PART I

Sam was waiting for Dean on the otherwise deserted benches behind the school.

As Dean approached him, he realized that Sam's legs were pulled up to his chest and he was perched on the seat of the bench with his face buried in his knees.

In hindsight, that should have been another indication that something was wrong.

Instead, Dean ignored it and used it as an opportunity. He tiptoed in a wide circle so he could sneak up on Sam from behind. He crept up behind his brother and paused before grabbing his shoulders and shouting, "Sammy, look out!"

Sam startled, narrowly missing butting heads with Dean when he jumped.

Dean cackled and ruffled Sam's hair. "Oh, man, Sammy. That'll never get old."

Sam pushed Dean's arm away. "Jerk," he declared. He ran his hands over his face and dropped his legs to the ground. "What took you so long?" he asked, as he reached for his backpack and stood up. "And don't tell me you were talking to another girl."

"Dude, what's your rush?" Dean asked, as they started their trek back to the rundown motel they were staying at. "Besides, I'll have you know, I was talking to Mr. Turner. He made me stay after so he could oh-so-kindly tell me I'm at risk for failing his class." He paused for a second. "And then I talked to another girl. Leanna Hendricks." Dean let out a low whistle and wiggled his eyebrows. "She's the mayor's daughter."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I knew it." He peered up at Dean through shaggy bangs. "What class?"

"Uh, pretty sure she's upper class, Sammy," Dean said, with a twinkle in his eye. "Considering her dad's the mayor and all." He knew that wasn't what Sam was asking, he just felt like being a pain in the ass.

"You're an idiot," Sam said, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "I meant, what class are you failing?"

Dean let out a sigh. "English," he admitted. "We have a test on Monday – but it's open book, so I'm not too worried."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You should be," he said. "Open book tests are usually tougher than closed book ones. Teachers tend to make the questions really nitpicky, Dean, and it'll be obvious if you haven't read. Especially if what I've heard about Mr. Turner being the toughest teacher at the school is true."

"Well, I still have all weekend to study," Dean said with a shrug.

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen."

That earned Sam a retaliation punch in the shoulder. "Bitch," Dean professed fondly. "What about you, huh? How was your day?"

Sam's face clouded and he looked down at his feet. "It was fine," he said dully.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Whoa, hold back, Sammy. Don't talk my ear off or nothin'."

Sam rolled his eyes again. "It was school, Dean. What do you want me to say?"

Anything, Dean thought miserably. Dean wasn't sure if he should chalk it up to Sam being an average teenager, but the kid had been a lot quieter these days – more sarcastic and just overall grumpy. He smiled less and slept more. It was driving Dean nuts.

"I don't know, man. You used to give me a detailed soliloquy about every day."

"Soliloquy?" Sam repeated. "Really?"

Dean feigned hurt. "Hey, I know some words." He shuffled his feet and kicked up his foot to playfully kick Sam in his hind end. "So?" he prompted.

"Dean, just lay off, will you? There's nothing to say. It was a boring day at school. I'll spare you the details."

Dean raised his hands in mock defeat. "Okay, okay. Boring day, that's all I'm gonna get out of you. Got it."

They'd arrived back at the motel now and the first thing Dean noticed was that the Impala was parked out front.

John was back.

When Dean unlocked the door, Sam slid past him to inside before Dean even had the chance to push the door open himself. The kid deposited his backpack on his bed and mumbled a quiet "hey, Dad," to the man sitting at the table, before he closed himself in the bathroom.

John frowned after his youngest before setting down the newspaper he was reading and turning his attention to his oldest. "What's up with him?" he asked, nodding at the bathroom door.

"Gee, I dunno, Dad. Maybe he had to take a leak." Dean said casually. The last thing he wanted was for John to comment on Sam's "attitude problem" again. It would just start another argument that Dean would get stuck in the middle of. It had been happening more and more lately. Dean closed the door behind him. "Hello to you, too."

John grinned abashedly. "Sorry. Hello, son."

"You're back earlier than I expected."

John chuckled. "Yeah, well, the case was a bust. Sometimes it really is just an animal attack."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "No kiddin'?" He leaned on the back of the chair across from his dad.

"No kiddin'," John confirmed. "But Bobby has another case already lined up for me. Poltergeist about 140 miles east of here, in Northern Mississippi. I'll head out tonight, and I figure I'll stick around for a bit, see if there's any more action out that way."

"Timeframe?" Dean asked, the way he always did when talking business.

"Two weeks, tops," John answered. "Think you can manage to hold down the fort?"

"Yessir."

John nodded curtly and stood up. "Help me bring in the guns, son. I'd like you and Sam to give 'em a wash before I go. Might even earn you a nice dinner." He winked at Dean and followed him out the door when he obeyed.

When they returned, Dean was surprised to find that Sam was still in the bathroom. He crossed the room to tap on the door. "Sam? You all right in there?"

It was quiet for a moment before Sam answered. "Yeah, m'fine. Be right out."

"'Kay. We're on gun duty."

"Awesome," came Sam's dry reply. "Nothing I'd rather do."

John opened his mouth to reprimand Sam's back-talk, but Dean held a hand up to stop him.

"Dad, don't," he advised quietly. "Go easy on him, okay? I don't think he's feelin' too hot."

Dean, of course, didn't know for sure if Sam was unwell, but he didn't have any better explanation for Sam's attitude as of late. And if his theory helped to keep the peace… then so be it.

xxx

My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

Dean read the opening paragraph of Great Expectations and groaned inwardly because he was already bored out of his skull. There was no way he was going to read this book. He tossed it aside.

He was leaned up against the headboard, waiting for Sam to emerge from the longest shower of all time.

He hoped he wasn't using up all the hot water.

Dean had watched Sam closely during dinner, still trying to gauge if he was coming down with something or not. He'd picked around at his food a bit, but Sam was a picky eater and he always did that.

John had even flat-out asked the kid if he was feeling all right, and Sam had answered with a shrug. "M'fine," he'd mumbled, eyes downcast at the table.

Teenager, Dean reminded himself. He's just being a grumpy, hormonal teenager.

It didn't suit him.

xxx

"Dean?" Sam said hesitantly from the bathroom doorway.

He was leaning against the doorframe, freshly clothed in a pair of sweats.

"Well, look who it is!" Dean said. "I'm surprised you didn't turn into prune, with how long you were in that shower."

Sam didn't acknowledge his brother's sub-par joke. "Dean," he said again, and his voice shook. "I don't feel good."

Dean's heart sank. He muted the TV and sat up. "Shit, Sam," he breathed. I knew it. He crossed the room and ushered Sam to his bed. "What's the matter?"

Sam bit down on his lip and looked away from Dean's concerned gaze. He lifted a single shoulder up in a shrug.

"Is it your stomach?" Dean hedged, remembering Sam's long session in the bathroom and the way he picked at his dinner.

Sam seemed to hesitate, but then he nodded.

"Have you gotten sick?" Dean asked, worry creeping into his gut.

Sam shook his head no.

"Do you think you might?"

Another shrug.

Sam's lack of words was infuriating. But the kid wasn't feeling well, so Dean decided to give him a pass on the exact thing that made him want to wring his neck.

I should get a damn award.

Dean checked his brother's forehead, and was relieved to find that Sam didn't seem to be running a fever. Then he got the kid set up with a glass of water, a wastebasket by his bed, and orders to get some zzz's to sleep off whatever he was coming down with.

Sam didn't hesitate to oblige.

TBC...