Precautionary Measures

A/N:Special thanks to everyone that's been following this series; I really appreciate your reviews, alerts and favourites.

A/N: As always, thanks to my incredible beta Ericka Jane who turned this around in record time. I made some changes after I got it back from her so any mistakes are mine.


THREE

Dean was amazed that after more than two and a half decades, his little brother still had the ability to keep him guessing. Sam had been feverish but placid when Dean tucked him in, but he woke up shivering and skittish, shrinking away from Dean when he tried to help him. Even in his twenties Sam had always had a tendency to be clingy when he was sick. So now, Dean was totally baffled as to why his younger sibling would be in the throes of illness and flinching from him.

Unsure of what he was dealing with, Dean decided to tread lightly.

"Hey," he said gently, slowly easing himself down on the side of Sam's bed. "You don't look so good."

"I'm O.K," Sam whispered quickly, turning his face away from his brother. "You can go back to sleep."

"I will," Dean promised quietly. "I just need to check your fever first."

"Don't worry," Sam pulled his blankets up around him but the covers didn't quite hide that he was edging away from Dean. "I'm alright, I'm just cold."

"That's because you're sweating like a faucet. Feel up to a quick shower?"

"No," Sam whispered through shivers.

"Let me get you a dry shirt then," Dean offered.

"No." Still shivering, Sam turned his back to his brother. "Don't hover, Dean, please."

"I just wanna be sure you're O.K."

Gingerly, Dean reached out wanting to check Sam's temperature but this time Sam recoiled visibly. Dean's stomach hollowed. Physical contact had always been second nature for him and Sam, and now having his little brother pulling away from him sent a sharp pain through his gut.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Dean said patiently although his concern was quickly turning into alarm. "Sam please, you're shaking like a leaf, your temperature's up, and I'm just trying to help."

"Then just give me some space," Sam insisted. His voice was shrilling, a clear signal to Dean that he was near breaking point.

Dean grasped his brother's shoulder and lowered him to the bed so Sam couldn't avoid his gaze. "You're starting to scare me," he said making no attempt to keep the worry out of his voice.

If Sam had been teetering on the edge, then Dean's words sent him over. Hurt and distress flashed in his eyes as he wrenched his shoulder out of Dean's grasp and pulled himself up against the headboard.

"Please go," he begged desperately. "Please just leave me alone."

"Sam," Dean's voice was now laced with anxiety. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want you to see me like this." Sam covered his face with his hands.

"Like what?" Dean demanded as exasperation set in. "You're sick. I've seen you sick all your life; I don't care what's wrong just let me help you."

"I can't," Sam insisted, still not looking at his brother.

"Why?"

"Because I feel like it's happening again and I don't want you around, Dean. I don't want you to see."

As he watched his brother scared, shivering and gasping, realisation came quickly to Dean. Sam wasn't just sick, he was running a high fever, breathing hard, and shaking to the point where Dean was sure he'd rattle his bones. The last time Sam had exhibited all of these symptoms he'd been strapped down in the panic room in the throes of withdrawal.

"Sam," Dean ordered softly, "Look at me."

That was one instruction Sam couldn't obey. He could still remember the pain and confusion in his Dean's eyes the last time he had been sick with fever. His big brother who had nursed him through practically every illness of his life had been horrified by the effects of his addiction. The only thing more disturbing than Dean's shock and disbelief had been Sam's own self-revulsion knowing that his sibling had witnessed him crashing to the lowest level of his humanity.

He was never going to let Dean see him like that again.

"Sam," Dean's tone was quickly moving from gentle to stern. "I know what you're thinking. I know you're remembering the panic room and the hell you went through with withdrawal, but that's not what we're dealing with here. Sam you've got a fever, nothing more."

"It feels like it's happening again."

"That's because your temperature is probably off the Richter Scale by now; you're light-headed, winded and a little confused but that's all it is. I'll give you some more meds and we'll get you hydrated, and then after that you can get some rest."

"Don't do this to me, Dean," Sam panted furiously, his anguish was turning to anger. "I'm begging you, just leave me alone."

Hearing his brother's mounting rage set off Dean's temper. "Look at me," he ordered; his tone clearly indicating refusal would not be tolerated.

Risking the shame, Sam raised his head and faced his brother.

"You think it was easy for me?" Dean asked, angrily. "Watching you sick to the point of dying and not being able to go near you? All your life I've taken care of you, Sam. I've never shrank back from that. And the time when you needed me the most I couldn't do anything to help. Do you know what that did to me?"

"Dean…"

"You don't get to do this, Sam. You don't get to put me through that ever again. And you sure as hell can't do it with some lame over-the-counter fever. So either you let me treat you now or I'll knock you out and do it while you're unconscious."

"Dean, I'm scared," Sam sighed helplessly.

And the defeated admission instantly defused Dean's temper. "I know," his tone softened. "And I think that's more the problem than anything else. You're remembering withdrawal and thinking that's what's happening now but trust me, it's not."

Sam wanted to believe Dean's reassurances but the last time he had felt this bad the hallucinations had come on followed closely by the violent levitations. After that came the straps and then the nightmare of being tied down and locked away like a dirty secret; or worse like the freak he had been so desperately afraid of becoming. Then came the hours of frantic screaming, begging his brother to release him and fighting the overwhelming fear that he had been abandoned by the only family he had left. If he had to go through that again Sam knew this time, he wouldn't survive.

"If it happens again Dean, I want you to..."

"It's not happening again," Dean said forcefully. Then, seeing Sam wince in response, he looked away.

Dean had no clue how to make Sam believe him or even how to help him through his turmoil and pain. He knew all the ways to comfort the little boy he had left when he went to hell. But he knew next to nothing about consoling the hardened man he had found when he returned. What could he say to the fearless hunter who had beaten him senseless and run off with a treacherous she-devil on a misguided date with destiny? How could he help the virtual stranger who had scorned him as weak and almost choked him to death?

Completely at a loss, Dean looked back at his brother, searching for any signs that would reveal which Sam he was dealing with now. And although Dean wasn't completely sure, the man in front of him was battered by despair and clearly at the end of his endurance. So Dean did what he had always done whenever Sam had come to him with his world falling apart. He did what had worked from infancy to adulthood. He put his arms around him and pulled him close.

Sam dissolved against his sibling, holding on with everything in him, feeling certain that letting go would mean losing his life. He buried his head in the crook of Dean's neck and clung the way he used to when he was young and could run to his big brother whenever he was scared.

The world may have been at the brink of its end but at least Dean was hugging him. His brother was holding him and comforting him the way he had always done before demon blood, demonic alliances, and an insidious celestial war had come between them.

"You're OK, Sammy," Dean repeated softly until Sam's breathing evened out and his frantic shivering subsided. Then, Dean eased Sam away so he could look directly into his eyes. "Now, you're gonna stop acting like a moron, you're gonna let me take care of you and we're gonna get this damn fever down, O.K.?"

Sam nodded and then leaned against Dean again, needing the closeness a little while longer. Somewhere in his hurry to save the world he had ended up almost sacrificing what mattered most to him. How had he gone so completely far off base that he'd seen his own flesh and blood as the enemy? And having trampled on Dean's love and loyalty was there any chance he could regain his brother's trust and devotion?

Even as fatigue and sickness overwhelmed him Sam felt a stirring need to at least try to set things right.

"Dean, I need to explain what happened," he whispered tiredly.

"Later Sammy," Dean soothed, knowing exhaustion would only bring on more torment and emotion. "Let's get this fever taken care of first."

"But I wanna talk now," Sam said weakly. He'd meant to insist but found he didn't really have the energy to put any force behind his words.

"I'm pulling rank," Dean patted Sam's back, literally feeling the tiredness pulling his brother under. "You sleep first, then we'll talk."

"O.K," Sam mumbled, yawning against Dean's chest.

Rendered uninhibited by exhaustion, Sam leaned on his brother, sending Dean back at least two decades to the days when Sam trusted him so completely; he would fall asleep in his arms without a second thought. Even as sleep claimed Sam now, Dean's heart grieved as he wondered if they could ever find that kind of trust again.


TO BE CONTINUED