I don't own Supernatural, wish I did, but I don't. So please don't sue, I have no money anyway and I'm only borrowing the brilliant characters.
Also, thanks for all the reviews, I love them.
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John wasn't too surprised when he woke from hearing Sam being sick in the bathroom. He climbed out of bed and saw the light from the bathroom spill into the hall.
Sam sat on the floor with his knees drawn up when John appeared in the doorway. "Sammy?"
Sam looked up, his eyes glassy with fever and his face pale. He looked much sicker than he had when had John carried him inside.
John crossed the distance from the door to his son in a few steps and knelt next to him. He rested his cool, rough hand on Sam's forehead for a moment. "Are you all right?"
Sam nodded, exhausted.
John filled a glass of water and handed it to Sam. He took a few slow drinks and set it on the floor at his side. He wanted to fall back asleep, but he ached from the fever and his stomach was far from calm enough to allow sleep.
"Let's get you back to bed."
"Not yet." Sam breathed, his eyes still closed.
John sat on the floor next to his son. It crossed his mind for a moment that he should put his arm around Sam's shoulders or something equally comforting. The truth was, he didn't know what to do, besides it would probably be too little too late. Sam didn't expect any comforting gesture.
"Come on, Sammy."
He shook his head and held his clenched hand over his stomach. He didn't want to throw up with his dad there, he didn't want to show he was weak. Sam didn't know how much longer he could hold it together.
"Dad?" He opened his eyes a little. "Could I have a few minutes?"
John looked at his son. When Sam was sick or sleeping, he looked younger that his nine years. John wondered when exactly his baby became so independent that he didn't need him. He wondered when Sam simply stopped asking for his help. The realization made him wish that things could have turned out different.
"Sure." John stood and walked out into the hall and closed the bathroom door some.
He heard Sam vomit again and regretted that he couldn't do anything to help his son. Dean came out into the hall, still half asleep. He looked from John to the half open bathroom door.
"Dad?" Dean quickly grew alert with worry.
"He's all right, go back to bed." John kept his voice low.
Dean leaned against the wall and looked towards the bathroom door. They heard the toilet flush and then a dull thump. Dean and John automatically raced for the door.
Sam was slumped on the floor, his face as white as the tile around him. Dean knelt at his brother's side and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"You all right, Sammy?"
Sam nodded and sighed. "Lost my balance, is all."
Sam leaned his head on Dean's shoulder, too weary to continue sitting under his own strength. Dean could feel the heat of his little brother's fever through his shirt. Dean looked up at his dad, hoping to find answers in his face.
John knelt next to his boys. "Sammy?"
"Hmmm?" Sam was falling asleep.
"I'm going to help you back to bed, all right?"
"Mmhmm." He sighed.
John picked up Sam again and carried him back into the room. He gently placed Sam in his bed and pulled the blankets up. Sam curled on his side and buried his face in the pillow. John didn't have to tell Dean to sit with Sam and watch him.
John left the room and returned a few minutes later with a bucket, a glass of water and a damp washcloth. He placed the bucket at Sam's bedside, the water on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. He wiped his son's face with the damp cloth. It seemed that when Sam was sick or sleeping was the only time that John could show any affection. It was just too hard and strange for both of them any other time. Sam was already starting to go his own way, or at least voicing his opinions. John always knew Sam would go his own way, right when the kid started walking, he knew.
Dean sat on the edge of his own bed and watched. The tension and concern was evident in the hard lines across his shoulders and how attentively he watched his baby brother. Sam shifted under the blankets, his brow furrowed in pain. John stood and pulled a desk chair over. He sat at Sam's bedside with his elbows rested on his knees.
"Get some sleep, Dean." John didn't take his eyes from Sam.
Dean stretched out under his blankets, but kept his eyes on his brother. Sam slept fitfully curled on his side. He never slept like that unless he was really sick. A few times John took Sam's temperature or sat him up to give him a drink of water or something for the fever. Sam never really woke any of those times, his eyes might have opened, but he wasn't awake.
The room lightened as dawn grew closer. Neither John nor Dean got any more sleep and the sleep Sam got seemed far from restful. His fever rose to 102.8 shortly after John found him in the bathroom, but hadn't changed since then.
John's cell phone rang. He glanced over at Dean and reluctantly left the room. Dean took John's chair at his brother's bedside and brushed Sam's damp hair back from his face.
Sam's eyes opened and he looked around the room for a few moments, trying to figure out where he was. He looked over at Dean.
"How are you feeling, Sammy?"
Sam shrugged slightly. He was still very pale and his eyes were glassy with fever. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of his bed.
"Where are you going?"
He struggled to his feet. Dean was instantly at his side to help him.
"Bathroom?" Dean guessed.
Sam nodded slightly. Dean helped him down the hall.
Dean sat with his brother as Sam retched in front of the toilet. There wasn't anything left to come up, but it seemed that Sam's body had yet to realize that. Dean kept a hand on Sam's shoulder, as much to comfort him as it was to steady him.
Sam slid down to the floor and leaned against the wall. Dean handed him a glass of water. Sam took a few slow sips and handed the glass back.
"You ready to get back to bed?"
Sam nodded slightly. Dean hauled his brother to his feet and guided him back to bed. Sam pulled the covers tight around his shoulders and curled into a ball. John came back into the room. Dean looked over at him.
John sat on the edge of Sam's bed and brushed his boy's hair back. "How's he doing?"
"He puked again." Dean looked intently at his brother.
"Sammy?" John leaned in a little.
Sam opened his eyes and uncurled a little.
"How are you feeling?"
He shrugged slightly. "My head still hurts."
"And your stomach?"
He nodded.
John rested his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Get some more rest." He stood. "Dean."
Dean followed his father to the doorway. Dean kept his eyes on Sam.
"Bobby called."
Dean looked at his father. "What about?"
"He said he might need help on a case this evening." He looked in at Sam. "I don't want to leave you alone with him."
"We'll be okay."
John paused. "He's pretty sick. I don't want to leave him."
"Maybe see how he is later." Dean shrugged.