"Dad!"

Sam startled awake to the sound of Dean's frantic voice.

"Dad, I-I can't hear you…"

Dean was sitting up with the phone receiver pressed firmly against his ear, listening frantically, eyes searching.

Sam pushed himself up. "Dean?" he asked quietly, heart thumping wildly in his chest out of concern for his father.

Dean held his finger up to silence him. "What?" he barked into the phone. He licked his lips nervously, as if waiting for an answer he wouldn't get. "Dad?"

Sam frowned as his brother continued to listen, worry etched into his features.

Moments later, Dean's face fell and he slid the receiver up to his forehead, letting his head hang limply. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. "Fuck…"

"Dean?" Bobby was awake now too. He stood up to put a comforting hand on Dean's neck. "Was that yer old man?"

Dean sighed loudly and hung the receiver up at its base. "Yeah. Couldn't understand a damn thing he was saying though."

"Interference?"

Dean nodded. "Line went dead."

"But you're sure it was Dad?" Sam asked eagerly. "He's okay?"

Dean ran his hands through his hair. "He's alive, at least."

Bobby gave Dean's neck a gentle squeeze. "Well, hey, after taking on 27 demons that's the best we could've hoped for, huh?"

Dean bit down on his lip, and looked away, reaching an arm up to wipe at some tears that had formed in his eyes.

"You're wondering about Michelle, aren't you?" Sam said knowingly. He might've been sick, but that didn't stop him from being able to read his brother like an open book.

Dean nodded. "Dad sounded… upset," he said hoarsely. "A-And I thought I heard him say her name…"

"Dean, don't do this, son," Bobby warned lowly.

"Do what?"

"Jump to conclusions. You just said you couldn't hear a damn thing John was saying. He could've been telling you that the girl's all right." He gave Dean a swift pat on the back. "I'm sure he'll call back when he gets clear of what I'm guessing is demonic interference. Until then, we need to stick to what we know."

Dean nodded and let out a shaky sigh. He glanced at Sam. "So much for a nap, huh?" he said. "I'm sorry, man, I know you're spent."

Sam shrugged. "Not a big deal." He knew getting sleep wouldn't make him any less tired. He was perpetually exhausted these days, no matter how much sleep he got. Besides, his stomach had started feeling funny again and he knew sleep wouldn't come easily. He wasn't about to tell Dean that though. The last thing he wanted to do was add to his brother's trepidation.

They resumed their game of War and waited for the call to come.

xxx

Sam moaned as another spasm rippled through his abdomen.

Two hours later, and the funny feeling in his gut had turned into cramps, and they were getting progressively worse as time went on.

Sam hadn't been able to keep it to himself any longer.

So now, Dean was in front of him, letting his brother lean his forehead against his chest. Sam's arms were curled around his middle, that little bit of pressure alleviating some of the discomfort.

"Just breathe, Sammy," Dean coached nervously, clearly distraught by Sam's distress. "Do you feel like you might throw up?"

Sam shook his head, and reached out to fist Dean's T-shirt in his hand. The cramps were getting more frequent. More painful.

Bobby had gone to fetch a nurse and Sam felt like crying.

He hated that he was sick. He hated that he was stuck in this damn hospital on Christmas Eve. He hated that he couldn't seem to get better.

And he hated that John still hadn't called back.

xxx

To Sam's surprise, the nurse considered his cramps a sign of improvement.

"A lot of the times, cramps are a sign that the patient is getting ready to pass gas," she explained. "And passing gas is a sign that your bowels are working again."

Sam felt his face redden. It was embarrassing when the nurse started talking about him having to flatulate in order to be discharged from the hospital. It was something he was sure Dean would tease him about mercilessly once he was well.

"Is there anything you can give him for the pain?" Bobby asked. "The kid's pretty miserable."

"Unfortunately, the medication that would alleviate Sam's pain the best would be an antiflatulent agent. Giving that to Sam would be counterintuitive since the goal is for him to flatulate." She met Sam's eyes sympathetically. "But I know that these cramps can be extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes a heating pad helps patients manage them a little better. Would you like me to bring you one, Sam?"

Sam nodded. He was willing to try anything at this point.

While the nurse was gone, Sam asked Dean to help him lean back against the pillows. The movement caused more spasms to ripple through his stomach and Sam whimpered in pain. "Shit, Sam, I'm sorry," Dean apologized.

"Not your fault," Sam gritted out, mortified that tears were leaking from his eyes.

Dean slipped off the bed and took a seat in the armchair. Then he reached out to place his hand on Sam's abdomen. Sam knew he was trying to provide comfort – and he was. The pressure from Dean's heavy hand felt good. But Sam was self-conscious about his bloated stomach, and didn't want to be touched there.

"Dean," he said miserably, closing his eyes. "Don't."

"Why, does it hurt?" Dean asked quickly, immediately withdrawing his hand. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I thought it would help. I didn't mean to—"

"It didn't hurt," Sam interrupted, wanting to reassure his already-on-edge brother. He reopened his eyes and tried to explain. "I-I just don't want you to… to touch me there. I'm sorry."

Dean relaxed and his eyes turned from frantic to understanding. "Don't apologize, man. I get it." He was quiet for a moment. "How 'bout you hold my hand instead?" he offered, desperate to help in some way. "Can squeeze it when a cramp comes."

Sam raised his eyebrows. That was quite a girly gesture for Dean Winchester to be willing to subject himself to.

"C'mon, dude," Dean pressed. "You're hurting. This could help. Don't make it weird."

Sam gave his brother a wan smile and took his hand just as the nurse returned with the heating pad. She slid it underneath Sam's gown, and he sighed gratefully at the warmth it brought. She'd also brought Sam some more juice and set it on the table beside the bed.

"Just let me know if I can do anything else for you, Sam," she said, adjusting the pillow behind him.

"I will. Thanks."

She squeezed his shoulder and left.

The cramps were still there, but the nurse was right: the heating pad helped manage the pain. Sam let the warmth consume him and closed his heavy eyes.

Dean didn't let go of Sam. He soothingly traced his thumb against the back of his hand.

And vaguely, before Sam gave into exhaustion and fell asleep, he realized the contact was more for his brother's benefit than his own.

TBC…