Title: Brotherly Reflextions

Author: Moonlight 80

Summary: "I've never actually told him this, if I did he'd laugh at me and call me a girl, but I need my brother." A Faith missing scene. (Yes, another one). Sam reflects while he watches Dean sleep.

A/N: Thank you so much to my awesome beta, Mad Server. She gave me a lot of great ideas that I wouldn't have thought of, and caught a lot of my mistakes and typos.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just a poor student who gets her kicks torturing fictional characters.

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Dean's asleep. I look at the clock and sigh heavily. It's not even 8:30 yet, and my life of the party, night owl Big Brother is asleep. He'd crawled into bed shortly after I told him about the "specialist" that was going to make him well again. I snort to myself. Specialist. If Dean knew what this guy specialized in, he'd be in the next taxi back to the hospital. Or worse, hotwiring his car and trying to leave town. Why hotwiring, you might ask? Because I hid the keys in the underwear part of my duffle. Last place he'd look.

I look up from my research and watch him for a second. God, he looks so young right now. I mean, not that 27 is old by any stretch, but he's always seemed much older than he really is. It makes sense, I guess. The man raised me from as far back as I can remember. But right now, he just looks very sick and so freaking young. My eyes burn and sting and I blink quickly, not wanting him to see that I've been crying, should he wake up any time soon.

I look at the ceiling thoughtfully. Heart attacks are for old, unhealthy people, not people like my brother, who are young, in great shape and healthy. I've never actually told him this, if I did he'd laugh at me and call me a girl, but I need my brother. God knows I need him, and, after all the people he's saved, and after he set aside his own childhood to give me a halfway normal one, God sort of owes him this whole 'miracle' thing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Dean's perfect. Hell, by a lot people's standards, he might not even be worth saving. He swears a lot, drinks more than he should, and chases anything with nice legs. But that's only the Dean he lets them see. They don't know what I know. I have to laugh at that. It's ironic, really. I spent the better part of three and a half years pretending that I didn't know about the other, darker part of this world and wishing that I wasn't just pretending to not know it. Now, I'm so glad I do. So glad I came with him when he asked me to. I mean, even if (God forbid) this Legrange guy turns out to be just another over hyped televangelist who's just better at covering his tracks than most, Dean will have someone to say goodbye to. Someone who'll sit up with him, take care of him, even hold his hand, if he'd let me. He wouldn't, I know that much. At least, not at first. But when the pain got to be too bad, he might.

I shake myself, bringing myself back from these thoughts that hurt even to think. This guy in Nebraska's the real deal. I can feel it. And lately, I'm getting pretty good at feeling things.

Dean makes a noise in his sleep and I'm on my feet and by his bed in a second, ready to do anything he needs me to do to make him more comfortable. I look down at his pale face. He looks like he hurts, even when he's sleeping. It's not the heavy, peaceful sleep that he falls into when he's healthy. It's fitful, restless. His face twitches a little and he makes another noise. I fix his blankets and put the inside blanket from my bed over him. I read that victims of heart disease have a hard time staying warm, because their circulation is so bad. After I watch him for another minute, satisfied that he's not gonna wake up right away, I head back to my chair. The same chair Dean sat in when he first got here. I toss the heart disease pamphlet I'd been looking at onto my now unmade bed and put my chin on my balled up fist. Watching your brother sleep isn't the most exciting thing you can do with your life, but I'm not bored enough to start reading things that will depress me more right now.

I'm jerked out of my boredom by one word. "Sammy?" God, even his voice sounds sick and weak. That's not my brother's voice. It doesn't have any of his usual force or cockiness behind it.

"Yeah Dean?" I try not to sound too different. Too much like I'm pitying him. I get to my feet and head back to his bed.

"Just wanted to see if you were still here." He groans as he tries to push himself up, and I struggle with not helping him. He finally sits up, but he's breathing hard from the amount of work it took to just get that way. "I gotta take a leak." He gets to his feet, but he stumbles as if he's very drunk. I grip his shoulder to steady him, and he doesn't pull away. That worries me a lot. Dean never lets me help him unless he's hurt badly or very sick. He allows me to guide him as far as the bathroom, then fixes his eyes on me. "You're not coming in here with me, Sammy."

I roll my eyes and nod. There are certain points we have to be clear on, and that, it would seem, is one of them. Not that I had any intention of going in there with him to start with. "Sure Dean, but just, don't lock the door."

I hold back a laugh as he flips me off, but he doesn't lock the door. While I wait, I lean against the wall and think about things. Like the fact that his calling me Sammy doesn't bother me at all anymore, even though I still correct him on it. Mostly out of habit. When he came and got me from school and during the weeks after it, it pissed me off to no end, but now? Now it just feels affectionate. Besides, I'm used to it.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom, I straighten up and hold on to his elbow, making sure he doesn't fall. We walk to the bed slowly and I guide him down onto it. He pulls the covers over himself and shivers violently. I twist my hands together, wanting to help him, but not wanting to make him feel smothered. "After Joshua called, I knew I'd have to spring you from the hospital before we went to see this guy. So I picked up some things I thought you could stomach. You wanna try to keep something down?"

Dean starts to shake his head, then looks as if he thinks better of it. "What did you get?"

"Um, I bought beef broth, Jell-O, crackers and grape juice." He used to love grape juice, when we were kids.

His dull, tired eyes light up just a little bit. "Red Jell-O?" He sounds hopeful. He doesn't care what flavor it is, so long as it's red.

"Is there any other kind? You wanna try it?" I don't think anyone can throw up Jell-O. At least, I never have. It was always the one thing I could keep down when I was sick. Still is.

He nods and shivers. "Sam, can you crank the heat up? It's freakin' freezing in here. And uh, we got any tea, while you're at it?"

If it wasn't such a very real possibility, I'd make some crack about how Dean must be dying if he's asking for tea. As it is, I force a smile. "I never thought I'd see the day Dean Winchester would ask for a cup of tea. Unless, of course, it was Long Island Iced. I was actually gonna try to get some down you anyway. I got mint. It'll settle your stomach." I hope I add to myself.

"Good. I'm really cold."

I sigh softly and pull my comforter off my bed. He's gonna need it more than I will. Besides, after I turn the heat up, I'm gonna be sweltering. I put it over him. "There you go." My eyes meet his just a second longer than they should, and he looks away.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at me like that. I know this sucks big time, and I'd do anything for you not to see me like this, but we can't change it. Hell, even if we could, I wouldn't want to. Those kids, they have their whole lives ahead of them. Me? Dude, for a hunter, I'm middle aged. I knew the risks when I started this job."

I can't help myself. I feel my short temper explode. "What do you mean, you knew the risks? You were, what, six when Dad started teaching you this crap? What the hell does a six year old know about risks?" I hold my tongue as I watch what little color he has drain from his cheeks, and I force myself to calm down. He doesn't need to have a fight with me right now.

I look at my bed, where I'd carelessly tossed my phone earlier this evening. Dad isn't gonna call back. I know that. I'm not even gonna tell Dean I tried to get a hold of him. At least, not while he's still sick. It would, pardon the expression, break his heart. I squash down a surge of dislike for our father and turn to the tiny kitchenette in our room to make Dean's dinner.

While I'm sticking a to-go coffee cup filled with water in the microwave, I hear my name again. "Sam, I…" He doesn't know what to say. He's scared and he's hurting, but he doesn't know how to tell me these things. I wish he would. I could be there for him, if he'd let me.

"Sammy, I don't know what to say, man. I just… you know."

Yeah, I know. He's bound by some weird, unwritten rule that he made up that says he's not allowed to be anything but very stoic or a complete goof off. "Yeah, Dean, I know. You just need to focus on getting better. This guy's gonna help you. Joshua knows stuff like this." I wait again, wondering if Dean'll bring up Dad. I doubt he will. Dad's a sore subject on the best of days. Still, I wonder if he resents him a little. He has to, really. I mean, Dad's missed a lot with him. It was Bobby who rushed him to the hospital when his appendix ruptured. Dad didn't even know Dean was sick until Bobby called him. Dean had been sick when Dad had dropped us off.

I take the water out of the microwave and drop a bag into it. I set the tea and Jell-O on his bedside table. He looks more than half asleep again. "You still with me, Big Brother? You want to go to sleep again?" I rest my hand on his forehead and wince. He's so cold. He feels almost dead already. Damn, that's so morbid. I shake my head and sigh, banishing those thoughts from my head.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm here. And I do want this stuff. Never thought I'd say this, but that tea looks great. Smells awesome, too." he picks up the cup and stirs the bag with a plastic spoon.

I smile and sit on the edge of my bed. "Dean?" He looks up at me and meets my eyes. "It's Sam."