"I should only be gone three days—five at the most. You have enough food here already. You don't take your eyes off of Sammy this time, you understand me?" Dean nodded seriously, glancing back to where Sam was curled up on the bed, fast asleep taking a nap. John eyed him for a few moments longer before leaving without a goodbye. Dean shut the door and slid the deadbolt into place, drawing a salt line across the door and checking all of the windows as well.

That was a week earlier. When three days had passed without word from their father, Dean had been unconcerned. He had taken care of Sammy for much longer times without issue. But then the fifth day came and passed and then the sixth without as much as a call or a message.

It was the seventh day since John had left them for a simple salt and burn. The drive was only seven hours. Dean was beginning to get anxious. Not so much for their father, but for Sammy. The thought in his mind, Dean glanced over to where his brother was curled up in their bed taking a nap. Then he glanced at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it was almost seven. "Sammy, wake up."

"Dean?" Sam slurred, still drowsy.

"It's suppertime.

Sam yawned and scrubbed at his eyes with his fists groggily. "Can I have Lucky Charms?"

"You always want Lucky Charms." Dean rolled his eyes and his tone was a bit harsh, but he made Sam a bowl of Lucky Charms anyway. "You have to get out of bed to eat though." Sam groaned but climbed out of bed, keeping one of the blankets wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Dean shoved the bowl towards him. He was eating Lucky Charms himself tonight, not in the mood to make anything else. And also their favorite foods were starting to disappear. If their father did not return tonight, Dean would have to take an inventory of what they had.

After supper, Sam climbed back into bed and in minutes was sleeping again. Dean watched somewhat concernedly even as he did the dishes. Dean climbed into the other side of the bed to watch TV again. It was possible that their father would be back that night, and if he returned during the night, he wouldn't be happy that Dean stole his bed. Without realizing it, Dean drifted off to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Dean was shaken awake. His first thought was that his father had returned and was angry for him not being alert, but then he realized that Sammy was still holding onto his sleeve. "Sammy?" An infomercial was playing on the television.

"I don't feel good." Sam said quietly.

Dean sighed. "Do you feel sick? Are you going to puke?" Sam shook his head. "Then what?"

"My chest hurts."

"You've been coughing a lot. It's just a cold, Sammy. Go back to sleep." Dean watched as Sam curled tighter under the blankets and closed his eyes. Long after Sam fell asleep, Dean was still wide awake. He watched his little brother sleep for a long while. The last hunt, Dean had allowed Sammy to get hurt. He had slipped out and the shtriga had almost gotten him. It had been a month ago, and still Sam wasn't quite healed. He hadn't developed the deadly infection the other children had gotten, but he had picked up a cold a few days afterward, and Dean was certain the two events were related and that Sam's cold was his fault. Their father had said as much, and it was true. He had been told not to let Sam out of his sight, yet he had disobeyed and Sam had almost been killed.

Sam coughed slightly in his sleep and shifted. Dean got out of the bed and went over to the thermostat, turning the heat up in the room, knowing that Sam had been chilled lately, but knew better than to complain.

He heard the heater kick in and went back to bed, laying on top of the covers. The room was already warm to him, and he didn't know how Sam wasn't burning up under all the blankets. Still, eventually Dean fell asleep again.

Dean didn't wake up until late, and it surprised him that Sam hadn't already woken him up. His little brother was usually an early riser, and would pester him until he gave him breakfast. Rolling over and stretching, Dean paused as he realized that Sam was still out. He reached out to wake Sam, but as his hand made contact with Sam's shoulder, he froze. Sam was way too warm.

"Sammy! Sammy, wake up!"

His brother's eyes opened. "Dean, I'm sick."

"Yeah." Dean agreed softly. "Does your chest still hurt?" Sam nodded. Unsure what to do, Dean walked over to where their food was and stared at it. They still had fruit—it was easy and didn't take up space in the tiny motel fridges. Dean grabbed an orange and a glass of milk and returned to Sam.

"I don't want fruit." Sam complained, though he sipped at the milk.

Dean sighed. If Sam was going to be stubborn, there was nothing that could be done to get him to eat the fruit. "You are sick, Sammy. It will help you get better." He peeled it and separated the slices, setting them on a plate and putting them on Sam's lap who was now sitting against the headboard. Dean was out of his element. Injuries he could deal with. If Sam needed an ankle wrapped or a wound stitched, he could handle that, but sickness was something he didn't know how to deal with. But with luck, his father would come home. He was already overdue and would be home any time now. Sam would be fine until then and their dad would be able to take care of Sam.

But lunchtime came and passed and then dinner, and by the time they got ready for bed, their father hadn't showed up. Dean couldn't sleep that night, he was too worried over Sammy. Worried that whatever illness the shtriga spread had been passed onto him. None of those children had survived—that was a point their dad had drilled into him after Sammy's near miss. If this was the same illness, Sam might not make it. Dean wanted to call the hospital, but if this was a regular sickness, John would be furious. And without their father there, it would cause trouble. Adults didn't like to see children left on their own. Normally Dean would have insisted that he was as capable as any adult with a kid—at least when that kid was Sammy, but at the moment he would give anything for an adult to take over and make Sam better.

Sam was restless, waking often, and he had curled up right next to Dean. Dean's first reaction was to shove him away, but Sam looked so miserable that he found himself wrapping his little brother in his arms instead, pulling him close to his chest and clinging to him. Tears stung his eyes as he fought them away, forcing himself to be strong. He had to be strong for Sammy—especially if he was sick.

Dean drifted off a few times in the night, but for the most part he didn't sleep much at all. Sam clung to him through the night, his closeness letting Dean know just how fevered his little brother was. Sam was like a heater against his chest, even though when he woke up a couple times during the night he complained of being cold.

The next morning, Sam ate fruit again without complaint which worried Dean more than if he had thrown a fit. John should have at least called by then, but Dean knew hunts were often busier than expected, and he didn't want to read too much into it, but John had never gone so long without any communication before.

With Sam curled up on the bed, staring blankly at the TV, Dean walked over to their food. And sorted it. They still had most of a bag of oranges though those wouldn't last much longer. He placed that in one pile. Those would be Sam's. He would have one with every meal and hopefully that would help. Dean looked through the rest. They also had three cans of spaghettiOs, most of a box of Lucky Charms—though their milk was almost gone—half a jar of peanut butter, and a few slices of bread. It should be enough, but if their dad didn't return in the next few days, they'd run out of food, and there was no way that Dean was leaving Sam alone again. Dean would eat less, just in case. Sam would need all his strength to fight the illness.

Four more days passed and their father had still not returned. Dean was becoming more miserable. Concerned about their food supply, he was now only eating a few spoonfuls of peanut butter a day and attempting to stave off his hunger by drinking too much water. Sam was sicker than before, too out of it to realize that Dean was starving himself. Sam was not very hungry and Dean had to force him to eat in the short times he was awake. And Sam's fever had grown worse to the point where Dean had snatched away most of his blankets out of fear that Sam would get too hot.

Two weeks and three days after John left for the hunt, Sam ate the last of their food. Dean had not eaten anything in the last two days, trying to conserve their food for Sam. Dean shut himself in the bathroom, weeping frustrated tears and he forced himself to stay quiet so that Sam would not hear him crying as he tried to brainstorm what to do. Their father had never told him what to do in a situation like this, and Dean wasn't about to give up on their dad.

A sudden thought struck Dean. When he was sorting their belongings, he had found seven dollars. There was a vending machine down the hall that he could get a few small food items from. He didn't like the idea of leaving the room, but the door would still be in sight, and food was more important. Gathering control over his emotions, Dean gathered the money and slipped from the room. He searched the vending machine for the most food-like items and ended up buying five packages of cheese and cracker sandwiches. They weren't exactly healthy of filling, but it would be better than candy.

As he slipped back into the room, Dean eyed the new food with longing before looking to Sam. Sam needed it more, but Dean needed something to keep him going. Opening one of the packages, Dean took out one of the three crackers and ate it. Eating the snack made everything worse as it reminded Dean just how hungry he was. Dean grabbed a glass and downed two full glasses of water and felt marginally better though there was still a sharp pain in his stomach. He grabbed another package and coaxed Sam to eat all three though he tried to refuse.

"Dean." Sam whispered, starting to cough miserably and hold his chest. "It hurts!"

"I know, Sammy." Dean replied just as quietly, taking his little brother's hand tightly into his own. "Dad is going to come back and then he can take you to a hospital. It'll be okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Sam rolled onto his side, pulling his knees to his chest. "Will you stay with me?"

In reply, Dean crawled into the bed beside Sam and carefully pulled his brother into his arms. Sam cuddled up against him, his body heat causing Dean's mind to explode with worry.

Two more days passed, and Dean broke down completely. There was still one more package of crackers left—and Dean was determined that they be for Sam, but Sam wouldn't wake up. It was over. He could no longer wait for their father to return. Sam needed help now. Taking care not to disturb Sam, Dean grabbed the phone, dialed a familiar number, and brought the phone to his ear.