So here's a story! I've also got two more story ideas that are waiting to be written but I don't know when I'll get around to writing them. In light of the recent episode, though, this demanded to be written so here it is. I had no idea how to end it so the ending is kind of lame but I think the idea's fair. Enjoy and please review!

Sam sighed and settled down on his chair at the map table. With Charlie safe in the world of Oz for the moment, he and Dean could relax. Well, Dean could. Sam still had lots of sorting out to do, and to figure out if the 'tracking angels' idea really worked while researching into all the different rooms in the Bunker that they had now found...

He sighed and glanced at his watch. even that late, compared to a usual Winchester bedtime, but Sam still felt like already going to bed. He felt off. Perhaps he was coming down with something. Absently, he rubbed the back of his head that was throbbing from hitting the cabinets earlier.

Predictably, Dean noticed and glanced up briefly. "What's up?" he asked, trying to keep any real concern out of his voice. What if he's worked it out what do I do then?

Sam sighed again. "Nothing. Head hurts a little. Might go lie down." He shrugged non-commitally to hopefully put Dean off his case.

The elder Winchester studied the younger for a moment. Sam did look a bit pale, and he was wincing in the light of the room. Yeah, looked like just a headache.

"Sure. Sleep well 'cause tomorrow I'm getting you that 'hang in, kitty' poster." Dean winked at Sam's bitchface. Thank whoever's out there he doesn't know.

Sam rolled his eyes and got up, turning around. He paused a second, blinking hard as the room tilted. Luckily he was turned away from Dean so his brother didn't get suspicious. Before he could work out if it was a problem or not, the dizziness receded as quickly as it had come, like someone had turned it off.

Sam yawned and put the reaction down to tiredness as he trudged wearily to his room. He practically fell on the bed, laying there for a minute before finding the strength to slip off his shoes and swap his jeans and plaid for sweats to sleep in.

More than ready to sleep, he got into bed and finally closed his eyes, drowsily chalking the unusual heat in the room, or on him, to an exciting day before he let himself slip off.

Sam groaned as he opened his eyes. The sleep had not done him any good – if anything he felt crappier. Rubbing his forehead and wincing, he fumbled for his phone on the bedside table for the time.

"Seven am?" he read aloud to the empty room, and put the phone back down, letting out another long-suffering groan as he stared at the ceiling in despair.

Seven hours wasn't even close to enough sleep to recover from, but Sam knew that now he was awake, he had to be up and around, no matter how he was feeling. So with a huff of annoyance, he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing up.

And immediately fell back down again to sit on the side of his bed. Well, crap. He blinked hard to try to expel the dizziness that had returned with full force this morning. Finally putting mind over matter, he managed to get up and dress for the day, but had to pause again at the doorway, one hand on the frame to steady him.

Evidently he was getting sick. Maybe from the case, though more likely just because everyone got sick once in a while. Then again, as a hunter, there are not really any coincidences.

Despite possible thoughts drifted half-imagined through his mind, Sam decided not to tell his brother; both because he knew Dean was subtly a little overprotective after the Trials- and Sam really couldn't blame him for that one; he remember how goddamn crappy he had felt that night and before that, and this sickness didn't come close – and also because there was no point.

His brother had enough to worry and think about. Like Cas, who had just upped and left for some reason. He didn't need to worry any more about Sam too.

Sam sighed and continued down the hallway to the kitchen. He could smell toast, so Dean was already up and getting breakfast. It didn't surprise Sam. His brother definitely had a thing about this Bunker. But despite their 'home' talk, the best Sam could do was to hope that this home wouldn't be taken away from them, like everything else.

He dropped into a chair at the tables in the library like main room, reaching up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his eyes; goddammit, why did he feel so tired?

"You want breakfast?" Dean called from the kitchen.

Sam sighed again and lowered his hand from his face, glancing around to make sure Dean hadn't seen. "Uh," Sam cleared his throat, "no thanks. I'm good."

There was a pause in which Sam could practically imagine Dean frowning as he decided whether to be concerned or not before he answered, "okay, but you'd better eat later."

Sam nodded before remembering that Dean couldn't see him and calling back, "sure."

When Dean came out a few minutes later, dressed in the robe he had taken to wearing in the mornings and carrying two mugs of coffee, Sam was buried in his work, barely glancing up as one mug was put in front of him.

"Thanks," he muttered, scribbling something else on his notes from the book open in front of him. Dean rolled his eyes and walked around the other side of the table, sitting down and sipping his coffee while simply watching Sam, as content as he could be.

Sam blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair, glancing at his watch. Apparently it was already two in the afternoon. Apart from brief breaks, he had been at this research for about seven hours.

Dean had gone to clean the Bunker, apparently, checking in on Sam every hour or so. He made Sam some lunch without asking him if he wanted any – typical Dean – and put it in front of him with a stern look, waiting until Sam obediently took a bite.

He had made a half hearted attempt to eat the sandwich, but it just didn't taste like it should, so he had thrown it away while Dean wasn't watching him.

The trip to the kitchen took longer and was harder than Sam would have liked to admit. In fact, he was kinda getting pissed about whatever this illness was. He hoped he would shake it soon.

"Hey." Sam snapped his head up, making himself wince, to see Dean leaning over the upper level balcony to talk to him.

"I'm going out for a bit. Try not to make the place too dirty. Call if you need anything," Dean told him.

"Sure." Sam nodded and smirked. "Don't be too long, princess."

Dean narrowed his eyes at him and turned around with a huff, heading out with a murmured, "bitch." Sam grinned.

Successfully keeping his brother off his tail and making him smile, at least for a moment. That was pretty good.

He sighed and glanced back down at the work. He may as well carry on; it was the easiest thing to do when he got dizzy even standing up. Leaning forward, he prepared to write again.

Crash!

Sam jerked his head back up, looking around wildly. Recognising no threat, he blinked sleep out of his eyes and glanced at his watch, rubbing the back of his neck with the other hand.

Three hours had passed since Dean had left. It seemed he'd been asleep for that time... but he didn't remember falling asleep. His head hurt like hell, and when he brought up a hand to rub his forehead, it was uncomfortably hot with a light sheen of sweat there.

He sighed and decided to go and have a wash to dispel the hot and sticky feeling. He pushed out his chair and got up, but the movement was enough to throw him off balance and stumbled until he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. The movement brought a twinge of remembrance and Sam tried to ignore it.

When he felt ready, he walked to the sink in the other room. He switched on the tap and cupped water in his hands, washing his face. Reaching for the glass beside the sink, he filled it with water and straightened up, taking a sip.

Feeling bits in his mouth from the water, Sam made a face and spat it out, and was about to rinse the rest of the water away – it was too gritty to drink – when he froze. There was red in the sink.

Panicked, Sam looked up at himself in the mirror and sure enough, there was blood at the corner of his mouth, and the bitter tang on his tongue. He tried to spit the taste out, and blood patterned the white sink.

Sam began to back away, muttering, "no, no... this shouldn't happen. What's happening?!"

He knew he was too hot and he felt so dizzy he could barely stand and now the blood. These were exactly the same symptoms of the Trials. But they couldn't be.

Fumbling, Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and speed dialled Dean. The phone rang but his brother didn't pick up. Sam could feel his consciousness being taken away.

"Shit, shit, shit..." He waited for the dial tone, then said sharply in panic. "Dean, I don't know what's happening, but you have to come back. There's blood and I'm too hot and – Dean! Just... come back. I don't know what's happening. It's like the trials all over again."

Trembling, he ended the message and reached out a hand to steady himself, but he couldn't find anything. The room swayed sickeningly as Sam crashed to the ground.

He groaned; still conscious, but barely. Pushing himself up, he opened his eyes to slits and managed to crawl over to the sink, sitting with his back against the wall and head resting on the cool metal.

"Hurry up, Dean," he muttered, finally closing his eyes and surrounding himself to the blackness with the knowledge that his brother was on his way, uttering just one more word; "help."

After a moment, his eyes opened again with a flash of blue.

Dean finished his whiskey and sighed, heading out of the bar into the fresh air, the shopping he had got before the pub in two plastic bags in his hand.

Getting in the Impala and dumping the bags in the passenger seat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check his messages.

"What the...?" he muttered as he listened to his little brother's panicked voice. A second later the engine revved and the Impala drove for home as Dean tried unsuccessfully to ring Sam.

"Dammit! Come on," he shouted at the phone as it went to answer machine again. He swore and swerved into the side road for the Bunker. He got out, ignoring the shopping for now, and rushed into the building, phone in hand, continually attempting to call his brother.

The sound of external ringing drew his attention and he hurried towards it, calling, "Sammy? Sam!"

Sam was there alright, but he wasn't... there.

He was standing in front of the sink in the map room, staring intently at something. Measurably, he turned around to face Dean, and his eyes flashed blue.

"Zeke?" Dean did a quick check of the room, but the angel was definitely the only one there. "What the hell just happened?" he demanded, holding up his phone to show what he was talking about.

The angel sighed. "I told you yesterday, Dean. Healing your friends makes me weaker than I already am. I should have warned you. I had to stand down for a moment, but the rate at which your brother's health deteriorated startled even me. He should be fine after we both rest."

"So... what's wrong with Sam? He'll be okay soon, right?" Dean asked anxiously. Zeke nodded.

"Yes, I believe he will be recovered when he wakes up. He passed out from this sickness and I took over immediately. He had a temperature of a hundred and six farenheight and spat blood." The angel frowned at Dean's expression. "What is this? It is unlike everything I have seen before and it seemed to panic him very much."

Dean shifted uncomfortably and after a second decided on the truth, reminding himself that Zeke was healing Sam from this.

"Well, it's... it's what made him so sick in the first place." Dean sighed. "When he was doing the Trials, to close the gates of hell, he got really sick. High temperatures – and I mean really high – and nausea and things, and, uh, coughing blood was one of the main symptoms."

Zeke nodded slowly and glanced back at the sink. Dean could guess what happened and wondered how bad it got. It had really scared Sam, and Dean couldn't blame him. Sam didn't know anything; just that he was cured from the Trials. To suddenly get the sickness back must have scared the crap out of him.

"I can wipe his memory if you want. He will not remember getting these symptoms back or any of this," Zeke offered, seemingly sensing Dean's thoughts.

Dean blew out a breath and met Zeke's – Sam's – eyes. "Fine."

Sam came back to his senses slowly. He could feel he was lying on a familiar bed – his, he realised – and the cover was on top of him. That was slightly strange. He was sure he remembered getting out of bed that morning. Presuming it was the same day, of course. Actually, come to think of it, he had absolutely no idea what had happened.

Apart from feeling ill and going to bed because of it, he didn't know what the hell happened there. At the moment he felt practically fine. A lingering headache maybe, but okay apart from that.

He shifted on the bed and opened his eyes, squinting in the light. He glanced at his watch. 11:33? What did that mean?

"It means you slept for basically a day, Sammy," his brother's voice informed him. Immediately Sam pushed himself up and looked around the room for Dean.

He didn't have to look far. Dean gave him a small smile from where he was sitting on the chair at Sam's desk. There wasn't any work on the desk that he might have been doing, however. Sam began to feel uneasy. If it was bad enough that Dean had to watch over him in the night then how bad was it?

"What-" he began, but Dean beat him to it.

"What happened? Well, you got sick and decided to see the floor up close while I was shopping." He stood up and walked towards Sam's bed, ignoring his surprised face. "You know, actually telling me you're getting sick works too."

Sam thought for a minute. "I didn't know... I didn't think it was that bad," he mumbled, absently rubbing his eyes like a tired kid.

Dean smiled. "Well now you're better, why don't you grab a couple of hours of actual restful sleep, and then you can start on the homework again, okay buddy?"

Sam nodded mutely, wondering briefly how un-'restful' he had been. Dean clapped him carefully on the shoulder and left, glancing back once. He had a mixture of emotions in his eyes that Sam couldn't work out.

Yawning, Sam lay down again. He really wanted to talk to Dean and maybe work out some stuff, but he was too tired, like someone was actually making him sleep, and he felt too weak to resist. If Dean had left then he was not in any danger any more – if he had been – and that meant he was safe. He knew nothing could get to him while Dean was around.

After all this time, he still called on his brother for reassurance and safety. He knew Dean wouldn't let anything get to him without his permission.

With that comforting thought, Sam slept, while Ezekiel lay dormant inside him, healing and waiting.