

A patch of uneven carpet left him tripping, hand immediately reaching out to catch anything to stop his fall. The table kept him upright, but he was yanking his hand away an instant later when pain shot through his palm. "You okay?" Dean asked, t.v. guide down again.

"Just caught my hand," Sam said, hissing. It wasn't a deep gash, but his palm was still split, and blood was already leaking. "Table edge is sharp. It's not bad, just-"

The room blurred and tumbled, and Sam blinked several times to bring it back into focus. "Sam?" Dean said, alert and concerned. Sam tried to nod in assurance, but his stomach suddenly pitched and rolled. His mouth went dry to match the swell of nausea, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears and against his chest.

This was bad. This was really bad.

"Sammy?" The guide was tossed to the side and Dean was already standing, moving over to Sam. "Talk to me, dude, what's going on?"

Time to fess up, and Sam was actually pretty okay with that. "I don't feel good," he admitted. It was still an understatement at best. The room felt fuzzy around the edges, and there was a high pitched noise buzzing in his ears.

Sitting down. Sitting down suddenly became a good idea when his legs trembled and his stomach lurched. Head between his knees, he'd feel better.

The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, sitting. Just not the way he'd expected. His legs were bent underneath him, like he'd fallen where he stood.

Considering the way his brother was currently freaking out, that probably wasn't a half bad assumption to make. Guess his mother-hen brother had been close enough to catch him.

Sam found himself leaning half against the bed and half against his brother, who was pulling him in even closer. The white noise faded from his ears, only to be replaced with a soft yet anxious voice.

"-tiel, get your winged ass over to the address I gave you, now, I need your help, I-Sammy?" Dean shifted, and Sam shook his head to clear the last of the dizziness. "Sammy?"

"M'okay," Sam mumbled. The blurred room was gone for the moment, and the headache had receded. Just the gut churning nausea and the sinking feeling that something was very wrong.

A moment later there was someone on the other side of him. Hadn't even heard the angel arrive. "He fell?" Castiel asked quietly.

"Jus' tired," Sam insisted, but he was ignored.

"He went straight down. Just...dropped," and Dean's voice sounded like it was shaking a little. Probably not the best time to pull a fainting stunt, especially since he'd died just yesterday.

Sam was starting to wish for the days when his sentences involved, "So this monster truck," that his younger self had thought the pinnacle of weird. Nowhere even close.

A hand gently nudged his shoulder. "Sam? Think you can stand?" Dean asked.

As a response Sam began to push himself up. "Easy, easy," Dean said quickly. "Just take it easy, let us do all the work."

Sam let them. He found himself back on the bed, Castiel and Dean both carefully lifting him into place. Somehow the sheets and comforter beneath him wound up over top of him. Laying down helped clear away the last of the fogginess, and better yet quelled the nausea. His eyes kept trying to drift shut, however, even as he stubbornly fought what he'd wanted only a short while before.

Castiel shifted from his position next to the bed while Dean just flat out sat next to Sam. "How did he fall?" Castiel asked after a pause.

Dean's lips pinched together, two seconds away from delivering a scathing retort. "Cut my hand," Sam said before Dean could say something he was going to regret.

The sheets were already being pushed back to pull his arm out before he'd finished speaking. Dean took his time examining it, leaving Sam to fall back into a drowsy state. By the time Sam was nearly asleep, Dean gently set his hand down on the bed. "It's not bad; shouldn't even need stitches," he said.

Sam made some sound of agreement, his eyes already shutting. The last thing he saw was Castiel gazing at him with a frown on his face, as if trying to figure something out.

The room was dark when Sam opened his eyes next. A small light shone from beneath the bathroom door, which was shut. The curtains were closed, but the darkness of the room told Sam that curtains or not, there'd be a small amount of sunlight if it were daylight out. Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, then.

The light shut off before the bathroom door opened. Dean stopped before he'd barely gotten out, eyes fixed on Sam. Then he was moving fast to sit down beside Sam. "How you feelin', Sammy?" he asked softly.

"Better," Sam said honestly. "Not dizzy, not tired, not sick to my stomach."

Dean took in the symptoms of earlier with a small nod to each. He reached for Sam's hand – now bandaged carefully, Sam noted – and placed his fingers on the pulse point. A minute later he laid the hand down and let out a sigh. "Better than it was before, but we're gonna have to watch it for the next few days," he said.

"Watch what?" Sam asked, frowning slightly. Dean didn't answer, his gaze cast to the floor. Sam shifted to push himself up, only then catching Dean's attention, which had his brother nudging him to lay back down.

"Sammy, easy, I don't think-"

"Watch what, Dean? What happened?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "Cas figured it out," he said. "Maybe he used his angel mojo to look and see how low you were, but as soon as he said it I knew. I should've known the sonuvabitch would-"

Sam reached his uninjured hand over and caught Dean's t-shirt. Just a small amount of fabric, didn't really pull on Dean, but his brother stopped nonetheless. "What happened?" Sam said, softer this time.

Dean took in a deep breath. "Blood loss," he said, voice low. "When you got...hit, you bled out a lot before..." He shut his eyes and swallowed. Sam let go of his t-shirt but kept his hand near his brother. He had time enough to be patient, and right now, Dean needed to breathe.

After several deep breaths Dean opened his eyes again. "You bled out," he said, voice calmer this time. "Michael said he patched you up, good as new, but he lied. You got patched up, but-"

"But he never replaced the lost blood," Sam finished, letting out a sigh of his own. He should've known. "That makes sense, especially with how tired I was all-"

He shut his lips two seconds too late. Even through the dark, Sam could still see his brother glaring at him. "I knew something was wrong," Dean said fiercely, but without any real heat. "You little bitch. And I swear to god if the next words out of your mouth are, 'I didn't want you to worry,' I will put something disgusting in your steak which, by the way, you owe me."

Sam bit his lip and shrunk down into the bed. "Jerk," he finally said sullenly. Nothing else he could say: Dean had taken the words out of his mouth.

Dean only shook his head. "Good to know Michael's as big a dick as his brother," he said, rubbing at his eyes. He looked even more tired than Sam felt which, hey, there was the exhaustion again. Considering how much he estimated he'd lost, he figured he'd be down and out for a few days.

Their entire break. He winced, catching Dean's attention. "What? You okay?"

"So much for the mini vacation," Sam said softly. "Sorry."

Dean shook his head again, but this one was more relaxed. "As crazy as this sounds, I'm okay with a break like this. Not that I'm okay with you hurt because I won't ever be, and the next time I see Michael, I swear to god I'll kick his holier-than-thou ass, but..." He gave a tired smile. "Few days down in a motel, steakhouse around the corner, no angels around? I can handle that. So yeah, crazy but true."

"Makes you miss the simple conversations about killer monster trucks, huh?" Sam asked whimsically, and Dean's chuckle felt good to hear. Wasn't exactly how Sam had planned on spending the time, but he couldn't really argue. A few days recuperation sounded just fine to him, even if he was spending them in a motel bed.

So long as he got to spend it with the big brother he'd missed and finally gotten back, then yeah, Sam was okay. They needed this.

With a pat to Sam's arm Dean pushed away from his brother's bed. "Get some sleep, dude. Soon as the stores open I'll go get you some liquids."

"You need to sleep too," Sam insisted, even as he yawned. Hadn't been awake for more than ten minutes and he was already out for the count.

He closed his eyes, already drifting off. The last thing he heard was Dean's quiet, "I will."

END