Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews. I'm so excited that everyone is enjoying this story. I'm really excited by all the reviews that I'm getting! Woohoo! Please, please, please, can I get 100? I'll be your best friend.

I honestly love everyone's suggestions and decided to go all out broke—I'm pretty much writing every "smarmy, cute, over-the-top no way this would ever happen in real life but my god do I wish it would" thing that enters my brain: Including Naked Cold Bath Dean. Oops, made you look!

Though, seriously, this story actually did happen to ME! (The symptoms, etc—all mine. Was in bed for nearly a week and the stupid flu knocked me out of commission for nearly a week and a half. Couldn't talk at all for 10 days straight.) Boy, do I wish I had Sammy there for me. Or better yet, sick Dean could've been lying next to me in bed while Sammy was our slave.

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Dean had been sleeping for more than eight hours. That in and of itself was a rarity. Dean usually didn't sleep more than five or six a night, preferring to stay up late to either bar hop or watch the 'funnies' on T.V. Sam kept a close eye on his brother, worried about the fever and the congestion that had abruptly developed in his lungs. He could tell that—even in sleep, it was getting harder for Dean to breathe. Sam watched as Dean took in another shuddering breath, his chest wall expanding as he fought to release it: both the congestion and his swollen throat working together to make the process as hard as it could for him. Every breath made Dean pale, made the sweat drip off his face and down his neck to soak into the yellowed pillow case.

The decision to wake Dean was quickly made. Flicking the light switch, Sam went about getting things prepared—the more prepared he was, the easier it'd be for the both of them. Entering the small bathroom, Sam plugged the tub, then went about filling it with lukewarm water. Once he'd gotten Dean in the tub, he'd gradually make it colder, not wanting to shock his system. While the tub was filling, he grabbed the shampoo and soap from his brother's bag and placed them on the side of the bathtub, before laying a large towel on the floor. Another one was placed on the toilet seat. A change of clothing for Dean was put up on the shelf above the toilet.

Sam scrubbed his face with his hand, tired—his own recent illness making him feel weak. He pushed the tiredness he felt off, Dean needed him right now. And Dean never needed anyone—it was as if, from the tender age of four, he'd been transformed into an adult. He'd been both a mother and a father to Sam; it was Dean who took care of him on a daily basis. It was Dean who was always there for him—no matter what. And now, for the first time, Dean was really sick and their father was not a phone call away.

Taking a deep breath, Sam went back into the 'bedroom' area of the small motel room, which was the same area as the living room, dining room, and kitchen—if a small three cubic foot refrigerator and banged up microwave counted. "Dean?" Sam called out softly, not wanting to scare him. "Dean, I need you to wake up, alright."

Slowly, Dean cracked his eyes open, wincing as the light entered them, making them water as he blinked rapidly. "Sam?" It was a croak, barely understandable, if it wasn't for Sam's ability to read lips. The effort of waking also took a toll on his lungs—Dean levered himself up, bending forward in order to catch his breath as if he'd just run a mile. Sam placed his hand on his back, and just waited. Once the color had come back in his face, Dean looked up as if to ask his little brother what he wanted… 'Why did you wake me? What's going on?' his eyes asked for him.

Sam bent over so that they were eye to eye. "I'm just trying to help you, Dean. You're running a pretty high fever and I know that you're probably feeling sticky, so I think a bath's in order." Sam waited for Dean to argue, to shake his head 'no' and be his stubborn self; he thought up fifteen different rebuttals in the time that it'd taken him to realize that Dean hadn't said a word. He'd just slumped back into the cushions, closing his eyes as he focused on regulating his breathing. "Dean?" He asked again, quietly, "You okay?"

"Tired…" It was the only thing that he was able to say.

Sam stood up, pulling off the damp blanket that covered Dean. "Dean, do you think you can sit up?" Dean just blinked at him. "Okay, then. I'll help you. We'll do this really slowly. I'm just going to get my arm under your shoulders. You can just lean against me, alright? Let me do all of the work." Slowly, Sam levered Dean up, making sure that he was stable before sliding his other arm under his knees. With the same sliding motion, he let Dean's legs fall off the side, so that he was now sitting up on the edge of the bed. Dean clutched at his head, the change in position made him dizzy. Sam watched as his head rolled, automatically moving closer so that Dean was leaning against him; Dean let his head fall on Sam's shoulder.

The touch of his brother's burning skin against his sparked Sam into action. With a grunt, he lifted Dean's knees with one arm, and then wrapped his other arm around his back so that he could carry him into the bathroom.

He set his burden down on the toilet seat, then set about undressing him. The task turned out to be a bigger ordeal than Sam had expected. It was incredibly difficult to undress someone who really didn't want to move. The sweat soaked clothing that was sticking to his body hadn't helped either. He pulled the t-shirt off of his head first, then went about getting his arms untangled in order to slip it off. The pants were a little harder to get off because Dean didn't want to stand. He didn't want to do much of anything but to lie down once again. Deciding that the best course of action to just remove everything. Once Dean finally stood, he pulled down his pants and underwear in one swift move. He let them slide to his knees, then let him sit back down on the seat. Sam kneeled in front of him, honestly not caring about his brother's nakedness, as he lifted one foot to free his legs from his discarded clothes and then the other.

Dean was looking at him with clouded eyes, but too tired to care what his brother was doing to him as long as he could go back to sleep afterwards. "Come on, Dean. Let's get you cleaned up, huh?" Sam gripped Dean under his arms, then lifted him to his feet—this time, Dean actually stood on his own. Using a slight pressure, he led Dean to the edge of the tub, then helped him to sit. The minute his body touched the water, Dean's breath caught and he was sent into a coughing fit. Sam kneeled by the tub, patting his back until the fit had passed. Dean panted for several minutes afterwards, letting his back, neck, and head rest against the edge of the tub. He would've slipped under the water if Sam hadn't kept a hold on him.

Sam pulled the plug, letting the lukewarm water flow out. He adjusted the tap, gradually decreasing the amount of hot water that mixed with the cold until only the cold remained. The cooler it got, the more discomfort Dean felt; the cold water was shocking to his system, but it was necessary to get the fever down.

Sam grabbed a wash cloth from the drawer under the sink, then lathered it with the soap he'd pulled out earlier. He stared at his brother before starting, the situation was a bit awkward for him; he'd never bathed anyone in his entire life—the showers he'd shared with Jessica had…other reasons besides cleanliness. To mask his own discomfort at the obvious intimacy the action, he started telling Dean about his first couple of weeks at Stanford. "…Oh Dean, I'd thought I was a big shot—you know, winning that scholarship and getting such good grades. Ha! I was a real idiot. Did you know like, practically half of my classmates were the best students in their class? The only way that I describe it to you is by putting together a group of competitive coffee-addicted, hyperactive intellectuals and waiting for them to kill each other. I'm serious, Dean. My Latin class nearly killed me when I 'threw off the grading curve' and got a 100 on my exam…"

As he spoke, the cloth seemingly moved by itself. He made himself forget that he was bathing his big brother and let the cloth move across his body. It started at his neck, moving in small circles down his shoulders and chest. Lifting up his arms, he used a little more pressure to scrub his under-arm region—his brother was ticklish there, he remembered. He used to jump on his back and tackled him to the floor in order to tickle him. Dean would counter, of course, rolling them over until he straddled his hips, then attacked his neck and sides. They'd wrestle on the ground until neither one of them could breathe. The memory brought a smile to his lips as he moved down his sides and over his stomach. He stopped before he'd reached his private area—he shot a look at Dean, who'd not quite yet fallen asleep. Bypassing the area, he continued down his legs until he was done with the front.

"Did I ever tell you how I met Jess?" He started on another story as he pulled Dean up so that he could scrub his back. Dean moaned softly, for once, not in pain as he relaxed under Sam's touch.

It made Sam stare at his brother in wonder. Their family wasn't one to hug or give physical comforts—it was too 'chick flick' for his brother and father. But, was this the first time anyone had given his brother a back rub? When he'd been at the University, Sam reveled in the action of both giving and receiving back rubs. It was something incredibly common—even strangers found comfort in the action. Stressed out college students kept the pressure of their studies (of being the best) in their shoulders, their backs; the stiffness often caused them pain—the only course of relief, while temporary, was to ask a friend for a massage. The wealthier students often flaunted their professional massage therapists and had them set up in the student union.

Perhaps it was time to share the experience with Dean, it wasn't everyday that he could teach his brother something. He put the idea aside temporarily and went about shampooing Dean's short hair. He put a dime sized amount of the shampoo in his hands, lathered it up and then gently cupped Dean's head. Starting at the sides, he let his fingers explore his head, tipping it up slightly so that the lather didn't drip into his eyes. Dean became pure jelly in his hands, giving up any resistance to the idea that his little brother was bathing him, nearly falling asleep again in the bathtub. "Dean, can you sit up again? I'm going to wash out the shampoo and then you can go back to bed, alright?"

He'd adjusted the tap and turned the shower on, "Dean, can you stand up?" Dean tried, he really did, but it was as if the water was Jello, thick and heavy. Dean stared up at him, the frustration of not being able to get up on his own making tears pool in his eyes. "It's okay, Dean. Don't get upset. That's what I'm here for…to help. Give me a second." Sam stood, quickly peeling off his layers of clothing (the boxers were left on) and then stepped into the tub with his brother. It was a difficult task to get Dean on his feet when they were both wet. He pulled Dean closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady as he washed the shampoo off. Dean was shaking, literally trembling as the cold water hit him. He started coughing again, gripping Sam as he tried to remain upright.

Quickly, Sam turned off the faucets, then pulled Dean out of the tub to sit on the towel he had placed on the toilet seat. Dean leaned his arms against his thighs; his head was down as he continued to cough. Sam rubbed his back, waiting until he stopped coughing before continuing.

A towel was wrapped tightly around his shoulders and Sam set about drying him off. Once he was dry, he grabbed the clothing he'd placed above. At this point, he decided, it would be easier for Dean if he'd just put him in his boxers. Once the boxers were secure on his hips, Sam grabbed a towel for himself. He wiped himself off, removing the wet article of clothing before throwing on the pair of pants he'd dropped on the floor. He really needed to get Dean back into bed.

"Dean? You going to be okay in here for a little bit? While I go make up the bed?"

Dean looked up, his eyes puffy, barely open. "Yeah." He whispered.

"Okay, I'll be right back." Sam dashed out of the bathroom in order to change the sheets on the bed. The small closet had a spare set on the top of the shelf—just in case. He removed the old set and with military precision, crisply made the bed.

Returning to his brother's side, he wasn't surprised to find that Dean was exactly where he'd left him. "Alright, Dean. The bed's made and it's calling your name." He helped Dean to the bed, but did not let him lie down as he wanted, instead propping him up with pillows.

Dean tiredly whispered his disappointment, "I juss wanna ssleep, Ssammy." The words slurred together as he spoke.

Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead before answering. "You haven't eaten since yesterday, Dean. And I'm getting the distinct impression that you lost whatever you ate the day before as well…I don't understand why you just don't tell me when you're not feeling well…Well, you bought us breakfast. Let's eat some of it, then." Sam went to the grocery bag that Dean had brought in with him earlier and rummaged through it. The pudding would probably be the best bet, he thought, especially with Dean's throat.

"Well, Dean. Guess what? Pudding it is." Sam stopped as he watched Dean start to shake his head. "No? Why not? It's chocolate, your favorite." Dean clutched his throat, again, shaking his head in the negative. "Dean, just try. Please, just try it. Okay?" He gave him what Dean referred to as his 'puppy-dog' eyes. Sam smiled as Dean nodded, no one could resist the puppy dog eyes.

Holding out a spoon, Sam handed Dean the small container along with it. He watched on with concern as Dean's hands shook and he dropped the spoon. The plastic container nearly popped with the pressure that Dean held it. Gently, Sam reached over and took it from him. Dean refused to look at him, his eyes firmly focused on a stain that marred the sheets. Most times, Dean was a hard one to read; he kept firm control of his emotions at all times. This time, the exhaustion of taking care of his sick little brother and his own illness made Dean an open book. The misery was rolling off of him in waves.

"Dean, listen to me. It's okay." His brother ignored him. "Dean, please, look at me." Cupping his face, Sam drew him up so that their eyes met, "I know. Okay. I know that this is one of the hardest things you've had to do in a while. I know that you trust me and I know how hard you work to protect and take care of me. But you need to let go…just for a little while. Just let me take care of you. Just let me help." Dean bit his lip, still fighting him, not wanting to give up control. And Sam knew this; he could see it in his glistening teary eyes. "Dean… Please, man. Just let it go."

"I can't, Sammy." His voice was breaking and tears started leaking from his lids. "I can't…you don't understand. You—this is killing me." His shoulders started to shake and his breath came out in heavy gasps. He was rapidly losing the color in his face as he struggled to breathe.

"Dean, hey. Don't do that. Hey, just breathe, okay? Dean?" Sam moved onto the bed in order to pull the pillows out from under him. Dean was quickly laid flat. Sam lay down next to him, resting his head right next to his brother's ear. He put his hand flat against Dean's chest, willing him to slow down his breathing. "Dean. Listen. Calm down, just breathe." Slowly, Sam started rubbing Dean's chest with small circular motions while he guided his breathing. "Just breathe in. Hold it for a second. Then let it out slowly. You can do it." He kept it up for a few breaths, sighing in relief when Dean's color returned and he was able to breathe again. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

Sam shook his head, "You're such a liar. Okay, we'll do it your way. Just let me help you sit up." Sam moved and replaced the pillows behind Dean.

He picked up the pudding cup he'd put on the nightstand. He gave him the spoon, while he opened the seal. "How about I hold the cup? You can use the spoon." He waited for Dean to nod, then sat quietly as Dean slowly swallowed the pudding. It was a small cup, they usually could eat the entire pack of eight in less than five minutes—this time it'd taken Dean nearly ten minutes to finish off one of them. He'd refused to eat another, turning his head to the side when Sam brought it out.

"Dean, I'm going to get you a couple of Tylenol for your fever. I'll be right back." Sam walked away from Dean, hurt that Dean couldn't—just trust him. He went through the nightstand drawer where Dean had stashed the medications he'd purchased for Sam during his bout of flu. Sam just stared at the packages—he'd never noticed how many things Dean bought until now. There was literally a medication for every symptom he'd had. Cough drops, cough syrups, Tylenol, Ibuprofen, menthol rub, and flu medications filled the small drawer.

Sam shook his head, Dean took care of him. He'd made sure he was comfortable, that his fever was lowered and bought food, medications, and fresh orange juices to his side, not once complaining or denying him anything he'd asked. Why was it so hard for Dean to let him do the same?

There was a way around it.

This Sam knew for a fact. If there was one thing that Sam knew, it was how to manipulate his brother into doing what he wanted.

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To be continued…

Author's Note: Yay. I'm nearly there. And to be honest, I'm proud of this chapter. (I nearly scrapped it, because honestly, I write a better Dean than Sam…but I figured it was worth a try.) To my utter astonishment, it turned out really, really good.

Okay, here's a hint of the next chapter: (Just to keep you salivating for more) Dean gets his massage, he's going to finally let Sam help him without being completely out of it (because let's face it, he was completely out of it for the bath—otherwise it'd never have happened.) and perhaps even a brotherly hug!