This chapter was a BEAST to edit and morrismsteph is a goddess!
ALSO she is a WONDERFUL human being and found the original fic I read years ago that inspired this fic!
/works/1053519/chapters/2108859
Check it out! Things are a little different since I literally read it years ago, but I need to give credit for the entire universe my characters are playing in!
"We come bearing soup and steak!" Tony announced as he opened the door. "One guess as to whose dinner is whose."
The engineer walked into the room carrying a TV tray of food, Sam behind him with two glasses of water.
"Thanks, guys!" Steve beamed at his youngest as he took one of the glasses from him. "You're just in time. Dean just woke up!"
Dean grunted in agreement, though he made no move to accept the food.
"Dean, come on. You need to eat." Tony nudged the lump of a boy with the corner of the tray in jest, chuckling at the tongue said lump presented him with.
"I helped make your soup, Dean! I told Thor that we had to make you tomato rice, because that's what you always make me when I'm sick! And you said it's what mom used to make when you were sick, too, so it has to make you feel better!" Sam's voice was hushed, yet excited, which managed to pull a smile from the grumpy teen.
"Thanks, Sam." Dean finally began struggling to push himself further up the bed, then leaned back against the headboard. "Pass it here."
Sam's face lit up as he reached for the bowl on Tony's tray, almost knocking it over in his haste.
"Sam, can you stay with Dean for a minute, please? I need to talk to Tony really quick." Steve ruffled the boy's hair as he stood up from his chair.
"But Steve–!" Tony tried to interject.
Steve pushed his husband towards the door, cutting him off. "Come on, genius. Out we go." Looking over his shoulder, he called back, "Keep a good eye on him, Sam! We don't want him getting any sicker."
"Steve, what the hell?! I thought we weren't leaving him alone!" Tony whispered when the door was closed behind them.
"He's not gonna do drugs with Sam there. And he's eating, which means he can't distract Sam long enough to get out his stash...If he even has one," Steve whispered back.
"If he even–?"
"I did the math, Tony. Even if he did take more pills after he got home, the fever should've gone down at least a little by now," Steve explained.
Tony was silent for a second, doing his own math. "You're right. Something's off," he conceded.
"But what? Is he actually sick, and this is just horrible timing?" Steve suggested.
"There are no other symptoms," Tony quickly replied, racking his brain for other reasons the boy could be feverish. "Could be a minor allergic reaction to the codeine, but I've never seen that before, so I'd need to do some research."
"You do that. I can sit with him some more. Now that we've basically ruled out drugs, I'll be looking for further symptoms and not just side effects." Steve gestured for the man to go back downstairs to his lab, grabbing the remaining plate off the tray still in Tony's arms before re-entering the boys' bedroom.
"Thanks for the soup, Sam! It was delicious!" the soldier heard as he crossed the threshold. "Can you bring the bowl downstairs for me? I'm afraid I'm still on bed rest, according to Captain Muscles over there."
Dean handed the empty bowl back to his brother, who was looking rather pale.
"Go on," Dean urged the boy. "Maybe you can ask Clint to play one of his Xbox games with you."
Steve watched as Sam shuffled out of the room, the boy looking back at his brother once more before closing the door on his way out.
"Is he okay?" Steve asked as he resumed his position beside Dean's bed.
"Yeah, just worried about me failing school now that I've officially missed a whole day of classes. Perfect attendance record–gone!" Dean dramatically imitated his brother, making Steve chuckle.
"He does love school, huh?" the man said, tucking into his dinner with gusto.
"He never cared much for any one school–we moved around too much for that. But learning and knowledge–now those he's obsessed with." Dean leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Always made a fuss about getting our transcripts before leaving someplace. That boy is gonna end up somewhere, just you wait." Dean's voice was dripping with pride. Steve could clearly see the love and adoration he held for his little brother.
"You look after him really well, Dean. You should be proud of that."
Dean opened his eyes then, meeting Steve's with his own. Even after the panic attack and the sex talk, it was the most vulnerable Steve had ever seen the boy. The look of pure amazement and disbelief on Dean's face just then was one Steve would never forget.
"It's true," the man continued. "Do you know what his therapist said before the two of you came to us?" Dean shook his head slowly. "They said apart from some abandonment issues from your father leaving, he's a well-adjusted ten-year-old boy. Which is incredible, considering everything he's been through, and it's all because of you, Dean."
The teen took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes together tightly.
"You protected him. Not just from your abusers, but from the dangerous environment you grew up in. You shielded him from the horrors of the world, the despicable things that people are capable of. Mr. Wilson told us about how you told Sam your foster parents were vampires, and how that was the reason you had to leave, instead of telling him how they hurt you." Steve reached for Dean's hand as he spoke, expecting the flinch he received in response, but was happily surprised when the teen quickly recovered, his eyes flying open as he grabbed the soldier's hand before it was out of reach. Steve beamed at the action, though a worried frown briefly shadowed his face at the heat still coming off the boy.
"It's because you've looked out for him that that he has a chance to be a kid and to have a successful future."
Dean shook his head then, furiously at first, before wincing and slowing to a stop. Clenching his eyes shut again, the teen forced out, "No, that's all Sam. Yeah, he can get in a real bitchy mood once in a while, but he's basically sunshine on wheels. And his brain? That's what's gonna make him successful. As long as he keeps reading his nerd books, that kid will be whatever he wants."
Knowing when to pick his battles, Steve sighed. "I wish you could see what we do. From where I stand, I couldn't ask for a better version of you."
At that, the boy simply slumped back down into his covers, choosing, it seemed, to ignore the man and his words. Steve studied his son a moment longer, then continued to eat his steak in silence as the teen once again drifted off to sleep.
"Keep a good eye on him, Sam! We don't want him getting any sicker," Steve called over his shoulder as he pushed Tony out of the bedroom.
Sam nodded to the closed door, then looked to his brother, who was dutifully eating his soup.
"This is really good, Sammy! Might even be better than mine!" Dean winked.
"Dean, you look really sick," Sam bluntly noted. Dean paused, then continued eating as if nothing had happened.
"Well, I am sick. But don't worry, little brother. Between those two hovering Care Bears out there, I'll be fine," he placated, not even bothering to meet Sam's eye.
"Dean, your fever is really high; I'm starting to worry. And you're sleeping so much! I've seen you awake for like an hour total in the past day!" Sam's panic was seeping through, his words becoming louder and more rushed.
"Shh, Sammy–it's okay!" Dean reached out for Sam's hand, gripping it as tightly as he dared. "You know how I get on painkillers. They knock me right out! Everything is completely fine! C'mon, you don't–you don't have to worry about me!"
"Painkillers?" Sam whispered.
"What?" Dean froze as he realized his mistake. The teen was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight; his head hurt, and his fever wasn't helping. In the confusion, he'd slipped up.
"You said painkillers. You were hunting again, weren't you?" Sam accused. "What was it this time? Ghost? Poltergeist?"
Dean sighed and went to run his hand over his face but stopped when his side wound twinged. Hissing in pain, the teen relented, "Fine, Sammy. You win. It was werewolves."
Sam looked to the door, aware that their foster parents were none the wiser, and whispered, "Werewolves? Dean, I didn't even know they were real! Are you okay?!"
"I'm fine, Sam. One of 'em just threw me around a little. Nothing a needle and thread won't fix," the teen whispered back. Seeing the bedroom door open once more, Dean exclaimed loudly, "Thanks for the soup, Sam! It was delicious!"
Steve smiled as he re-entered the room.
"Can you bring the bowl downstairs for me? I'm afraid I'm still on bed rest, according to Captain Muscles over there," Dean said as he handed over the empty bowl, sending the boy a pointed look to remind him to keep quiet.
"Go on," Dean urged his brother. "Maybe you can ask Clint to play one of his Xbox games with you."
Sam edged towards the door, but glanced back in concern. Seeing Dean's stern gaze, he sighed and exited the room.
Sam knew something was wrong. Usually when Dean got hurt, he was a nightmare. He still joked around, of course, but he used the injury as an excuse to get Sam to do everything. Brushing off his injuries like this was troubling, to say the least.
The boy was lost in thought as he descended the stairs and returned the bowl to the kitchen, where he saw Thor and Clint washing the dishes.
"Why the elongated face, little one?" Thor asked when Sam approached the two.
Clint rolled his eyes. "It's 'why the long face,' Thor," he corrected.
"Ah, my apologies," the man replied, winking at Sam behind Clint's back.
"Thor? Can I ask you something?" Sam inquired, wringing his hands.
"Of course, young scholar. How may I be of assistance?" Thor abandoned the sink and turned to completely face his youngest sibling.
"If–if you thought someone might be hurt, but they also might not be hurt, and they told you not to worry, what would you do?" the boy asked, unaware that both siblings knew exactly who he was talking about.
Thor frowned as he regarded the question. "If there is even a chance that someone needs help, you have to tell someone, Samuel." The huge man knelt down and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, uncharacteristically somber. "Even if they say they are fine, there is no harm in getting someone with knowledge and experience to voice their opinion on the matter. When it comes to someone's health and safety, nothing is more important. Do you understand, young one?"
Sam studied the man intently, then dropped his head, lost in thought once more. "Yeah...I think so. But what if he's mad at me?" The boy looked younger than his ten years as he stared up at his oldest foster brother for guidance, big brown eyes completely trusting.
"It's a risk you are going to have to take. And with luck and patience, hopefully they will understand why you told someone," Thor answered. Clint was still fidgeting with a dish towel, rocking from side to side behind the two, awkwardly glancing about the kitchen.
"Okay. Thanks, Thor." Sam surged forward and gave Thor the biggest hug he could before running off.
"Look at you, being all responsible," Clint chimed in. "Obviously, he didn't see you on your twenty-first birthday, breaking beer mugs and shouting, 'Another!' until Papa had to carry you to bed," the twelve-year-old teased.
"Hush. I much look forward to the time when you are old enough to imbibe. Then, it shall be I that carries your little frame to sleep off the liquor!" the man boomed with laughter, taking his place back in front of the sink. Thor laughed even harder when Clint stuck out his tongue, only to get splashed with dirty dishwater. Freaking out, the boy scrambled to rinsed his mouth with water straight from the tap, grumbling about his 'huge jerk of a thunder god brother' the entire time.
Just a note: I will be on vacation coming up, so I won't be posting for a couple weeks, but hopefully this EXTRA LONG chapter is enough to tide you over!