Reckless [Dean Winchester]

37. Route 34, Colorado

37. Route 34, Colorado

"Here." I drape the blanket over Sam. I'd walked in earlier to find him shivering.

"Thanks." He pulls the blanket tight around him.

"Back to reading?" I notice the documents all sprawled on the table.

"There's so much that hasn't been looked at yet."

I move to the opposite side of the table and sit down across from him. I know Sam's been worsening, but I've never seen it this bad. He looks like he's catching something, and he hasn't eaten in days. Dean and I have tried to bait him with food, but he doesn't take to anything. He'll maybe drink something, but we have to practically force his mouth open and pour the liquid down his throat.

My head turns at approaching feet. I give Dean a tired smile as he walks in with a tray of food. I'd told Dean what I had seen this morning when I went to go fetch the blanket. But he'd already beaten me to it by being in the kitchen, making up some stew.

"Alright, here we go," says Dean. "John Winchester's famous cure-all kitchen sink stew. There you go." He sets the tray down near his brother. "Enough cayenne pepper in there to burn your lips off, just like Dad used to make."

I sigh as Sam pushes the tray away.

"Yeah, we do the whole airplane thing with the spoon? When was the last time you ate?"

"I-I don't..."

"Days, Sam," I take my turn to be the bad guy. "It's been three days."

Dean pulls out a thermometer.

"When'd you get that?" asks Sam.

"When you started throwing off heat waves," Dean says. "Here."

I rise as Sam does, throwing off the blanket. He stumbles a bit. "Enough, both of you. Please," he begs.

"The bloody handkerchiefs, the fever, the shaky legs...this isn't good."

"Well, I'm not good. And I'm not going to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial."

I blink, wide-eyed, at the younger Winchester. "Trial?" I gasp. "I don't think we'd let you start a moped."

"We're on the rails with this thing, okay," says Dean, "and the only way out of it is through it, believe me, we know. And you know how bad we wanna slam the door on all those sons of bitches. But you gotta let us take care of you, man. You gotta let us help you get your strength back."

"This isn't a cold," Sam insists. "Or a fever, or whatever it is you're supposed to feed. This is part of it all. Those first two trials...they're not just things I did. They're doing something to me. They're changing me, you guys."

Which nobody thinks is good. I hope even he thinks that. I shake my head. I don't care what Sam says, Dean and I consider this a sickness. I haven't seen someone look so ill since...

But her condition and Sam's are total opposites. Hers didn't come with closing Hell's gates. Hers didn't come from supernatural causes. I want Sam's condition just to be a natural thing, but I'd only be kidding myself.

Someone's phone buzzes, and Dean pulls his out. "It's Kevin," he says.

"Finally," I breathe.