A BOY'S GOTTA DO
"Sam . . ." The word was a croaking groan.
"I'm coming, Dean!" With a clatter, a small boy, surely no more than five years old, hurried out of the kitchen, eyes on the cup of tea he carried, trying very hard not to spill it.
Setting the tea on the bedside table, he helped his brother to sit up. "It's time for your medicine, Dean!" Croaking a painful thanks, the older boy managed to swallow the aspirin Sam gave him, chased with a few sips of cool water, though his throat felt raw.
"Thanks," Dean wheezed. He settled himself weakly up against the pillow and gave Sam a weak smile. "You hungry?"
"No, I made myself a sandwich while you were sleeping. I made one for you, too, when you're ready."
"That's my boy." Dean wiped a shaking hand across his forehead. "Taking care of business."
Sam picked up the tea and held it to his brother. "Here, drink this. It'll help your throat."
Dean took the cup and sipped cautiously. It tasted good. Sweet and warm. Soothing. "It's good." He took another, bigger, sip, enjoying the warmth on his abused throat. "What's in it?"
Happy to see his brother's pale face relaxing a bit, Sam grinned. "Lemon, cinnamon, honey and hot water," Sam recited. "Good, isn't it?"
"Cinnamon?" Surprised, Dean said, "Where'd you get that?" He stiffened when Sam dropped his eyes to the floor. "Sammy? Where'd you get all that stuff?"
"I went to the grocery store down the street," Sam mumbled, digging a toe into the carpet.
"Sammy!" Dean's pale face went even whiter and Sam looked up at him, lower lip trembling.
"I'm sorry, Dean! I know I wasn't s'posed to, but I had to!"
"Sammy, no –"
"I had to!" Sam insisted stubbornly, tears glinting in his eyes. "You're sick! You take care of me when I'm sick, so I take care of you when you're sick!"
Looking at his brother's threatening tears, Dean didn't say anything else, but the thought of his baby brother going alone to the store, the millions of things that could have happened – that could still happen as a result – chilled his blood. He felt hollow at the thought.
"You should drink the rest of your tea, Dean," Sam ventured when Dean remained silent. "The lady at the store said it would help."
Alarmed, Dean looked at him and Sam was quick to reassure him. "It's okay. I told her that my dad was sick and taking a nap and I wanted to make him feel better." He grinned impishly. "She said I was a good boy to take care of my dad."
Dean smiled at the pride in the young boy's face. "You are a good boy, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you." He finished the rest of the tea and when Sam took the cup from him, lay back down, exhausted.
"You rest, Dean," Sam said softly. "Everything's okay."
"Thanks, Sammy," Dean mumbled sleepily. Closing his eyes, he drifted back to sleep, leaving the youngest Winchester in charge.