Dean looks back at the nurse, Robin. "What was her temp when she came in?"

"104, even."

He nods. "We'll give you chilled fluids through an IV and give you a cooling blanket. Those should help bring the fever down." He glances at Robin again. "Will you take her temp again?"

"Of course." She sets the tablet down and gets out a thermometer; it's one of those where you run it over the person's forehead. "It's back up. 104.9 now."

He runs a hand through his hair. "So, we've got fever, headache, and muscle aches," he lists off. "Those were your only symptoms and they showed up completely out of the blue this morning?"

"Yes."

"Normally, with those symptoms, I'd send you home, but I'm concerned because the fever is so high and it came on so suddenly. "

"So what do you think it is?"

"I've got a few ideas but none of them completely match what you're telling me."

"That's reassuring."

"Sorry. For now, we'll treat the symptoms and I'm going to do some blood tests. The results should be back in less than an hour."

Robin prepares everything for the blood draw. When she's done, she moves the tray toward the bed. Dean stops her. "I'll take over, Robin. You go check on my other patients. Oh, but grab a cooling blanket first." She nods and leaves. "Lift up your arm," he instructs. He ties the tourniquet around the top of your arm. "Make a fist." You do. He swipes your arm with an alcohol swab. Just before he puts the needle in, he starts talking, probably trying to distract you. "Just between us, Robin's an amazing nurse - relax your hand - she just sucks at blood draws."

You laugh a little. You wince; there's a pull at the needle in your arm as he changes tubes. "So you're good then?" you ask.

"I'm the best." He glances up at you and winks. If you weren't already flushed from the fever, you would be now.

By the time he's done, Robin's back with the IV bag and blanket. She trades Dean the tubes of blood for the IV bag and blanket. "I'll take these to the lab," she says the leaves the room.

"Sorry about the second stick, but we need to get cool fluids in you to get your temp down." He hangs the bag on a pole beside your bed.

After the IV is in, he says, "Try to get some sleep. I'll be back in an hour."

• • •

Voices pull you out of the nightmare. Voices repeating your name, telling you to wake up, you're fine. Your eyes fly open to meet beautiful green ones. You sit up quickly in your hospital bed and hug the doctor sitting there. His arms wrap tightly around you. You bury your face in his white lab coat. You woke up crying and now you're full on sobbing.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. It was just a fever dream – a nightmare." You keep sobbing and he starts stroking your hair, comforting you. It takes a minute, but you finally calm down. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and lay back down. "You okay?" Dean asks. You nod and wipe a stray tear from your eye. "Do you want to talk about it?" You shake your head. He looks around awkwardly. You lay back in bed.

Dean reaches over and dips a washcloth in a basin of water. The feeling of the cloth on your face, cooling down your burning skin is only made better by the fact that it's an attractive and nice doctor doing it.

He speaks somewhat softly. "Nothing showed up in your blood test; everything was perfect, actually. We can do more extensive tests now, which I highly recommend. Since this illness came along so suddenly, anything else could happen quickly. We need to get a move on."

"What are these tests?" you ask cautiously. He gets about halfway through his description of the first test when you stop him. "How 'bout we don't do that. Can we just wait on those?" you practically plead.

He shrugs. "You're the patient. I can't make you do anything. I know it sounds scary." He sighs. "It's not completely necessary, and I'll admit it is expensive. If you really want to wait, I'm okay with that, but if you start getting worse... That's when we'll need to do the tests. I really hope it doesn't come to that," he says sincerely.

*a day or two later*

Dean comes in. He pulls up a chair, the back facing you, and straddles it. "Little birdie told me you haven't been eating much," he begins. "So, my lunch break is in twenty minutes. I know the food here kind of sucks. How 'bout I sneak in some junk food and we can eat together?" He grins.

"Like a date?" you ask, a smirk on your face.

"If you want it to be." If whatever's wrong with you doesn't kill you, his smile will. (Is that too morbid? awkward).

You return the smile, "Sure."

"Awesome. I'll be back in twenty.

• • •

You fall asleep almost immediately after he leaves. It's amazing you're able to sleep considering the fever raging through your body and the aches in your muscles. Dean wakes you up by touching your arm gently. He sets the food on the tray next to you as you slowly wake up, rubbing your eyes. "I brought ice water, a milkshake, a burger, and fries." He stands there awkwardly. "I wasn't sure what you would want."

You pull the bag of fries closer to you and take one out. You take a bite, more out of obligation than hunger.

"So, how are you feeling?" Dean asks around a mouthful of burger.

"That's not really date conversation material," you point out.

"Humor me."

"Well, you know I still have a fever." He nods. "My headache isn't as bad and my muscles hardly ache anymore."

"How's your appetite?" He points to the bag of fries in front of you.

"Almost nonexistent," you admit.

Dean picks up a milkshake and sets it in front of you. "Try to drink this."

"Yeah, okay." You take the styrofoam cup into your hands. Dean keeps his eyes on you as you take a sip. "It's good." After about ten seconds of complete silence and awkward eye contact, you say "Um, tell me about yourself."

• • •

All in all, it was a pretty great first date until...

Dean's halfway out the door when an alarm starts sounding. He hurries back in the room. He looks at the monitors and then back at you. "Talk to me."

"Can't breathe," you say between quick, shallow breaths.

"Alright, okay." He leans behind you and grabs an oxygen mask then puts it over your face. He quickly takes his stethoscope off from around his neck.

You close your eyes as the edges of your vision become black. "Stay awake," he tells you. You nod but keep your eyes closed.

"Need help?" Robin's voice asks.

"Get –" he hesitates. "Get the crash cart on the remote chance we need it." He moves the stethoscope to your ribs, above your lungs. He listens to different places on your chest. An arm behind your shoulders lifts you up. You hunch over and brace your arms against your legs. "There you go. Put your head between your knees; it'll help with the dizziness." You do as he says. "Shh. Take your time. Try to slow your breathing." He starts rubbing circles on your back.

People start rushing into the room; there's the sound of multiple people's shoes squeaking on the floor and the wheels of the crash cart.

"Don't focus on them," Dean whispers to you. "Focus on me. Focus on slowing your breathing." After a minute, he asks, "Are you still dizzy?"

"No," you reply, your voice muffled by the mask.

"Okay, let's get you laying back down." You take as deep a breath as you can and lay back against the bed. Dean takes off his stethoscope and listens to your lungs again. "Does your chest hurt or feel tight?"

"Tight," you respond.

"Does anything hurt or do you feel worse than before?"

Robin appears beside him and hands him an iPad. She smiles sympathetically at you. "No." After a few quick breaths, you amend that. You take off the mask to say, "I feel hotter than before."

"Robin –"

"Already on it." Robin grabs a thermometer and runs it over your forehead. She shows the reading to Dean. He frowns slightly and types it in the electronic chart then turns it off and hands it to Robin. "You guys can go," he directs at the code team huddled around the crash cart.

Dean sticks his hand in his lab coat pocket, pulling out a prescription pad. On the pad, he scribbles something quickly and signs it with a flourish. To Robin, he says, "Take this to the pharmacy and tell them to fill it as soon as they can."

"Sure." She leaves the room without a word.

"What –" You take in an almost gasping breath. "What's going on?" Your chest rises and falls rapidly.

Dean takes the forgotten oxygen mask from your hand and puts it back on. "Your fever spiked again," he explains. "That might be related to the shortness of breath, but I don't know. I'm not too worried about the fever after looking at the trend in your chart. Considering your symptoms, it seems like it's just a virus. Not like one I've seen, but not dangerous either as long as you're closely monitored."

He finds a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around your arm tightly. The tip of the stethoscope is cold as slips it under the cuff, against the inside of your arm. "Try to relax," Dean says, eyes fixed on the blood pressure monitor in concentration. You start to speak, but he shushes you. He says something to himself after a minute. He takes off the blood pressure monitor, puts it to the side, and then types the numbers into the tablet. "Do you still feel dizzy?"

"Only a little."

"Look at that; you got out a whole sentence without a breath in between." He smiles at you and his smile is so comforting, it alone slows your breathing. The monitors' beeping slows. Dean's face relaxes as he looks at them. He sits beside you and leans against the bedrail. "I'll be in periodically to check on you." He rubs his cheek with his knuckles. "I'm considering staying in an on-call room when I get off."

"Just for me?" You smile but take a hitching breath.

"I mean, I have been working very closely with you," he jokes. "No one knows your case better than I do. If things... take a turn for the worse," he says reluctantly "– I want to be here."

Your breathing has almost returned to normal, making you realize how tired you are.

"You must be exhausted," he says. "I'll be back in an hour. I'm not sure how long the medicine from the pharmacy will take to get here, but Robin or an intern will bring it here once it does." Dean leans over and takes off the mask and replaces it with the cannula, tucking the tubes behind your ears. "If you have trouble breathing again, press the call button." He stands and puts his hands in his pockets. "Get some rest."

You nod and turn to the side. You're asleep before he leaves the room.

• • •

The next day, Dean comes in your room around lunch time again. "Hey," he says. "How you feelin?" He sets the bag of food in front of you.

"Better," you answer honestly.

He looks at the chart and then up at the monitors. "Pulse ox improved. Pain level down. Fever down. That's good." He smiles at you. "Still." He puts down the tablet and walks back to the bed. "I can't take you off fluids or the oxygen until I see more improvement. Sorry." He takes the wrapped up burger from your hand.

"This is a lot of food," you comment.

"Well, my brother Sam – I told you about him, right?"

You laugh. "Just a little," you say sarcastically.

"Yeah. He always comes to have lunch with me on Fridays so he's coming here."

"Hence the salad," you say.

"Dude eats like a rabbit."

"At least I won't die of a heart attack in my 40s, bitch," a voice says from the hallway.

"Whatever, jerk," Dean calls over his shoulder.

The guy who comes in is tall with long brown hair and wearing jeans and a flannel.

"You must be Sam," you say. "Dean's told me a lot about you."

Sam smacks Dean upside the head.

"Hey!" Dean rubs the back of his head. "Only good things, Sammy. I only told (y/n) good things," he assures him.

"Whatever." Sam takes the salad. "No offense," Sam says while walking across the room. He sits on the table across the room. Being the giant that he is, his feet still touch the ground. "–but why are we eating in here?"

"I've just been hangin' out with (y/n) a lot since she's been here."

Sam looks suspicious. "So what are you in for?" he asks conversationally, taking a bite of the salad.

"Not sure," you answer.

"Eat," Dean commands, shoving some food towards you. To Sam, he says, "Possibly a virus. Came in with a very high fever, headache, and muscle aches, all brought on suddenly when (y/n) woke up a few days ago. Pulse ox got too low, hence the cannula giving her oxygen."

Dean says something to you, an inside joke and you both laugh.

"Aw, dude. You didn't tell me I'd be third-wheelin' it today," he whines. Dean shrugs.

• • •

Your condition slowly improves over the next few days.

Dean leans against the nurses' station table. You sign the discharge papers and put them on the counter. Dean hands you a piece of paper. "Here's my number. Call me if you have any questions or if you start to feel sick again. Or, just, for anything."

You laugh. "I'll definitely call you."

"Good. See you around."