WARNING: Spoilers for the season 5 finale through season 7's first three episodes.

Special Note for GuestJ: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :D I promised you a story for your birthday, so here it is. ;) I wrote this to fulfill several of your requests from the past. (Technically you had given me these requests for drabbles in "What Family Is For", so I hope you don't mind I did them outside of that series.) They include: 1) Use "cough syrup" and "catsup" in the same story. 2) A story in which Sam takes care of a sick Dean during a power-outage. And finally 3) Sam makes a sick Dean pancakes. Enjoy! :)

Author's Note: This story takes place during 7x03 "The Girl Next Door", a few days after the boys' visit to Sioux Falls General Hospital.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Sam knew it was going to be a long day when he woke up not to his phone's alarm, but to the annoyingly shrill sound of Lucifer singing into his ear.

"Good morning. Good MOOOORNING! It's great to be alive!"

Sam groaned and quickly pressed his right thumb firmly into the palm of his left hand. There was a brief stab of discomfort as he aggravated the only-partially-healed wound there, but that was alright. The pain grounded him and then Lucifer was gone.

The only sounds in the whole cabin now came from the couch where his older brother was breathing deeply, obviously still fast asleep. For a moment Sam considered going back to bed himself, but he soon realized that Lucifer's unwelcome disturbance had actually left him wide-awake. Sighing, Sam rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

As he brushed his teeth Lucifer re-appeared behind him, and the fallen angel was now wearing a frown to rival that of even the most petulant child.

"That wasn't a very nice way to repay me for serenading you Sam."

Sam quickly spat his toothpaste into the sink and jammed his thumb into his palm for the second time that morning. Lucifer faded away again and Sam stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It had only been a few days since their first encounter with a Leviathan had ended in a trip to Sioux Falls General, and since the full extent of Sam's mental issues had been revealed.

In other words, it had been only a few days since Dean had seen him have a complete break from reality.

Some days were like this, where the hallucinations wouldn't stay away for very long, and Sam hated to feel weakened by the constant threat of losing track of his world. He especially hated the fact that, as soon as Dean got his cast off and was able to return to hunting, Sam was sure his brother wouldn't be taking him along for the next leg of the save-the-world race.

Not that Sam could blame Dean for that. After all, who wanted someone with nothing but loose screws upstairs as their backup? But still, Sam wasn't used to feeling so...

Useless.

That was the word for it. Even though Dean had always protected him- viewed that as his job, even- Sam had done everything he could to return the favor. He'd viewed it as his job, too, and he'd even saved Dean's life on more than a few occasions. Yet now Sam had become a risk. A hindrance.

Now he just wasn't much good to his brother.

Sam did his best to shake off the dark cloud that was descending upon his spirits. He decided not to let the negative thoughts get the better of him, because the last thing he needed was to add depression to his list of ailments. Instead he finished cleaning himself up and headed back out to the main room, expecting Dean to be awake by then.

Sure enough his brother was just sitting up from the couch, wiping his eyes groggily.

"Morning," Sam said as he headed over to the kitchen portion of the cabin.

"You're up early," Dean commented, and Sam chose not to read too far into the remark. He knew there was a chance that his brother was wondering if Lucifer had woken him up, but Sam wasn't in the mood to confess how that was exactly what had happened, and besides... There was also a small chance Dean hadn't been considering that possibility at all, right?

"What do you want for breakfast?" Sam asked, hoping to keep the conversation light.

The older Winchester went to respond, but his words were caught up in a small bout of coughing. Sam noticed that Dean's throat sounded rough with what seemed like the beginnings of a chest-cold.

Dean cleared his throat before groaning. "Damnnit. I think I caught a bug at that friggin' hospital," he said.

Sam had to agree that appeared to be the case. "Ok. So I guess I've gotta modify the question…What do you want as your last meal before everything tastes like cardboard and you don't want to eat anyway?" Sam asked jokingly. He felt bad that his brother had a broken leg and a fresh cold, but he wouldn't be a good sibling if he didn't poke fun at him for it.

"Your bedside manner sucks, you know that?" Dean retorted before adding, "Anything's good, I guess. I'm gonna take a shower first though." With that, Dean was up on his crutches and hobbling his way over to the bathroom, all the while grumbling about how irritating it was to have to wrap his cast up to keep it dry.

It was obvious that he wasn't in the best of moods.

Sam looked through their cupboards and fridge, hoping to find something decent to make Dean to cheer him up. He'd learned long ago that a good meal could do wonders for his brother's affect, and considering Dean was getting sick, this would be Sam's last chance for a few days to use the tactic to perk him up.

He was grateful that Bobby had stocked the kitchen for them before leaving on his trip to track down copies of his old books. In fact, Sam soon realized that he had everything he needed to make Dean a complete breakfast from scratch. He started grabbing items from the cupboards and fridge- Eggs, boxed pancake mix, cinnamon, butter, syrup. There was even a new pack of bacon to fry up.

"Sam, why don't you let me whip something up for big brother? You know how good I am with cooking things."

Sam flinched in slight surprise and hurriedly used his hand-trick to rid himself of the unwanted presence. He spent the rest of the time preparing breakfast trying not to think about what the fallen angel had said.

About thirty minutes later Dean came hobbling back from the bathroom, coughing a few times and complaining, "You know I used to be able to take a fast shower, but this stupid cast- Hey, what smells good?"

Dean's tone went from irritable to hopeful in no time at all.

"Thought you might want a real meal before your cold gets worse," Sam explained, setting down plates on the little table. There were cinnamon pancakes, eggs, and bacon on each. In the center of the table was a container of maple syrup and a tray of butter for the pancakes, as well as salt, pepper, and catsup for the eggs. There was a carton of orange juice, too, and two glasses.

Dean suddenly looked so much happier that Sam would never have guessed his brother had woken up in such a grumpy mood.

His plan had worked.

Sam sat at the table and Dean joined him as quickly as his crutches would permit.

"This looks great," Dean declared as he plopped himself onto one of the wooden chairs. He hurriedly drenched his pancakes in syrup and stuffed a fork-full into his mouth, mumbling, "Mmmm...Thanks," around the food.

"Man, would you please stop making noises while you eat?" Sam begged, and Dean moaned extra loud around his next mouthful for added effect.

Sam rolled his eyes, but after that they proceeded to eat their meal in companionable silence. Dean thankfully didn't even comment when Sam needed to casually squeeze his palm under the table once or twice.

Sam couldn't help but hope that maybe it wasn't going to be such a long day after all.

OoO

After they ate Sam placed the leftovers in the fridge and cleaned up the dishes, all the while watching as Dean's cold became noticeably worse.

He was coughing more frequently and it was beginning to sound painful. His voice was raspier by the minute and he had already put his jacket on despite the relatively warm temperature in the cabin.

"I think I need some cough syrup," Dean finally announced after a particularly nasty coughing fit.

Without needing to be asked Sam went and retrieved a bottle of the liquid medicine from his duffel. He'd been the last one to get sick a few months back and Dean had bought him the grape-flavored kind because he had figured out Sam couldn't stand cherry.

"Cherry reminds us a bit too much of blood now, doesn't it?"

Sam gripped his palm for what seemed to him like the millionth time that day.

"We've got plenty of this stuff left, but you've still gotta go easy on it since mixing a ton of cough syrup with the pain meds for your leg probably isn't the best idea," Sam stated as he handed his brother the bottle of medicine, trying to brush over the event that Dean surely must have just witnessed.

"Duly noted," Dean replied, preparing a half-dose of the syrup for himself. He glanced at Sam's hand for a moment and Sam braced himself for a talk.

Miraculously, Dean didn't say anything. Instead he tossed back a partial cup of cough syrup and lay down on the couch for some rest.

Sam walked away, letting go of a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He knew he couldn't avoid discussing the situation with Dean forever, yet a small part of him still clung to the ridiculous hope that if they just didn't talk about it, then perhaps they could pretend everything was normal.

Maybe his brother wouldn't have to see him as a freak.

"Your brother would be lying if he said you aren't a freak. And lying is a sin. So apparently you want to make your brother a sinner?"

Sam immediately pushed his thumb into his hand and went to fire up his laptop.

It was already feeling like a very, very long day.

OoO

Over the next couple hours Sam's day only seemed to grow longer.

Sam was used to dealing with his brother when he was sick. He knew that when Dean had a severe injury it was best not to try and force him to admit it hurt, because that would only embarrass him and encourage him to hide how bad the situation really was. When Dean had a minor wound, Sam knew to let him gripe about how inconvenient or sore it was because the fact that he was talking about it meant it really wasn't that bad, and Dean just needed to vent.

And when Dean got a cold, it was best to give him his medication and let him zone out with the television before sleeping the illness off.

Unfortunately the cabin's generator had chosen this day to run out of fuel, and although a quick call to Bobby had ensured the older hunter would pick up a canister on his way back, he still wouldn't actually be back for another day or two. That meant the TV wasn't working, the radio wasn't working, Dean couldn't charge his phone to play games on it, and he had just woken up from a medicine-induced nap, so he wasn't ready to sleep again just yet.

Basically, Dean was bored and Sam needed to fix the problem before it drove him even further into insanity than his hallucinations had already put him.

"Ugh, there's nothing to freaking do here," Dean whined for the tenth time in the past hour. It was all Sam had gotten to listen to as he'd lit a fire and set up battery-powered lanterns around the cabin.

Sam rolled his eyes and wracked his brain for a solution.

"Aww, come on Sam. Let me help him out. I'm sure I could come up with a game we could play together,"

Sam pressed his palm instantly, fighting against the thoughts the hallucination had just spawned.

Immediately after doing so he was eager to say something to distract his brother from whatever he might have just seen, and finally an idea stuck him. "There's a deck of cards in my bag. We could play poker," Sam suggested.

Judging by Dean's initial expression, it wasn't his favorite idea in the world, but he eventually seemed to decide that doing something was better than doing nothing, and he said, "Ok. Go grab 'em."

Sam wasn't necessarily in the mood to sit around playing cards either. He'd been having a hard time all day trying to prevent Lucifer from invading his thoughts, and more importantly, trying to avoid having to discuss the situation with Dean. But the alternative was listening to Dean pouting about his boredom for the rest of the evening.

Sam went and grabbed the cards.

OoO

They were mid-way through their second game of poker when the moment Sam had been dreading finally happened.

"He's definitely bluffing. He's wearing that same look from when he tried to convince me he didn't know about the Horsemans' ri-"

Sam's pressed his thumb into his palm, causing Lucifer to vanish, but Dean glanced up at that exact moment.

He coughed to clear his throat. "So…it's pretty bad today, huh?" the older man then asked in his best attempt at a casual tone.

And there it was.

Dean had clearly noticed all along just how frequent the hallucinations had been that day. He'd just been waiting for the right moment to bring it up.

Sam stared at his cards and said, "It comes and goes."

"The hand thing is still working though, right?" Dean pressed.

Sam felt a swell of embarrassment in his gut.

He knew Dean only was asking to make sure they still had some semblance of control over the problem, but it was humiliating to think he'd gotten to this point. Hadn't he once been the man who'd saved the world? And now he was just a guy with a mental problem whose brother couldn't trust him to function on his own.

"Yeah," Sam answered somewhat curtly.

"Good," Dean responded uncomfortably. "You know, because if it isn't, you could always talk to m-" he began to add, but Sam cut him off.

"I'd rather not, ok? Besides, the hand thing is still working," the younger man insisted.

They were silent until Dean finally inquired, "So then what's really bothering you?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"I mean every time you do the hand-thing you look at me like you're diffusing a bomb. So if you're not worried it's not working anymore, then what's bothering you?" Dean elaborated, sounding genuinely concerned.

Some part of Sam knew that his brother cared about him no matter how crazy he got, but that didn't make it any easier to talk about his circumstances. He didn't want to admit that he felt like a useless mess, and he didn't want to confess that he would be sad to see Dean re-join the fight to save the world while he was left behind to fend off his own mental issues.

But somehow he couldn't stop his mouth from letting it all out. All the fears and doubts he'd kept buried came tumbling forth in a rush, and when it was over Sam stared at the table in awkward silence.

After a beat, Dean spoke up. "Hey, look at me for a second."

Sam raised his gaze, dreading the judgment he was sure would be waiting in his brother's eyes.

Dean was looking at him with a serious expression as he said, "First, I don't know what your definition of 'useless' is, but I'm pretty sure I fit the bill more than you do right now." Dean coughed extra loudly and gestured to his plaster-swathed right leg. Sam opened his mouth to argue that a broken leg was different from a broken mind, but Dean continued to speak over him.

"Dude, what have I done today? I ate some food you cooked, used up some meds you gave me, and complained at you while you helped us cope without power. How is any of that useful? Look, I'm not saying your Satan situation isn't a problem for you. But it doesn't make you useless," Dean stated firmly.

Sam was sorely tempted to believe him. Except…

"Ok, so maybe I'm good for some household chores. But Dean, you're not going to want to drag my mental baggage around with you on a hunt," Sam pointed out.

Dean seemed to consider Sam's logic for a moment before finally saying, "Do you remember how messed up I was after I got back from Hell?"

The question caught Sam off guard.

"You…Are you saying you had this sort of problem too?" Sam asked, confused.

"No," Dean admitted. "But I wasn't exactly the poster boy for mental health, either. I was kind of a disaster, but I still hunted and I got through it. And you'll get through this. Yeah, it's new territory for us, and yeah, we might have to work on it sometimes. But that's why we're in this stuff together. To have each others' backs when the crap gets weird, right?"

When Dean finished speaking Sam didn't know how to respond. This certainly wasn't the conversation he'd been dreading having with his brother.

Eventually he managed to say, "Yeah. I guess you're right."

Dean raised an eyebrow and said with a sarcastic huff, "You guess? Well that's comforting."

Sam laughed and amended his statement, saying, "Sorry. I meant you're definitely right."

"Damn right I'm right! I'm the oldest and there's a rule about that," Dean joked before placing one of his cards down on the table, signaling the end of the moment.

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "I still don't agree that's an actual rule, Dean."

He laid one of his own cards down before adding, "Thanks though."

"No problem," Dean replied nonchalantly.

Neither brother said anything more about the matter that evening. They finally went to bed a couple hours later, Dean taking more cough syrup at Sam's request, and Sam feeling overall exhausted from tending to a sick brother all day, not to mention from dealing with his own hassles.

Yet when Sam needed to press his palm to get rid of Lucifer as he laid down to sleep, he realized that he didn't feel nearly as ashamed anymore. In fact he didn't feel ashamed, or hopeless, or even useless.

Drifting off to sleep, Sam supposed it had been a pretty long day.

But it really hadn't been half-bad. After all, long days were part of the job description, and Sam couldn't be more grateful to have realized he still had his job.

He was still able to look out for his brother.

Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. :)

Another Special Note For GuestJ: So there you go! :) I want to thank you again for all of your support and kindness. I hope you know that your feedback always makes me SO happy, and you are a HUGE part of why I continue to write. Again, Happy Birthday! I wish for you the most wonderful of days, the best of years, and many more to follow in that likeness. ;D