Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Merry Christmas!

Not Without My Brother

Chapter 3

Dean was beginning to think the drive to Bobby's house would never end. After leaving the motel, they had stopped to buy a booster seat. Dean had returned the borrowed one to its rightful owner and they had finally hit the road heading toward Singer Salvage. Sammy had fallen asleep once they'd reached the interstate, but his little nap had only lasted about a half an hour. He'd been whining ever since.

Dean had already stopped once to get the toy cars out of the box in the trunk and twice so Sammy could use the bathroom and get a drink. At this rate, they'd never get to Bobby's. A moan from the backseat drew Dean's attention, and he looked into the rearview mirror. "You okay back there, Sammy?" he asked in concern.

The only answer was another moan, only this one sounded much more miserable than the first.

Dean frowned. Another glance in the mirror and he realized his little brother looked decidedly green. "Don't you puke in my car, kid," he grumbled as he tried to maneuver through traffic so that he could pull over to the side of the road.

Just as Dean finally pulled the car to a stop in the dust on the side of the road, Sammy vomited all over himself and the backseat of the beloved Impala. Dean groaned as he climbed out of the driver's seat. He hurried around the car and snatched open the backdoor, nearly gagging when the smell of the vomit assaulted his nostrils.

Sammy was crying hysterically, and his sobs only intensified at the horrified look on Dean's face. "I'm sorry," he moaned. "I didn't mean to."

Dean groaned at the sight of the vomit that covered his brother and the backseat of the car. "Sammy, why didn't you tell me you were gonna be sick?" he sighed.

His little brother gagged once again and Dean swore under his breath. "Okay, first let's get you out of the car." Carefully, Dean unstrapped the three-year-old from the booster seat and lifted him out of the car. "Sit right here by my feet and don't move," he instructed as he removed the booster seat and placed it on the ground beside Sammy.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?" he asked the sniffling little boy.

Sammy shook his head in the negative, so Dean decided it would be okay to change him into clean clothes. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to get Sammy's shirt off without getting any vomit in the child's hair. He dressed his brother in clean clothes and threw the dirty ones in a plastic bag and tied it up tight. That was going to smell to high heaven when they got to Bobby's. Maybe he'd just throw the whole bag away and not worry about cleaning it.

Dean cleaned the booster seat and the backseat of the car the best he could with an old towel and bottled water. He'd do a better job of it once they reached their destination. With a heavy sigh, he returned Sammy's seat to the car and reached for his little brother.

The child was still sniffling. Dean found a clean paper towel and dampened it with water from a bottle before he wiped Sammy's clammy, flushed face. "Do you still feel sick?"

"A little," the little boy admitted.

Dean buckled him into his booster seat and rummaged in the trunk until he found a plastic grocery bag. He returned to the door beside his brother. "If you feel sick again, vomit in this." He handed the bag to the three-year-old who stared at him with wide eyes.

When he finally pulled back onto the road, Dean felt the tension settle between his shoulder blades. They should have already arrived at Bobby's. The older hunter was going to be worried.

When they finally pulled into Singer Salvage an hour later, Sammy had vomited into the bag two more times. Bobby opened the door and stepped outside as soon as Dean turned off the Impala's engine.

"What in blue blazes took you so long to get here?" he ranted as he moved toward the shiny black car.

Dean sighed. "Apparently Sammy gets car sick."

Bobby tugged open the backdoor and frowned at the youngest Winchester. Sammy held the bag of vomit in his lap. His nose was running and tears trickled down his cheeks. "Hey, kiddo," Bobby said softly. "Let's get you inside and all cleaned up. I bet that will help you feel better."

Sammy nodded and allowed Bobby to lift him out of the car and carry him inside.

Dean retrieved the duffle bags and Sammy's suitcase from the trunk and sat them in Bobby's kitchen before he returned to his car. He scrubbed the backseat to remove any traces of vomit. He checked the floor of the car meticulously with a flashlight, but didn't see anything on the carpet. Next he scrubbed Sammy's booster seat and put it on the porch so that it could dry overnight.

With a tired sigh, he entered the house and hefted their bags into his arms before trudging slowly up the stairs. He dropped his duffle in one room and Sammy's things in another. Then he dug his brother's pajamas out of the small suitcase and took them to the bathroom. He could hear Bobby talking to the youngest Winchester through the closed bathroom door.

"Let's get your hair washed, little man, and then you'll be all clean. Does your stomach feel better now?"

"Yes," Sammy answered quietly. "The car made my tummy feel sick."

"That happens to some people," Bobby explained in a matter of fact tone.

"Does Dean hate me?" the little boy sniffled.

"Why would Dean hate you?" the hunter asked in surprise.

"'Cause I threw up in his car," the child wailed, crying once again.

"Your brother doesn't hate you," Bobby sighed. "Everyone gets sick sometimes."

Dean heard the water begin to drain out of the tub. His heart thudded in his chest. Had he made Sammy think he hated him? He didn't think so; he hadn't really become too angry over the vomit in his car. A frown marred his handsome face.

The bathroom door opened then. Bobby had Sam in his arms wrapped tightly in a fluffy bath towel.

Dean held out the pajamas. "I thought you might need these."

"Thanks," Bobby replied, taking them and Sammy into one of the spare bedrooms, the room containing the boy's belongings. Dean stood in the doorway and watched as he helped the little boy into the soft jammies before tucking him into bed. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat?" the older hunter asked him.

Sammy shook his head. "My tummy isn't hungry," he sighed.

"All right." Bobby tucked the blankets around him tightly. "Your brother and I will be downstairs. You just call if you need us."

Sammy nodded and burrowed down under the covers.

Dean allowed Bobby to lead the way downstairs into the kitchen.

"You hungry?" Bobby asked.

"Starved," Dean replied. He watched as Bobby began pulling sandwich fixings from the refrigerator. "So, uh, why would Sammy think that I hate him?" he asked hesitantly.

Bobby glanced up as he sliced a tomato. "Did you yell at him when he puked?"

"What? No, I didn't yell at him." Dean's voice took on a defensive tone.

"Well, what did you say?" Bobby asked. "Maybe it was something about how you reacted."

Dean thought back carefully. "I noticed he didn't look good and told him not to puke in my car. When he did, I asked him why he didn't tell me he was going to be sick."

Bobby sighed. "Dean, I imagine that kid is scared to death right now. You are virtually a stranger to him, and he hasn't seen me in a long time. Probably doesn't remember me much. When kids are scared and sick, they like to be hugged and comforted. Samuel probably doesn't know what to think."

Dean wrinkled his nose as he smeared mayonnaise over a slice of bread. "He doesn't look like a Samuel. I've been calling him Sammy."

Bobby quirked an eyebrow. "Your father always called him Samuel."

Dean shrugged. "I know, but I'm his big brother. It's my duty to give him a nickname."

Bobby chuckled. "Suppose that's true."

The men finished building their sandwiches in companionable silence and then moved to the cluttered kitchen table to enjoy them. Bobby produced a bag of potato chips from the cabinet and placed it in the middle of the table.

Dean dumped a pile of them onto his plate and began to crunch them happily.

"So," Bobby began after he'd taken a bite of his sandwich and swallowed, "what are you going to do with Samuel…Sammy?"

Dean shrugged. "I'll keep him with me for now."

"And then pass him off to someone else when you get tired of lugging him around?" Bobby asked pointedly.

"I didn't say that," Dean defended around a bite of turkey sandwich. "I just think he's been through a lot and needs family right now. Maybe once he's better it will be time to find him a more permanent place to stay."

Bobby sighed. "Dean, you're just giving Sammy and yourself time to get attached. It's going to hurt you both more in the long run."

"My dad would want Sammy with me right now," Dean argued, managing to keep his voice low so that he didn't wake his brother.

"Well, if you're gonna keep him with you then you need to start meeting the kid's emotional needs as well as his physical needs. I know your father used a lot of tough love as you were growing up, but Sammy isn't you, Dean. He's got a soft heart, and he's scared. He needs someone to hold him and tell him everything is going to be all right."

Bobby finished off his sandwich as Dean pondered what the older hunter had said. "I'm going to take a shower, Dean, and then head to bed. I'll see you and Sammy in the morning."

"Goodnight, Bobby. Thanks for letting us stay," Dean told him honestly. He leaned back in his chair once Bobby had disappeared up the stairwell and stared at the kitchen wall as he thought about the little boy upstairs that was depending on him. Dean didn't know anything about raising a kid, and he wasn't sure how good of a father figure he could be to Sammy. All he knew was that he owed it to his father to try.

The screams started just as he was putting his glass in the sink. He nearly dropped it in his haste to get upstairs to dispel his little brother's nightmare. He took the steps two at a time, but found that Bobby had beaten him to Sammy's room. The hunter sat on the bed with the little boy in his lap. Sammy sobbed loudly into Bobby's chest.

Dean approached cautiously. "Is he all right?"

"Whatever he dreamed about scared the tar of out him," Bobby murmured as he rubbed soothing circles on the youngest Winchester's back.

Dean swallowed hard. Sammy's sobs were gut-wrenching.

Bobby stood and handed the boy off to Dean. "You take him, and I'll go downstairs and warm some milk. My mom used to give it to me after I'd had a nightmare."

Dean nodded mechanically and reached out his arms to accept his little brother. Sammy's small body was shaking like a leaf as Dean tucked him into his arms. "It's okay, Sammy," he murmured as he felt small hands clutch onto his t-shirt like it was a lifeline. Sobs rolled through the boy's body one after another.

Dean began to walk slowly around the bedroom; he rubbed circles on Sam's back just as Bobby had done as he tried to soothe his brother. As he walked, his thoughts wandered. As a small boy just a little older than Sammy, he'd watched his mother die. Now the same thing had happened to his little brother although his mother had died in a different fashion. Dean knew the pain his little brother felt; he'd experienced it himself. His arms tightened around the small form he held. "I've got you, Sammy. You're safe now."

"I told Momma not to go," a little voice quivered in Dean's ear.

He pulled back to look into his brother's flushed face and reached out to brush disheveled brown bangs out of Sammy's eyes. "You told Momma not to go where, Sammy?"

"I told her we couldn't go to the store, but she went anyway. I tried to stop her."

Dean's heart ached for the child in his arms. "Sammy, your mom probably needed stuff from the store, and you didn't know anything bad was going to happen."

"Yes, I did," the little boy sniffled. "I saw it."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean you saw it, kiddo?"

"I have dreams," Sammy admitted. "I saw it in my dream, but Momma didn't listen." He buried his face in Dean's shoulder and sobbed.

Dean stood frozen in place with his hand cradling the back of Sammy's head. "You mean you saw it in your dream just now?"

"No, I saw it before Mommy died. I tried to stop her." The sobs intensified.

Was the child insinuating that he had visions of the future? What would that mean for Sammy? Dean really needed to talk to Bobby, but right now his little brother needed to come first.

"Let's go wash your face, Sammy," Dean choked out even as his heart was racing and his mind whirled, "and then we'll go down to the kitchen. Bobby is making you some warm milk."

Sammy nodded against Dean's neck as he held on tightly to his big brother.

To Be Continued…