2

He came awake to the feeling of weightlessness that ended abruptly but pleasantly to when his back came into contact with something soft. The surface sunk slightly at his left, and he unconsciously shifted minutely to the warmth and safety of the body. A hand landed coolly on his forehead, and his eyelids sprang open.

"Dad," he said, voice slightly hoarse, and John smiled down at him

"You've got a fever Sam," John explained, and without lifting his head he continued, "Bring over the first aid kit, Dean." Sam didn't hear the response from his brother, but his head rolled to the side as a dull thump vibrated through the floor, and his eyes watched the dust fly and settle around the dropped weapons duffel, and then travelled up to see Dean crossing towards John, the large white box of medical supplies held in his hands

"You look like hell," he told Sam as he dropped the box at their father's feet, crouching at Sam's side as John opened the box and began to paw through it, and Dean's cool hand replaced John's at Sam's forehead.

"Thanks, jerk," Sam replied quietly, and though Dean smirked he didn't throw back his usual reply, his eyes shone with worry, and with a sigh Sam turned his eyes from his brother, allowed his gaze to roam the dusty floor, the peeling floral wallpaper and the cracked glass coffee table, they had gotten no further than the living room of the crumbling house they were renting, and Sam laid an easy guess that he had been deposited onto the couch.

John straightened then with the thermometer, and with a tired sigh Sam opened his mouth, turned his head to the yellowed ceiling as they waited.

"Go and dry off Dean," he heard John say, "I don't want you sick as well. Bring a blanket back for your brother." Dean appeared briefly in Sam's view as he rose, and the cool hand was removed from his forehead when Dean left to do as John had ordered, leaving the eldest and youngest Winchesters alone in silence. Although it wasn't long before Sam felt John's weight shift beside him, and a silent struggle began between John and Sam's shoes.

"Sorry Dad," Sam whispered after one foot was released from its prison, and John paused, hands wrapped around one booted foot, head turning to look at his youngest, pale save for the high points of fever burning on his cheeks, damp hair curling across his head.

"What?" he asked, and Sam's head swung, found his father's gaze with his own

"Sorry got lost," Sam sounded so much younger when he was ill, the thermometer clicking against his teeth as he spoke, looked so much younger, and John felt a well of anger in himself for allowing his son to get ill "Sorry didn't get back."

"It's my fault," John replied briskly, turning his head from his son's to resume the fight with Sam's boot "You lost the trail, because of the wind," he added, because several years of training Sam and many more caring for his occasionally ill child had taught him that Sam tended to blame himself for everything when he was ill. Sam gave no response, and there was a brief silence before the teenager gave a soft sigh as his gaze returned to the ceiling, and John was able to slid the boot off his foot, and set it on the floor beside the other. He turned to face Sam again now, though his youngest did not move his gaze from the ceiling, and so John moved forwards, plucking the thermometer from Sam's mouth.

"What is it?" Dean asked, having re-entered the room as John read the temperature, and he scowled when the man didn't reply, merely returned the thermometer to the first aid box, digging out a small bottle before straightening and setting a hand briefly on Sam's too warm forehead "Dad?"

"He'll be alright, Dean," John responded, rising from Sam's side now, and looking appreciatively at Dean's hand, which clutched not only Sam's duvet, but also a pair of sweatpants and new t-shirt "I need to get your brother a glass of water," John said, setting the bottle on the coffee table before he left the room. Dean was already at Sam's side, frowning as he took John's position on the edge of the couch.

"Come on then runt," he said, dropping his load onto his lap and reaching forward to grab Sam's shoulders "Let's get you into dry clothes and then you can sleep." Sam's eyes widened as he was pulled upright, and he focussed on his brother

"Dean?" he croaked

"I'm here," his brother replied, tugging at Sam's soggy shirt until the younger got the message and raised his arms "I don't think Dad's gonna give you any training for a while." He pulled the dry t-shirt over Sam's head, pulling his brother round so they were sat side-by-side, feet on the floor

"Oh," Sam said, leaning heavily into Dean "Sick?"

"Yeah," Dean responded, wondering why Sam always dropped IQ points when he got ill "You going to be able to put these on?" he held up the sweatpants, and for a minute Sam merely blinked at them, before he moved to struggle out of his wet jeans and into the sweats.

Dean was just getting him settled again on the couch when John reappeared, glass of water in hand, and he crouched beside Sam, earning a muttered comment from his youngest as he raised his head from the chair arm

"I need you to take some Tylenol, Sam," John explained, taking up the bottle from the table and shaking out two "Then you can get some rest, okay?" Sam murmured a possible affirmative, allowed John to hand him both tablets and water, and clumsily choked them down. He was blinking lethargically as John settled him again, ignored the hand that rested briefly on his forehead, merely turned his head into the couch as sleep claimed him.

"He'll be alright Dean," John again said to his eldest, though the set of Dean's jaw promised that he'd be staying with his brother until he was sure Sam was over the fever, and without another word John rose from the couch.

"Dad?" the soft voice startled John, and he froze at the door to look back at Sam, his youngest awake now, though not for long if his drooping eyelids were anything to go by "School?" beside the couch there came a snort from Dean, and John allowed himself a real smile, only his youngest could think of going to school the next day whilst he was sick.

"We'll see Sam." Was all he said before he left them, Dean starting to clean the guns from the duffel, Sam easing back into sleep.