A/N: I know I just uploaded a chapter but I'm stranded in bed with tonsillitis and bored out of my mind so you guys get a treat. At least, I hope it's a treat…an emotional treat. So leave some reviews so I have something to do? Happy reading!

I tried carrying the weight of the world,
But I only have two hands.
"Wake Me Up" –Aviici

By that night, Dean couldn't help but agree with Kat's decision to send Parker to her mother's. Sam had been fine during the actual treatment. He fell asleep toward the end and Dean had to help him out to the car. It was once they were back in the house that the vomiting began. Not even on his worst hangover, during his deadliest bout with the flu, had Dean ever seen Sam throw up like this. He stood hovering in the doorway of the bathroom as Sam hugged the toilet, sweat coating his face and neck, dampening the t-shirt he wore into a darker shade of gray.

"It's always like this?" Dean asked Kat in between waves of nausea. Sam was sitting on the tile floor of the bathroom, head tilted back against the wall.

"Sometimes it's worse," she admitted. "Sometimes we have to go back to the hospital. They have him on anti-nausea drugs but as you can see, they don't do much good."

"And this is supposed to help cure him?"

"It's supposed to," Kat said, handing Dean a bottle of mouthwash and a toothbrush still in the package. "Can you handle this for now?" Dean nodded and he heard her take a seat at the kitchen table. She'd been staring at her laptop all day, fingers pressed against her temples in frustration. He didn't dare ask her how the book was going.

"I think I'm done," Sam said a little while later.

"Here," Dean said, reaching to haul him up, letting his brother lean against him until he got his balance back. "Mouthwash and a toothbrush." He waited until Sam was holding onto the sink for support and dug a new t-shirt out of his closet, one that wasn't drenched.

"Thanks," Sam said, collapsing onto the bed after changing.

"Do you need anything else?"

"I just need to sleep," Sam said. "I'll be fine later. Trust me, this time isn't so bad. Just wait."

Sam slept all afternoon. He slept through dinner. He was still sleeping by the time Kat closed her laptop and called it a night. She and Dean sat on the couch, each with a beer, watching some sitcom.

"Long days," was the only thing she said. "Long days are coming."

"How often does this happen?" Dean asked. He was exhausted just from watching Sam be exhausted.

"Every five days, as long as his levels stay up. This is when we hope and pray to stay infection-free."

"Got it."

"Cheers," she said and they clinked bottles.

"What do you think?" Sam asked Kat one afternoon about two weeks into chemo. He hadn't had treatment in a couple days and was feeling pretty good. He was standing at the slidig door in the kitchen that went to the backyard; Kat had brought the kiddie pool out of the shed and a diaper-clad Parker was splashing Dean who commandeered the hose with a look of absolute glee.

"What?" Kat asked. She was bent over her laptop, chewing on the end of her ponytail.

"Dean. What do you think of him?"

"I like him, you know that." Sam gave a sigh, unwilling to turn his gaze from his brother and son. He trusted Dean with his life but a toddler? His toddler?

"What's wrong?" Kat said, dropping the ponytail from her mouth and looking up. The sun coming in through the sliding door made her husband all but a silhouette and she took in his powerful frame with greedy eyes. Almost three years to the day she met him and he still took her breath away.

"Nothing," Sam said, craning his neck to watch Parker waddle-run around the side of the house, Dean following close behind.

"Did you guys get in a fight?" his wife asked, coming over to him, searching for the two boys outside. Dean's gravelly voice could be heard from the right side of the house but she couldn't make out what he was saying. A minute later, he came back in view with Parker slung over his shoulder fireman style. The kid was giggling so hard his face was red.

"No," Sam said. "I was just wondering what you see when you look at him." Kat tilted her head, watching her brother-in-law set her son into the kiddie pool, taking a handful of water to the face in the process.

"That's an odd way to phrase it."

"Says the writer," teased Sam, glancing at her for the first time. She smirked.

"Yes, honey, leave the word choices to the professional." Sam smiled and went back to staring out the window. Parker had found the leftover bottle of kitchen soap Kat had left on the deck and was emptying it into the pool with Dean's help. The elder Winchester's hands covered the tiny ones completely as they wrapped around the bottle. Dean knelt in the wet grass and swirled the water around to make bubbles appear faster while Parker put first one leg in the pool then the other, thumping to his butt in a cloud of white foam.

"I just wonder what other people see when they look at him," Sam explained. "I see my brother and the thousand memories that go with him. The times he saved my life, the look on his face when I walked out all those times, everything. It's like I can't unsee any of that."

"Makes sense," Kat said. "We all want to know what strangers see when they look at us. But you want to know how I see Dean? I see a man who loves his family above all else. I see someone who is ready to put everyone else ahead of him because he knows it's the right thing to do. I admit he's a little rough around the edges, some parts of him frighten me at times, but I can see he's trying." She hesitated and Sam caught it, throwing her another glance, this one curious and prodding. Kat continued, "Some of the time he seems so happy here. Like now," she said, gesturing outside. Parker had one of his uncle's hands in both of his and was trying in vain to tug Dean into the pool. "And when he's with you. It's like home isn't a place for him, but people." She shrugged. "But other times he just seems so lost, Sam. Like he's permanently unsettled, always waiting for something to come next."

"That's been his life," Sam said. "Almost his whole life. Just waiting."

"It's sad if you think about it," Kat said. "What kind of life is that?"

Sam hadn't thought about it, not like that. Was he wrong in thinking that Dean still loved hunting? It was obvious when he was younger, but now? The thought that Dean might want to settle down had never occurred to Sam, at least not in many years. Maybe not this week or this year or in five years even but someday, eventually, Dean might want to be part of a family like Sam's.

The thing that nagged Sam about this thought was that he didn't think Dean knew how, didn't know if Dean was even capable of this kind of civilian lifestyle. Hunting had damaged Sam's body but what about Dean's soul?

"Do you think he could make it with a family?" he asked out loud, more to himself than to Kat, but she answered anyway.

"Yes," she said. "But he would have to find someone to give up his life for. Someone other than you." And Kat didn't think that was going to happen unless Sam wasn't alive. She liked Dean, she hadn't been lying; she might even go as far to say she loved him as a brother, but he was attached to Sam in a way she didn't understand. It was like Sam was Dean's purpose for living. Kat loved her husband but he was his own person; she had herself to worry about, and Parker. Dean didn't seem to go through that thought process; it was as if all his instincts went straight to Sam. She was still getting used to the way his eyes followed Sam around the room whenever they were together, the look of pure worry and anxiety when Sam was sick. Maybe it was because she had no siblings. Or maybe it was because she had no siblings she had carried out of a building burning and then spent most of her life on the road with, slaying all things that went bump in the night.

That would mess anyone up.

Parker was crawling up the deck stairs now, using his hands as leverage. He was sopping wet, his hair plastered to his head and neck, bubbles ringing his neck like a strand of beads.

"Mama!" he said, spying her through the glass. He slapped two soapy palms to the door and Kat smiled while groaning at the same time.

"I just washed those," she said, waving back.

"Hi Daddy!" Parker said, craning his neck to look up at his father. Sam waved.

"'Ean wet," Parker announced, trying to get the door open but he was a couple inches too short. Sam opened it for him but stood in the doorway, blocking the drenched child from getting inside.

"Hi Daddy!" he trilled again. "I wet."

"I see that."

"Outside," Parker demanded. Sam shook his head

"I'm staying inside. But you have Uncle Dean to play with."

"Ha. Uncle Dean is a little tired." Sam's brother was walking up the deck steps. His t-shirt and the front of his jeans were soaked through and he had bubbles in his hair. Kat turned to grab something off the table behind her.

"'Ean!" Parker said, racing up to his uncle and pulling on the folds in his jeans. "No inside."

"Aren't you cold, little man?" Dean asked.

"No!" Parker tucked his small hand into Dean's bigger one and started leading him back down the stairs. Kat had her phone up to the door, snapping pictures at the duo as they went back to the pool.

"They are too cute," she said while Sam shook his head at the thought. Who would of thought, Dean Winchester, the babysitter?

When she was done talking pictures, Kat wrapped an arm around Sam's waist, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine, Sam. Just give him some more time. I think being here with you, with us, is helping."

"I hope so," Sam said but the doubt that stayed in his heart could be heard in his voice. He just wasn't sure.

Whenever Sam came home from chemo, he would get sick. Sometimes just once or twice but usually it was for a good couple hours. Dean would wait nearby with mouthwash and clean clothes and sometimes paper towels if they were having a bad day. Then Sam would pass out for the rest of the day and Kat and Dean would get ready for tomorrow.

The biggest challenge of the days after was getting Parker to be semi-quiet when Sam was napping. Sam was grumpy and tired and sore after treatment. Kat was better at getting him to eat something because when Dean tried, it always ended in threats to shove it down Sam's throat if he didn't take a bite.

"Is that blood?" Dean said, alarmed, when he walked into the bathroom after almost three weeks of chemo. He had left to grab a new roll of paper towels from under the kitchen sink to see Sam trying to scrub something red off the toilet.

"It's not a big deal," Sam said, voice hoarse; it was always hoarse these days.

"Sam, you're throwing up blood. That's a big deal!" He was about to call for Kat when Sam shook his head.

"No, I'm not. It's the sores. Look?" He folded down his lower lip and opened his mouth. He'd just swallowed a mouthful of Listerine so he didn't smell that bad and Dean leaned close. Sam's mouth was indeed full of sores; some just red and raw looking while a couple were bleeding.

"That's a freaking side effect?" Dean asked. Sam nodded, looking miserable. "That's why you haven't been eating as much the last few days, isn't it?" Dean sighed. Cancer was a bitch. Dean thought back to the months where Sam didn't have a soul; that had been a hell out a lot easier to handle than this. He'd take soulless Sam back in a heartbeat if it meant that he didn't have to deal with vomit and bleeding gums and the fact Sam had fallen asleep right at the table yesterday. Hell, he'd almost take the Sam that was addicted to demon blood over this.

Kat finished her book. She was over her deadline by a week – something she reminded Dean of at least three times of day and that last week she almost never looked up from her computer. Barbara would come and take Parker every few days so Dean didn't have to deal with both Sam and the toddler, even though he'd grown fond of the child. He had been surprised on the day Kat has asked him to take Parker out.

"Dean?" Sam's wife was sitting on the living room floor helping Parker put together a puzzle that was supposed to help him learn his animal sounds. For a week the kid had been speaking in tongues.

"Yeah?" Dean came out of his bedroom where he'd been cleaning his gun, something that he had fallen behind in doing. Sam was sleeping in the bedroom and Dean had had a little extra time on his hands.

"Can you run to the store? We're running low on milk and eggs, you know, the essentials."

"Uh, sure," Dean said, wiping grease residue on his jeans.

"Can you take Parker?" Dean, who had been heading back into the bedroom to put away the gun and grab his keys, stopped mid-stride.

"What?" Kat was still on the floor but her eyes were pleading with Dean as Parker babbled next to her. She stuck out her lower lip like a child.

"Please. I'll show you how to work the car seat and it's just to the grocery store." Parker grew bored with the puzzle and walked over to Dean, holding one of the pieces in his hand.

"Woof-woof," he said, dangling the puzzle piece in front of Dean. "Woof-woof." Dean took the gift being offered and Parker headed back to get another one.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. Sure he had watched Parker a few times while Kat was out and Sam was sleeping but never for more than a couple hours and he'd never taken the kid somewhere by himself.

"Yes," Kat said. "I just need one hour of quiet. This manuscript has got to get done." Parker was back in front of Dean.

"Mooooo," he drawled and Dean couldn't help but smile, taking the cow from him.

"Alright, little man," Dean said. "Let's go for a ride."

After their trip to the grocery store and the ice cream stand and to stop and pet every "woof-woof" they saw, the two Winchesters made it back home in one piece. And after Kat learned that trip had been so successful, she was much more lenient on using Dean as a babysitter.

So there Dean was, the day Kat had to send in her book, juggling an energetic twenty-three month old and brother who wouldn't stop puking. It was the second to last dose of chemo for this round but by far the nastiest. They'd been home almost five hours and Sam was still on the bathroom floor. Dean was entertaining Parker in the bedroom so he could be close when Sam needed him, but the toddler was in one of his moods.

"No!" he shouted, throwing a book at Dean, who caught it before it could smack him in the face.

"Hey! Throwing isn't cool," Dean said. The kid stomped his foot and picked up a plastic car, cocking his arm back. "Don't you dare," Dean said but his nephew launched the toy anyway, narrowly missing Dean's head. "Parker do you need to go in timeout?" He heard Sam gag beyond the closed bathroom door.

"No!" Parker yelled, sticking out his little neck, tiny fists clenched at his side.

"What do you want?" Dean asked. Even though he no longer minded watching Parker, the kid could be so confusing and temperamental. A little like Dean. Instead of answering, Parker just howled and started to cry.

"Please be quiet," Dean begged. "Mommy's trying to work."

"I want Daddy!" There were tears rolling down those chubby cheeks.

"I know," Dean said. "I'm an awful stand-in. But Daddy's busy." Parker sniffed and all of a sudden the tears were gone and he was giving Dean a sly look.

"Cookies?" Dean snorted; he still had a tough time deciphering between a real temper tantrum and one that was created to attain sweets.

"Fine," Dean said. He put the child on his shoulders and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Sam, I'll be right back. You okay?" There was a muffled grunt. "Okay," Dean said as Parker wrapped his fingers in Dean's hair, which was getting too long. He had to get to the trimmers before it started resembling his brother's.

"Hi, Mama!" Parker said, having done a complete one eighty from two minutes ago when he'd been sobbing.

"Hi, honey," Kat said. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was wearing the same clothes she had yesterday. Dean doubted she had ever gone to bed last night.

"We gets cookies," Parker explained, reaching for the box over Dean's head.

"Not too many," Kat said and both the boys nodded. It was cute how attached her son was to Dean. The older Parker got, the more he resembled his uncle. Not just his eyes but in the way his face was started to lose it's baby fat and become more defined. He often jutted out his chin when he was upset just the way Dean did. They were similar except for the fact Parker liked to keep his hair long "like Daddy's" while Dean's was much shorter. Dean was a little rough around the edges but he was a good role model. She would be lucky if Parker grew up like his father and uncle.

"Sam, how you doing?" Dean asked once they got back to the room. Parker sat on the bed, eating some kind of multigrain cookie things that Kat insisted they buy. Dean would never eat one but the toddler liked them well enough shove one after another into his mouth. The only answer was a clatter from the bathroom. "You okay in there?" There was a moment of silence and then a louder crash. Dean opened the door to find Sam on the floor, struggling to get to his feet. His cheeks were flushed from exertion and when he looked at Dean, he saw his eyes were just as bloodshot as Kat's. The two of them really were the perfect couple.

"Easy there," Dean said, crouching down. "You okay?"

"Get off me," Sam croaked. Dean threw his hands up.

"Alright, I'm not touching you. What happened?"

"Nothing." But there was already a bruise forming on Sam's forehead, near his hairline.

"Yeah, I bet. Did you fall?" Sam averted his eyes.

"No."

"Daddy?" Parker was standing at the bathroom door, both hands clutched to the cookie package, eyes open wide with curiosity at the fact his daddy and uncle were sitting on the floor. Sam turned his head away.

"Parker, go play with your toys," Dean said and he saw the glint in Parker's eyes just before the wailing started again.

"Jesus Christ," Dean said as the cookies hit the floor. Sam shifted on the floor, gathering up his long legs to stand and Dean turned his attention from the screaming child to his brother. "Sam, please stop moving. You're going to hurt yourself. I think you have a fever."

"I'm fine," Sam said but stopped moving.

"I'm going to get your ice for your head. Just stay put." Parker's face was a deep red as he stood crying in the doorway. His little body was stiff and taut as if his feet had been glued to that very spot.

"Enough," Dean snapped and Parker stopped crying long enough to look at him in surprise. Dean couldn't believe that had worked. But then Parker started crying again, harder this time.

"Kat!" Dean exploded. "I could use some help here!" She was there in ten seconds, looking from the screaming child to Sam who was just visible behind Dean. And Dean…well, he looked like he was on the verge of combusting

"What happened?" she said, picking up her son as he reached for her. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"He fell," Dean said, voice tight. "He hit his head and I'm pretty sure he has a fever. And your kid won't stop screaming."

"Dean," Kat said in a quiet voice. Parker had his face turned to her collarbone and his tiny shoulders were quaking in sobs. "Go take a walk."

"What? No. I have to get ice for Sam."

"I'll get it. Seriously, go take a walk. You're too stressed out to handle this. Come back in twenty minutes." Dean wanted to help his brother, he really did, but his heart was racing to the rhythm of his pounding head. He hadn't been sleeping well. He was exhausted and smelled like a mixture of vomit and toddler spit. That was not what Dean was made for; he was meant to be kicking down doors and wielding a gun in each hand. Those were the things he knew, not this.

He took another glance at Sam and walked away.

Later, when both Parker and Sam were asleep, Kat found Dean on the back porch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He hadn't shaved in a while and shadow of facial hair aged him by years. There was such a calloused look about him; it was hard to believe he had yet to hit forty.

She had showered and changed into actual clothes, not her work sweats. The final edits of the book were sent in and there was a glass of red wine in her hand. She sat in the seat next to Dean and started talking, voice soft.

"I know you're used to doing everything by yourself but no one can handle this by themselves. I would know; I tried, last time. We're going into this together and we're going to come out together. But it only works if everyone is on the same page. So next time you need help, please ask. It doesn't matter if I'm working. They're my family too."

"I used to take care of Sam by myself," Dean said, not defensively, not boasting; he said it like someone would announce a statistic. A fact. "When our dad wasn't around, it was all on me. I fed him, got him to sleep," he swiveled in his chair to face her, one hand on his knee. "I've killed for him, more times than I can count. And I would do it again. I'd trade my soul for him again in a heartbeat if I could."

"He doesn't want you to do that," Kat said and Dean laughed without humor.

"He didn't want me to do it the first time either."

"Everyone needs help sometimes." The look in Dean's eyes was sharp, accusatory.

"We never had help," he said. "We were on our own and that was good enough. I just…"

He shook his head, dropping his gaze but Kat kept her eyes on the man beside her. She wanted desperately to help him, reach out to me, but she just didn't know how. Sam hadn't exactly an easy book to read – even after being married almost three years, it was hard to know what he was thinking at times. But it was different with Dean; it was like trying to read a foreign language. She could only make guesses and it frustrated her.

"I don't know why I can't take care of him anymore." She pretended not to notice his voice cracking on the last syllable because that's what she thought he would want.

"You don't have to be the only one to help him, Dean. Not anymore. Maybe when you were little Sam was all you had but not anymore." She kept her voice gentle; she wasn't trying to provoke jealousy. "He has me. He has all his friends here that want to help." Dean's head ducked in a nod but he still wouldn't look at her. She put a hand on his arm, feeling his muscles tense under her fingers. "And you have me too. You're family now, Dean, and that means we look after each other. Doesn't it?"

Finally, he swung his gaze to her and it was unreadable, a blank page she wasn't sure she had managed to write on.

"I just want to take care of him. That's what I'm supposed to do," he said.

"I know."

"Kat, I don't know who I'm supposed to be if I'm not his brother."

"No matter what happens," she said. "No matter if Sam lives to be fifty or ninety-nine or if he dies tomorrow, you will always be his brother."

Dean took a sip of his drink, letting the bitterness wash down his throat with ease. From this angle, they could see the sun as it started its descent from the sky, reminding them that there would be days after this one. There would always be more days for him.