Dean walks into the house, following boxing training, to the eerie sound of baby screams, muffled behind a door. When he strains his ears, as he steps forward towards the stairs, he can hear nothing else - he can't hear the voice of Sammy sushing Adam or trying to soothe him, as he would, or any sounds to indicate his other parent is around. And suddenly Dean is gripped by worry. He throws his backpack off his shoulders, and runs up the stairs, two at a time, and straight to Adam's room.

The crying becomes louder as he approaches, but as he passes the lit bathroom, with its door ajar, he comes to a halt and his heart almost stills, as he recognizes the figure lying on the floor. His mommy is turned on his side, in the recovery position, but more like he was trying to get up and failed. His arms are limp and his phone is barely held in a loose grip in one hand. Dean momentarily freezes. His heart is in his throat and his knees become weak. He's torn between wanting to follow the sound of the baby screams of his distressed little brother and checking on his obviously unconscious Sam. He quickly makes a decision. As his pulse quickens and thunders in his ears, he runs towards his mom, crouching down so fast, his knees hit then skid along the hard floor. That will hurt something bad later, when the adrenaline has left his body.

"Mom," he says, his voice quivering, and laced with panic. It feels like a nightmare. He checks for pulse, it's there, a little slower than usual but solid. Right now, he can't tell if he's imagining the change in speed but as long as it's there, Dean is happy. "Sweetheart," he pleads, as he laces his hands through his Sammy's hair. As his fingers make contact with the skin on Sam's forehead, however, Dean's surprised at how warm it is. He puts the back of his hand to Sammy's forehead, then his palm to Sammy's cheek, and realizes that his mom is burning up.

Adam's crying continues unabated, and the thought that maybe Adam is hurt too hits Dean like a brick to the face, so he gets up and hurries to his baby brother's room. He'll make sure he's Ok, then come back to his mom without missing a beat. "I'll be back, Sammy," he whispers.

When he turns the door knob and steps into Adam's room, his brother is standing up in his crib, and when he sees Dean, he cries even harder - it looks like he's been weeping himself hoarse for a while. "Shhh, I'm here, I'm here, Adam," Dean says as he fetches his brother and runs back to the restroom. "Are you OK, buddy? Anything hurts?" Dean has to repeat the questions twice for Adam to focus, regain some composure, ease on the crying enough to say, "no. Mommy left Adam all, all alone," he says between huffed breaths. "Bed is too high DeeDee, Adam can't leave." He's probably just afraid and hungry then, and by the smell of it, needs a diaper change. Yup, Adam is one of those babies that are too stubborn for toilet training, so he uses the potty or the toilet modified with a baby seat only in his good moods or when he's being promised a reward.

But Dean doesn't have time to attend to Adam. Now that he knows his brother is not hurt, his mind zeroes in on his mommy again. When they're back in the restroom, Adam starts screaming

frantically when he sees Sam on the floor. "What's wrong with mommy!?" Dean shushes him again, and places him on the step up stool that they usually put for Adam so he can reach the toilet and try and sit by himself.

"Hey," Dean says to get his attention. "Hey, buddy. Mommy's fine. He's just asleep, he's very tired. I need to help him wake up and you need to be a big guy for me, and stay here, so I can help mommy. OK?" Dean uses his teen Alpha voice to solidify his order-masquerading-as-a-kind- request, and Adam recognizes the difference between his usual brotherly voice, and this, with a shadow of firmness that Adam is not used to sensing from Dean. And luckily, he responds to it. Teary eyed and red-faced, he nods solemnly, like the three-year-old has suddenly recognized that Dean is in charge and that he needs to get out of the way, or better, have his big brother's back. "Ok, DeeDee," he says, like a good soldier, holding back a sob. "Good boy," responds Dean, kissing his forehead. Then quick as lightning, he's by his mom's side, gently shaking his shoulders, and checking his temperature again.

Should he call 911 or wait to see if he can wake up his mom? As he thinks, his fingers are working, checking for bruises or signs that Sam has injured his head or another part of his body when he fell - Dean learned much about falling during boxing training and now he's trying to put some of this knowledge to use. Breathe, Dean, he tells himself, as he feels panic rising again. If something happens to Sammy, especially after last night-no, he won't think it. He can't afford to. He'll collapse himself if his mind goes there. Sammy is going to be alright, dammit.

His mother's eyes flutter open, and Dean takes that breath (or 10) that he was holding, and he can almost literally feel it as his lungs get filled with air again. Sam's eyes are glassy though, and he lethargically bats his eyelids. "Sweetheart, you with me?" Dean whispers. Sam swallows thickly and his eyes travel across this side of the room, taking in his surroundings, then they fasten on Dean's face again. "Yeah," he croaks weakly. Dean's gotta make sure his mom's aware, and not concussed.

"Do you know who I am? Where you are?" Dean sees the shadow of a smile, despite Sam's bleariness. Sam tries to move his head, as he attempts to turn onto his back, but groans in pain instead.

"Hey, hey, don't move," says Dean, taking one of Sam's hands into his, interlacing their fingers together. He needs to give Sammy something solid to hold on to. "Just answer the question. Please."

Sam coughs a little, then breathes the words out, with difficulty, "you're my Dean." Dean's eyes tear up at the words, and he smiles, "that's right, I'm yours. Always ... uh, how many fingers am I holding up?" he says, as he holds up three fingers. "Three," Sam huffs out, correctly, but it does look like it's painful to string words together.

"Mommy, do you feel pain in your head?"

"Yeah."

"How bad is it? On a scale of one to ten."

"Don't know," he says, slurring. "6. 7 maybe."

"High, but I'm guessing if something was strained or broken, it would've been close to a 9 perhaps."

"Adam."

"He's here, mom."

At the mention of his name, Adam, as if sensing it's OK for him to move now from his designated spot waddles towards Dean who's hunched over their mom, and Sam sighs heavily as his other son comes into view. A tear escapes Sam's eye and falls to the floor. About to throw himself at his mom, Adam is stopped from lunging forward by Dean so he wouldn't hurt Sammy. "Easy, tiger," he says. "Mommy will hug you when he's completely awake. Now, he's still half asleep, ok buddy?" Adam nods, surprisingly understanding for his age, and considering his neediness for his mom.

"Sweetheart, try moving your legs for me, even a little." Sam does, and Dean huffs another sigh, his own body coming under control as his fears are squashed in stages with every relatively good sign.

One by one, Dean goes through a number of questions, impressed that he's calm enough to remember the ABC's of this. Perhaps Dean should call an ambulance, but not before attempting to bring down Sammy's temperature, he thinks. Even as bleary and tired as his mother is, he's conscious again, and it doesn't look like any of his limbs is in temporary paralysis. He hasn't lost sensation anywhere, and he's familiar with his surroundings. So he's betting they don't need immediate medical attention.

Where the hell is dad? Dean thinks for a second, then focuses back on Sammy. He'll ring Castiel as well, but now, he needs to get Sam into the bath, before he loses him again, and he might, since Sam's eyes are becoming droopy and it looks like it's getting harder for him to stay awake.

"Mom, listen. You're running a fever. By the feel of it, it's bad. I need to get you under the shower. I might even have to fill the bathtub with water, and grab some ice from the kitchen to cool it down more. But look, you're heavy sweetheart, so you gotta help me here." His mother doesn't respond, and Dean doesn't wait. He turns the words to action.

Dean cradles Sammy's head and neck, lifts them as tries to help him sit up. Sam does help by raising himself on his arms, the pain showing, as his jaw becomes tighter, his moans deeper and his eyes are squeezed shut. Dean waits for a few seconds until a wave of dizziness washes over Sam. When it passes, Sam confirms he's fine, then he's being hauled upwards, half of his weight, or more, resting on his son, who now has one arm clutched tightly around his thin waist, and another firmly holding one of Sam's flail arms up and across his shoulders. There's no way Sam can stand under the shower spray - his long legs are weak and wobbly; they barely make it inside the tub without Sam slipping or keeling over.

For the second day in a row, Dean helps his mom, into the bathtub. Yesterday, it was loving and his touch was sensual, his intents sexual and lustful. Sam was naked and healthy and he was at his most beautiful, despite the crying and panic that preceded the incident. Today, it's still loving, with the way he holds Sam, and helps him sit there, but Dean's touch is protective, almost clinical, and his intents spring from his responsibility as an Alpha and his fear and concern as a loving son. Sam is fully dressed, and burning with a fever, his eyes are red and his cheeks are moist. A fever that might be half caused by a disease, and half by fatigue and stress, Dean suspects. He blames himself for the latter - he's been selfish and he knows it. But he won't stop and think now. He'll leave the thinking for later.

When Sam, still pallid and in pain, is secure, with a small towel rolled up and placed behind his head, on the edge of the tub, to cushion it, Dean turns on the cold water tap telling Sammy to brace himself and waits as the tub begins to fill up, before running down to the kitchen and coming back up with three ice-cube trays, which he empties into the water. Adam is hanging onto the rim of the tub, watching with tear-filled eyes. Dean holds Sam's hand with one of his own, but he rubs Adam's small back with the other to comfort him, to show him he's here. His mommy,

now submerged in cold water, rests for a minute, then slowly begins to shiver as the temperature clearly becomes uncomfortable. But it does look like Sam's limbs are waking up, because he's suddenly moving, faster than before, as he's muttering the word "cold" in a shaky voice, and trying to leave the tub. Surprisingly, he stands up on his own, before Dean can help, despite the shakes and quivers.

The water sloshes, as he steps out, half supported by Dean, with Adam holding on to one of Sam's hand, under the illusion he's stepping up and helping his mommy too. Some of it splashes on the floor, and on Adam, the whole ordeal made worse as Sam's jeans and shirt soak up water and leak heavily as he moves.

Dean leaves his trembling mother's side for a few seconds to fetch the thickest, warmest towel they have and throw it around Sam. Sam welcomes it. He wraps it tighter around himself and closes it at his throat.

"Let's get you out of these clothes mom, and into your bed, come on," he says, and he begins unwrapping the towel so he can take Sam's shirt off. Sam reluctantly cooperates, wanting to hold on to the towel some more, even though it's itself wet now. Still trembling, however, he lets go and lets Dean take his shirt off. Before Dean can take off his pants, Sam walks to the towels closet, fetches a large dry one and quickly wraps it around himself. Sure, the fever would probably be a little down by now, if only momentarily, but he's friggin' freezing, and Sam can't wait until he's out of the wet clothes and into his warm bed.

Dean kneels and reaches for the belt holding up Sam's jeans. He undoes it, then unbuttons the pants and rolls down the zipper. Dean's teen brain - his stupid hormonal brain - is already heating up at the thought of seeing his mommy naked again, his Alpha instincts while inherently protective are beginning to gain purchase on the oppressed lust and are now responding to Sam's proximity and body heat on principle. Images of his mom naked and willing in his arms flood his inner vision all of a sudden and Dean mentally shakes them off so he can concentrate on the task at hand. Jesus, perhaps he's a knot-head after all.

When the pants are off, Dean doesn't hesitate before he curls his fingers into the waistbands of Sam's wet white slips, already see-through and almost transparent because of the water, and peels them off. Sam's soft length comes into view, his crotch inches away from Dean's face, and it's so delicious looking. Its powerful, manly, all-Omega smell is tickling his nose. He can't help but inhale deeply to take it all in. His mom's dick is perfect. The thick shaft, the tiny piss slit, the mushroom-shaped crown so close to his lips he could kiss it right now. If Sam wasn't so ill or Adam standing right beside him, Dean would've shamelessly sucked Sam's cock down to the base, until Dean's nose is buried in the dark hair around it, breathing only Sam's scent, until he gags on it. Until it fattens and hardens inside his mouth. Until it throbs and weeps.

Ok, that's it, Dean. For Pete's sake, stop it, Sammy is sick, you perv, Dean scolds himself inwardly. He swallows audibly and tries to breathe evenly, in an attempt to bring his horny Alpha under control. And thankfully, he manages to.

He supports his mother as they walk back to Sam's room - Adam following closely. Dean sits a naked Sam, save for the big fluffy towel, on the bed and falls to his knees in front of him. Sam's upper body is mostly covered and shielded by the towel but not his lower half. So Dean starts rubbing Sam's thighs, knees, and legs for added warmth. He tries not to think of Sam's slightly parted knees and his flaccid member in between.

This is about nursing Sam back to health, not hitting on him, Dean reminds himself again for good measure. He knows his horny Alpha is still fidgeting.

Dean kisses Sam on his lips. It's one single barely-there, reassuring kiss, then he says, "talk to me,

mom. Are you feeling better? Should we call an ambulance still?"

"No, I'll be alright." He's clearly not out of the woods. But Dean believes him, he'll be OK, he knows it too.

"Promise, mom?"

Before Sam can answer, they both hear hurried steps approaching and suddenly Castiel is in the room. They were so preoccupied they didn't hear him come in the house or come up the stairs, it seems.

It looks like Castiel is taking in the scene before he comes to Sam's side. He looks disapproving of Sam's nudity, Dean feels it, as Cas's eyes run over Sam's naked thighs and legs, stopping for a second too long at where Dean is resting his hands on Sam.

Cas comes to the bed, almost shoving Dean aside. He starts fussing. He asks Sam 101 questions about how he's feeling and what happened, and Dean is the one who answers most of them, since mom still looks and sounds disoriented, and somehow it's making Castiel more annoyed. Dean picks Adam up, and pats his back to assure him.

As if to assert his dominance, Cas sits by Sam and takes his wife into his arms, squeezes him tightly, resting a hand on the inside of one of Sam's bare thighs. It makes Dean's cheeks heat up with jealousy. And his heart pounds a little faster. But he pushes the feelings down; he's been training himself to suppress his possessive streak for months, and his efforts pay off sometimes. Like now.

Paradoxically, Cas is not even looking at Dean, as Dean recounts how he found Sam, and his dad doesn't grace his story with anything but a tight nod.

Dean doesn't understand. He stepped up, he was there for his mom, he subdued a screaming Adam, who's now starting to get real cranky, squirming in Dean's arms and is huffing and teering up again by the way. Adam tries to wriggle free and Dean obliges him, setting him down. The moment his feet touch the ground, Adam runs to his mommy, and hugs his torso, and Sam hugs his youngest back with one weak arm. Cas ruffles Adam's hair lovingly.

Great, so Castiel's attitude is exclusive to Dean? Friggin' perfect.

Why is his father acting like Dean made things worse. In fact, Castiel is glaring at Dean from time to time accusingly, and it's starting to peev the hell out of Dean.

When Castiel is satisfied that Sam is marginally better, that there would be no need for a call to the hospital or a visit to the ER, unless the paracetamol and ibuprofen double bill he'll put into Sam doesn't work to contain his fever during the next 48 hours, he finally tells his wife to get under the covers, and settle into bed. But before he takes the towel away, disrobing Sam, he asks Dean to leave the room.

"No, I wanna be by mom's side." "I'll be by his side. I'm here now." "Still-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH, DEAN! NOW!" He shouts it at him, suddenly impatient and hostile, making Dean visibly flinch. Mainly because Dean didn't expect to be lashed at, especially after what he's done. It's uncalled for. His mom whispers, "Castiel," but he's bleary and tired enough not to say anything more.

Only for the sake of his mommy, Dean steps back and takes away Adam, now in full crying mode, with him. His little brother definitely needs some attention, some food and a change of diaper. He must have been equally distressed by the sight of his unconscious mom, earlier, and of course the scare of being left alone before Dean found him. Well, he will fix Adam then.

He'll also heat some soup and pass it on to Cas so he can feed it to his mom. Sammy shouldn't be medicated on an empty stomach. Dean takes in a deep breath and blows out hard. Fine, he'll be on the sidelines for now, he resolves.

...

Two hours later, when Adam is in a better shape, and Dean's got his own half-frayed nerves and boiling anger (at his father) under control, he decides to check on his parents. The door to their bedroom is shut. He knocks and when he gets the permission to go in, he does and sees that Sam is sleeping in Castiel's arms.

"What do you want, Dean?"

"Just wanna remind you to wake mommy up every couple of hours in case he sustained a concussion when he fell and hit the floor."

Cas nods saying he will. He still doesn't look happy Dean is interfering, it seems. It's his mom, what does he expect? Sammy is his entire world actually.

When he just stands there, with his eyes trained on his mother, Castiel's asks, "anything else?" He meets his father's eyes. "Adam's hungry, I don't know what to do."
"Fix him something. You're a big boy," Cas says, his gaze firm and level.

"No, dad. I'm not going to give him cereals again for dinner. He just had some an hour ago. It's getting late. And a PB&J sandwich is out of the question. That's too much sugar for one night. He needs a hot meal. Mom would kill us if he finds out we're neglecting Adam like this. I can watch over mom as you whip up something." He adds: "You know how hopeless I am in the kitchen."

Castiel doesn't move.

"Dad," Dean swallows his pride and pleads, hoping to look innocent and convincing, and in more ways than one, he is honest. Sure, part of him just wants to be alone with his mom for a while. But really, he doesn't want Adam to get another mediocre meal or to suffer because Cas is being stubborn.

Cas seems to get it, huffs a sigh and takes himself down to the kitchen to heat up some food for Adam, give his son a proper meal.

Dean immediately takes his mom's side in lieu of Cas. His mom opens his eyes, when the bed shifts and Dean lands beside him. "You gave me quite a scare back there, Sammy," he says. "Don't you ever do this to me again."

Sam nods. "I'm sorry, De," he says weakly. "Didn't mean to scare you." "I know, sweetheart. I just don't want to ever see you hurt."

Dean huddles against Sammy's warm body, and starts soothing him, carding his fingers through his hair. They spend a few minutes like this. Then Dean swoops down on him, and kisses his

mouth. Sam is motionless for a few seconds, just letting his mouth be used. Perhaps it's exhaustion or maybe he's holding back on purpose, Dean doesn't know.

Insistent, Dean follows one kiss with another. His kisses are loving and urgent and as he kisses, he crowds against Sam more, until he's almost blanketing him.

When Dean starts on Sam's soft, pliable lips, he usually can't stop. Now is no different.

Between kisses, Sam whispers, "we shouldn't" to which Dean responds by putting his own slightly parted lips to better use. They capture Sam's in a deep kiss.

And Dean puts all his ache and fears and passion into the heat and pressure of his mouth. He breathes in the kiss a promise of an undying love. When he slightly pulls back, he keeps Sam's lower lip tucked between his own teeth and lips, and sucks on it, as he likes to do sometimes. When he finally releases Sam's mouth, he seals the make out session with three consecutive quick pecks, then pushes himself up from the bed.

He doesn't leave immediately though. Sensually, Dean lowers the covers, baring Sam's naked body, bunching the covers to below his waist, right where his torso meets his legs. He inspects Sam's nakedness with hungry eyes, not ashamed to look and stare. Dean bends forward, lays his wet and swollen lips on Sam's fleshy stomach, right below his navel. For a second, it looks like it's all he'll do, just lay his lips there, or brush them against the skin. But he pops a single chaste kiss on the sweat-damp skin. Then he starts kissing the spot forcefully, just like he was kissing Sam's mouth a minute earlier. Dean's tongue flicks out to taste too. Then he bites, hard, with teeth.

The moment the stinging pain hits, the blood rushes to the assaulted spot and Sam realises what Dean is doing. He doesn't have a choice but to let him. When he's done staking his claim, Dean licks then kisses the bruise.

Without looking, Sam is sure it's red, soon to turn purplish. He knows it will stand out if Cas sees him in the nude tonight.

"I'll go check on Adam," Dean declares. "And see if dad is heating you some food too. You need to eat, mom." He says, so casually, like he wasn't just devouring Sam's mouth with his own, like he didn't just give his mom a hickey.

Sam nods. Then ... "Before you go. Throw me a shirt, sweetheart," Sam says.

And Dean smiles like he likes the idea that now Sam will have to cover in front of Cas. That Sam's naked skin is not for his father's eyes anymore. Not tonight at least.

Perhaps next time, Dean will plant this claiming kiss a little lower.

He helps his mom put on a shirt, and underwear (Dean's initiative! He might as well since he wants Sam properly covered up from his dad's greedy eyes and prying hands. Besides, he loves the idea of helping Sam into his briefs, he gets off on it too. He actually couldn't help placing a quick, light kiss on Sam's cock before he pulled the briefs up).

Done, Dean pads out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

When he's alone, Sam touches a finger to his lower lip, where his son's insistent mouth was moments before, where his tongue licked and sucked, and Sam's own tongue flicks out to lick the lingering taste of Dean off his own mouth. The bruise below his belly button is throbbing, sending a tingle down Sam's own groin, where Dean kissed, his lips moist and gentle, threatening to spur a hard-on despite Sam's extreme fatigue. Dean knows exactly what he needs. He knows what to say. What to whisper in his ears. Where to touch him.

For a moment, Sam imagines what it would feel like if Dean had been his husband. If it were Dean, young as he is, who gets to mate Sam. If it were his son who kisses him every morning and every night, who makes future plans with him, who spoons him at night, if it were Dean who makes love to him during his heat and gives him babies.

Every taste of Dean awakens some thing old inside Sam that he had once thought he lost forever - feelings that were once associated with youth, ideals, discovery, fresh dreams and beautiful uncertainty, the vanguard of a new life, young love and the promise of adventure, and had died (or so it seems) with these abstract things, as dreams ground to a halt and life became monotonous.

Dean's own youth breathes life into Sam's middle age, and his passion makes Sam alive again.

His love for him surprises him, and warms and breaks his heart in endless cycles; but it makes life worth living. Sam knows that he can never get enough of this.

He also knows it's a sin.

Even if it feels so right, it shouldn't be. And it's so, so unfair, Sam reflects. He knows that he'll continue to crave this. And he knows that he can't let go.

But that incidentally, he must.

Sam closes his eyes. And waits for the painkillers and the sum of his fatigue, weariness and depression to pull him back to sleep.

Tomorrow. He'll have his talk with Dean tomorrow.