ULTIMATE DISCLAIMER: Every content, character, plot etc. that anyone is able to recognize as other's property is NOT mine. I have no intention to get into any trouble involving law and money.

Hey, guys!

Next one:

Prompt: "Can you write Sam sick with the worst cold he's ever had and mother hen!Dean hovering over him and making him stay in bed all day? I'm thinking I want it set in either season 2 or 11, I know that's a big time difference but those are my two favorite seasons! Lol. You can set it in another season if you think it would be a better fit somewhere else though :)." by Averystorm.

Set: Season 11, after episode 17 (Red Meat, maybe my favorite episode out of this season :D).

Warnings: Sick!Sam, Fevered!Sam, Mothering!Dean, Awesome!Dean, Suffering!Winchesters, pretty detailed descriptions of sickness (I don't think it's that bad, but just in case), emotional breakdowns (just one or two)... And, to be safe: OOC.

The temperature might be off, because in Hungary we use Celsius, but I still tried to Americanise it (thanks Wikipedia and other converters :)).

I am SO SORRY about being late. The water tap broke and then real life spat into the middle of it... I just really hope you'll still like it.

If someone asks for 'worst', apparently my mind - and probably Sadie - takes it very, VERY seriously... Whoops! ^-^

Well, on to this motherload of a story!


The War Of The Winchesters

Dean glanced up from the yellowed page in front of him, a bit annoyed and a lot worried as the third wet sniff echoed among the bookshelves. When his eyes landed on his target, the annoyance was obliterated by the sight greeting him, worsened by the dim light of the desk lamp next to him.

Sam was sitting on the other side of the table, leaning over his own book. He was hunched over, shoulders fallen, head drooped, only staying upright by the fist propping him up at his chin and the elbow resting on the tabletop. The young man looked pale and exhausted, his nostrils seemed flushed pink and his nose might've been slightly swollen. Hazel-green eyes looked dazed under half-closed lids, and they probably were staring at nothing in particular, their owner forgetting to follow the words laid out in front of him. Dean frowned as he took in his little brother - then sighed wearily.

Let the war of the Winchesters begin!


The first battle: Sam Winchester's stubborn ass.

"Sammy?" Dean tried, keeping his voice nonchalant.

"Hm?"

Now Dean's frown deepened. This time yesterday, his call had been answered with a quick, ready for business "What'd you find?" This world-weary, morose grunt was so telling that if Dean hadn't already known something was wrong, he would've realized it now.

"You okay?" he asked and that finally tore Sam's gaze away from the air above the book - because he sure as Hell wasn't reading still.

"'M fine" as if the nasally words weren't enough, Sam sniffed again, which, however, resulted in an eruption of a coughing fit. Dean grimaced at the amount of phlegm he heard in his brother's throat. He just shook his head, though, when Sam wiped at his nose with his shirt-sleeve and returned to staring at words again.

For a man throwing a temper tantrum every couple of days against being treated like a kid, Sam was sure acting like one right now. As Dean watched him in thought, trying to come up with anything to convince his brother to take care of himself - like an adult would - he caught the slow trickle of a shiny drop above Sam's mouth.

At least he found an excuse.

"Okay" Dean spoke then grabbed his brother's book and slammed it closed, pulling it away from him. Sam startled at the thud and jolted back, straightening up for the first time since they sat down.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam's indignant words were kinda ruined by the crack in his voice, indicating a drying throat and weakened vocal chords. Dean added that to the growing list of symptoms in his head.

"I'm not risking an important text in danger of being redecorated in green and yellow" Dean replied, putting the book to the side and away from Sam. When he returned his attention to the upcoming fight, he found himself in the center of a squinted glare. Sam must be getting a headache from the painful strain of his eyes.

"Dean, 'm fine" Sam tried to be angry, but Dean could only hear the hoarseness of his throat and the petulance of a five-year-old. Oh, and the stuffed nose.

"Yeah, sure" Dean shrugged dismissively, earning the pale version of the infamous Bitch Face. It might've been more effective if not for the pinched look and dazed eyes. "Why don't you lie down for a little while? I can handle this on my own until then."

"Dean, we need to find Amarra" as irritated as Sam could get by Dean's bossy nature, Dean can get twice as bad by Sam's patronizing tone. "And Cas before things get worse."

"They'll still be gone and ready to be found after you take a nap in your room."

"I don't need a nap, I'b fine."

Dean narrowed his eyes angrily as Sam's own body contradicted his words: the older Winchester could practically see the blockage gathering in Sam's nose and the kid's brow was wrinkled from the ache increasing behind it.

"Sammy" Dean began, keeping his tone soft, not wishing to anger his brother and his condition to take a nose-dive. "The world's not gonna explode, if one of us takes a break. You can go to your room, get into your soft, comfy bed and get some rest without feeling guilty. I'll stay here and continue searching and if I find something, I can come get you and you won't miss out on the action, okay?"

Sam stared at him in suspicion but Dean could see the longing in his gaze. The kid was tired and wanted nothing but sleep, except his guilt and sense of duty hadn't left him alone.

"Dean-"

"Just for an hour" Dean offered. If his assumptions were correct, an hour would be enough to make a dent in this battle. Sam remained stiff for another moment then slumped in reluctant defeat.

"Fine" as Sam pushed himself to his feet a little shakily, Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sam still had to act as if his big brother was a tyrant. "For one hour."

"Good" Dean nodded. "Now give me your phone."

Sam turned back to his brother confused. Dean was staring at him firmly, hand outstretched, ready to accept what he was requesting.

"What?"

"If you have your phone, you won't have a proper nap" Dean explained. Inside he felt annoyed again. Why does this need to be explained? "You'll worry over everything, you'll expect for shit to hit the fan by a phone call to you and instead of resting, with eyes closed and asleep, you'll stay up and twiddle with your phone, possibly even resuming research. So, give it to me!"

Sam stayed stiff as a statue, wide eyes staring in disbelief at the older man, but when Dean didn't budge, he huffed in irritation. Fishing his cell out of his pocket, he slammed it into Dean's palm and without another word or a look back, he stomped away. Dean shook his head again.

This was just a temporary retreat. The battle wasn't over yet.
***

Sam shifted under the blanket, reemerging to the land of the living. He struggled to open his eyes, itchy and heavy. He must have been sleeping pretty deeply. He didn't want to admit it, but he had been run down and exhausted for a couple of days now. But he was always so afraid to leave the troubles behind, just for a little while, because usually troubles exploded all over their faces before they could stop them.

Dismissing his depressing thoughts, he tried to take a breath, but something was blocking his airways, making him inhale forcefully. He swallowed against the fluid sliding down into his throat, most of it staying in there, urging him to cough. When he obeyed, he could feel it thrust out of his mouth and into his palm by the explosion of air, but plenty more stayed behind.

He couldn't let Dean find out about this.

Speaking of Dean, he should join him in research again. The older man shouldn't work alone all day. If Sam hadn't been so weak and useless, they might've gotten much closer to Amarra and they probably could've saved Cas from Lucifer by now. He glanced up, rubbing at his eyes sluggishly, ignoring the pull of fatigue on his mind and body.

He shot upright, when his eyes landed on his clock.

He'd been sleeping for five hours!

A surge of anger made him shove the blanket off of him. Why didn't Dean come and wake him after the hour was up? Because it was an hour they agreed on! The further four hours could've been spent more productively than just lazing around in bed, ignoring the problems outside the bunker! Sam shoved himself onto his feet.

And fell into his desk, tripped over by a sudden whirl of dizziness.

He just managed to catch himself on the desktop, and his body began shivering with effort to stay upright. Sam gasped for air, trying to calm down, but the inhales aggravated his throat and sent him into another coughing fit. He tried to take another deep breath through his nose, but one of his airways was clogged completely, while the other rattled noisily, forcing him to sniff hard, swallowing more fluid down.

He grimaced in disgust. Great, he managed to get himself sick. But it must be just a simple cold. He'll get some tea and a pile of Kleenex and he's good to go.

Straightening up from his desk a little more cautiously, he walked out of his room. He couldn't let Dean know about this. The older Winchester was disappointed enough in him as it is. He can't be shot down now, he needed to march on even if it kills him, because they had to solve this, they had to help Cas, they had to stop the end of the world, again-

"Sammy?"

Dean's voice behind him made Sam jump and spin around, but the sudden shift of direction left the room spinning. He felt his back hit the wall as he groaned instinctively, closing his eyes tightly against the dizziness.

He was screwed now.
***

Dean rushed forward as Sam stumbled into the wall, face draining of colour - even white. He grabbed Sam's arms, keeping him upright as he took in his brother's sorry state. He had purposely waited as long as he could to wake Sam, checking on him in every hour. He had heard the rattle of his breaths and the stuffed nose, and it had gotten worse and worse each time.

He had just come out of the nearest bathroom after the latest check-up, when he found his brother stumbling down the hallway. From the set of his gait, Dean knew Sam was determined, probably to show everyone he was fine and, even if anyone was deluded enough to think he was sick, Sam can tough it out.

What he also didn't expect was Sam almost fainting after he called out to him.

"Sammy? You okay?" Stupid question, but they had to start somewhere!

When Sam opened his eyes, Dean could still see some embers in the misty gaze, ready for another round. Dean knew he had a stronger arsenal, but Sam had the stronger Winchester survival instinct: even in certain defeat you fight to the end.

"'B fide" Sam mumbled out, shivering under Dean's hands as he tried pushing himself up and off the wall. Dean winced at the obvious sign of Sam being sick, which was followed by another one: the kid began coughing, his throat rattling with phlegm trying to break free.

"Sammy, you should get back to bed" Dean spoke, now full-on worried.

"I'b fide" Sam repeated angrily, glaring at his brother.

"You're sick-"

"'S jus' a cold-"

"Which can be treated by resting and sleep, so off to bed!"

"I'b fide!" Sam snapped back, his voice louder with anger.

"Jesus Christ, would you act like a FUCKIN' ADULT?!"

Dean's shout left a ringing reverb in the corridor and a wide-eyed Sam watching him in shock. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He always forgets how infuriating Sam can be sometimes.

"Sam" he spoke, his voice soft and persuasive. "The last hunt wore you out more than you think or want to think."

"It's-"

"I'm not talking about being shot" Dean could practically read the retort off of Sam's face. "That's in the job description and we dealt with it out there as well as possible. You even managed to kill three werewolves. You showed more endurance than any other hunter I know."

Sam flushed at the praise, and Dean could only hope something finally loosened up inside him.

"But" he frowned sternly at his stubborn little brother, as he prepared to bring the blow "you spent a whole night in a cold cabin, lying on a cold floor, losing blood and... practically dead..." Dean turned his head away, trying to regain control over his emotions. He had almost died himself when he had to leave his brother's body behind, and he had been breaking bit by bit with every passing minute he couldn't get back to him - until Sam had called him in the morning, alive and breathing. Dean took a deep breath and returned his attention to his little brother. He thought he caught a suspicious glimmer in Sam's eyes before the kid blinked.

"It's obvious that didn't left you unscathed" he continued. "Yes, you have a cold, but that doesn't mean you should ignore it or not treat it properly. So, please" Dean emphasized the word 'please', trying to break down Sam's resistance. "Go to bed and let me help you."

"You're no better than be" Sam still fought back, glaring at Dean for preaching to him about something he himself refused to do.

"You're right" Dean's reply earned another wide-eyed look. "I do act like nothing's wrong when there's obviously something wrong. I'm a childish asshole, as a lot of people proved it to me countless times - including you." Sam flinched but still stared at him in shock. "But do you know what I did when we got back home after the hunt?"

Dean waited for any response and got a reluctant shake of the head.

"Of course not" he resumed. "Because you immediately buried yourself in books, forcing yourself to work - which you've been trying to stop me from doing all the time - and completely missed everything that happened the next couple of days, which is when I finally joined you in research."

Sam flushed even deeper, but Dean was partially glad some colour was returning to his skin.

"But before that" Dean explained further "I spent twelve hours sleeping off the drugs in my system" he tried to ignore the flinch of hurt rushing through Sam as he was reminded of Dean's actions. The older Winchester knew the doctor had informed Sam about the pills... "Then I did nothing but watch TV and rest, while drinking plenty of fluids and only getting up to go to the bathroom. Like you would've forced me in any other situation whether I'd like it or not. Because guess what! I'm adult enough to realize when it's time to be a childish asshole and this time it wasn't."

"You, however" Dean's voice began trembling in anger, "instead of doing what you always throw a temper tantrum for, are acting like an immature idiot, risking your health to take a nose-dive when you're needed the most." Sam flinched again, but this time also turned his head away in guilt. "And, you know, contrary to your popular belief, I want you fighting by my side strong and healthy, not trailing behind me, weak and shooting yourself in the foot when aiming forward."

Sam stayed silent after Dean finished his monologue. Dean himself was a little surprised at how much he spoke. He didn't plan out what he would say to set Sam back into reality, so this improvisation was out of the blue, even for him. Although, judging by the slump of Sam's shoulders, it was effective.

"They suffered so buch already" Sam whispered and Dean couldn't decide if it was meant to be heard. "I can't let theb..."

Unable to hold back anymore, Dean reached out and cupped Sam's cheek, getting the younger man's attention.

"Everyone's allowed to take a break sometimes" he said earnestly then frowned in suspicion. "And you can't argue with me this time, because, like I said, I took one. Now it's your turn."

Sam's eyes were definitely shining with tears now and Dean just waited, trying to be patient...

Finally, the resistance collapsed.

And so did Sam.

"Whoa!" Dean quickly grabbed his suddenly deadweight brother, wrapping a limp arm around his shoulders. "Okay, off to bed, kiddo."

Sam's only reply was a moan, but at least he tried to put one foot in front of the other.

Win: for Dean Winchester.


The next battle: snot and phlegm.

Hard soles thudding on iron steps filled the map room of the bunker. Dean hurried down the staircase, a plastic bag hanging from his grip. He had gone out to get some supplies, medicine and other means of treatment. He was hoping that his little brother didn't have a sudden surge of pride and ignored his instructions while he was gone. The kid was superb in finding a reason to ignore his own health and defying Dean's orders.

However, when he reached Sam's bedroom, he slumped with a relieved smile. Sam was still reclining in bed, dressed in a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and a robe, covered with a thick blanket and a thinner cover, because the kid was having trouble staying warm right now, the white mug of tea in his lap, warming his white, cold fingers. Dean saw his brother's cheeks reddening and he had a suspicion things won't be this peaceful for long. At least, Sam was asleep...

Or not, because as soon as Dean stepped into his room, tired hazel-green eyes opened and pinned onto him.

"Hey" Dean greeted him, sitting onto the edge of his bed. "Did I wake you?"

Sam shook his head lethargically, smiling ruefully.

"Was waitin' f'you..."

"Well" Dean put the bag into his lap and began piling his purchases onto Sam's nightstand. "I got you some cold medicine, cough syrup, some more tea, Kleenex" he put the box down onto the mattress and saw Sam lifting his mug up to his mouth. The tea Dean had made for him was disturbed by the shakes of his brother's hands. The thought of not interrupting Sam's guilt-trip soon enough flashed through his mind. "And just in case" he continued, holding a bigger box "a new thermometer."

Sam nodded, visibly exhausted now that he let go of his own macho-routine.

"So" Dean crumpled the bag and shoved it into his jacket pocket, "you up for something to eat before the medicine? I can make some nice, warm soup."

"Sounds g-great..." Sam choked on his words and began coughing. Dean hated listening to the rattling emitting from his brother, but they were at least on the way to treat it. Sam grasped for the box of Kleenex and ripped one out. While Sam blew his nose out, Dean shed his jacket, throwing it onto the nearby chair. By the time he turned back, the younger man was wiping away the residue with a disgusted grimace.

"What?"

"Dot good edough..." Sam grumbled, holding the used tissue with two fingers. Dean could see it was soaked already and couldn't hide his own distaste at the sight.

"Thought it might not be..." he muttered and reached for his jacket and pulled out a folded cloth handkerchief. "Here, try this."

Sam accepted the handkerchief and shook it open. Dean grabbed the soaked tissue and chucked it into the nearby trash can. In a second Sam began the long, arduous task of blowing his nose properly.

"At least this is more sanitary" Dean noted when his brother finished, only wiping at his nostrils.

"Yeah..." Just as Sam folded the handkerchief up again, another set of coughs erupted out of him, muffled by the textile.

"Alright" Dean patted Sam's arm gently before standing up. "I'll get you some soup." When he turned back in the doorway momentarily, he saw Sam sipping at his tea again. He was sure he heard the kid's teeth chattering. Things might be farther along than he calculated - and hoped.
***

The soup was done faster than Dean thought. It was a strange feeling to fall back on his old ways and old duties. Sam had been an independent adult for so long now, it was nostalgic to go back to their roots, just taking care of each other - well, Dean taking care of Sam. It was never a burden, but a job he had willingly taken, and had done pretty well in, if he had to say so himself. It filled him with a sense of familiarity and security. He always felt most useful for his family when they had to be cared for. Now that he had the chance, he'll do a damn good job of it.

Following old instincts, he finished the tomato rice soup and ladled some into a bowl. He stuck a spare spoon into his pocket and on his way to Sam's room he grabbed the thermometer. He winced at the set of coughs greeting his entrance into the corridor, but thankfully, other than the redder cheeks, Sam looked the same as he left him.

He sat onto the edge of the bed again and lifted the empty mug from Sam's lap, handing the bowl of soup over. Sam's shaking hands ratcheted his worry up even more, but he kept an eye on the bowl. He didn't want his little brother to scald himself.

"Thaggz..." Sam's voice was growing hoarser. His throat must be acting up again with all this coughing.

"Want some more tea?" Dean asked, picking up the mug and tilting it inquiringly. Sam, mouth full of soup, just nodded. As the younger man swallowed the gulp down, his features eased up. Dean left again to make some tea and when he returned Sam had some more life in him as he drank the last gulps out of the bowl. Dean put the mug onto the nightstand then turned the digital thermometer on.

"Mouth or armpit?"

Sam pulled a face and began unbuttoning his shirt as an answer. Dean handed him the thermometer and watched as his brother slid it under his arm. As soon as Sam settled back, Dean gave him the mug of tea with a pill. Sam popped it into his mouth and took a gulp of tea with it, while Dean opened the bottle of cough syrup and pulled the spare spoon out of his pocket.

"Here" he gave the cough syrup and the spoon to Sam. The end of the spoon was jumping up and down slightly in Sam's shaky grip. Dean felt his insides tighten, knowing his brother will spill the whole thing onto himself if he didn't intervene. But should he? What if Sam gets angry again? They were doing so well so far-

"You want me to...?" the words tumbled out of his mouth without his permission. Sam squinted up at him confused then glanced at the spoon in his hand. With a sigh, he nodded and held out the objects. Dean, reeling a little from the surprising compliance, took them back and poured a dose of cough syrup out. Sam pulled another face as he took the medicine, although it wasn't as clear a disgust as with the tissue. It might've been just annoyance, really.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I'b useless... agaid..." Sam mumbled in irritation. Dean let out his own frustrated sigh.

"Yes, you are" he snapped out, putting the bottle and spoon onto the nightstand. He practically melted under Sam's glare, but he just had enough. "People are usually useless when they get vertigo lying down."

"'B dot that bad.." Sam pouted, rubbing the lip of his mug with his thumb self-consciously.

"If we don't get this over with, you'll be even worse" Dean replied, staring at his petulant little brother firmly. He didn't miss pouty little monster Sammy, that's for sure, no matter how adorable he is at any age. "So stop whining about it! Whine about how the cough syrup tastes like ass, how coughing your lungs up sucks and how much of a bossy jackass your big brother is, who won't leave you alone for one minute. But if I hear you whining about being useless on the job again, I will smack you into next month, got it?"

Sam stayed silent for a minute then:

"'Kay..."

"Now, drink your tea and go to sleep" Dean finished just as the thermometer began beeping under Sam's shirt. Sam pulled it out and gave it to him without looking at it. Dean wanted to think that the kid trusted him now to take care of him.

100.7

Dean sometimes hated being right: Sam will have a fever.

Good thing he prepared for that occasion.

Sam put the mug onto the nightstand, still half-full, then shifted around, sliding down fully onto the mattress and turning onto his side, facing Dean. The older Winchester watched as his eyes closed and as Sam's body began unwinding, he carded his fingers through the long, brown locks lovingly. Sam sighed at his touch, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly upwards.

"Sweet dreams, baby bro" Dean whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss onto Sam's temple. He carefully stood up, shut the lamp off and snuck out of the room. He could hear Sam's nose whistling and rattling as he tried to breath, indicating the long way to go to reach the turning point.

For the next few hours and into the night, he could hear Sam being woken up by rattling coughs, followed by loud blows into a handkerchief. He had just as much sleep as his little brother that night.

Win: for snot and phlegm - for now.


The next battle: sinuses.

Dean smothered a yawn as he made his by now instinctive trek to Sam's room. He took a big gulp of coffee he had just brewed, reveling in the bitter taste of pure caffeine hitting his system. After the rough night this was ambrosia from Heaven for him. Sam had been woken up more times than he could count by coughing, but he held himself back and only checked on the kid once, after 2 A.M. Sam had been asleep then, thankfully, but his throat had sounded sore as Hell as he had breathed through it.

The same sight greeted him right now: Sam half on his side, head slightly tilted back on his pillow, mouth open to a slit to breathe through it, but now his face was glistening with sweat. Dean carefully sat next to his brother and saw that the mug was empty. Sam must have woken up thirsty, which wasn't a big surprise.

Dean's eyes roamed over the sleeping young man, hoping he won't disturb the actual rest he's managing to get. He reached out and brushed some of the damp tresses out of Sam's forehead before resting the back of his hand against it. He frowned, knowing from experience that Sam's temperature had gone up. But just in case, he put his coffee down and picked up the thermometer. He lifted Sam's arm, mindful not to disturb his sleep and placed the thermometer under it. Sam whimpered softly as the cold plastic clashed with his heated skin.

"Ssh" Dean shushed him, fingers brushing through the damp locks tenderly. As he waited for the result, he kept one hand on Sam's upper arm and stroked at Sam's hair soothingly with the other. His gaze once again roamed over his brother's features but this time he leaned in closer, his suspicion rising. Sam's cheeks looked a little swollen and when he touched them with a fingertip, he felt the heat emanating from it. He sighed as he took a mental stock of the herbs in the kitchen cabinets. He decided to prepare for an option right now instead of facing a fact later without any means of immediate solution. His hand returned to stroking Sam's hair and when the thermometer's beeps yanked some more whimpers out of Sam, he made quick work to shush him back to sleep.

101.2

Yep, he was right, again. It was bittersweet to face the proof of how well he knows his brother and the signs of his body, probably better than his own.

Standing up, he tucked Sam in, picked up both mugs from the nightstand and quietly hurried out of the room, making his way to the kitchen. He had some more brewing to do.
***

A set of rattling coughs jerked Sam's body awake once more. He fumbled clumsily for the handkerchief in the pocket of his robe to cover his mouth with. He winced as his throat began stinging from the rush of air. It felt like something full of needles scraped all over its sensitive surface. As he slowly settled down, a shiver rushed through him making his teeth chatter. He glanced up and saw steam rising from his mug. He couldn't help the smile flitting across his face: Dean had been here. He pushed himself up against the pillows and reached for the warm tea, taking a slow, moderate sip of it to sooth his dry throat.

It was actually nice, just sitting back, surrounded by the warmth of the blanket and the enjoyably hot porcelain keeping the cold out of his fingers. He didn't want to admit this out loud, but whenever Dean was taking care of him like this, it made him feel loved, which, in turn, when he got better, returned him into his fighting stamina faster. One of the best feelings in the world is when you know someone's by your side, pushing you onwards and backing you wholeheartedly. After so much friction between them, Sam welcomed this feeling with open arms, and, maybe, he was glad for getting sick, just to see his big brother thriving in a role he loved.

Sam blinked, reemerging to reality, and took another sip of the tea. He frowned as he swallowed, feeling something strange in his nose. Closing his mouth, he inhaled.

And gasped out loud in fear.

He couldn't breathe!

He startled into motion, scrambling to the edge of his bed.

"Dead..." he called out, his voice hoarse and panicked. His brother couldn't hear him and he was gonna suffocate-

His sudden collision with the dresser snapped him out of his dazed terror and he began stumbling to his door.

"Dead" he tried shouting but his voice was too weak and when he tried breathing in, no air was passing through his nose and he's gonna die-

"Sammy!"

A pair of hands grasped his shoulders and shook him gently. Sam tried to focus his eyes onto the source of the voice and found Dean in front of him, watching him with concern.

"Come on" the older man said softly and Sam felt himself being pushed backwards. When his legs hit the edge of his bed, he was slowly lowered onto it, Dean kneeling down in front of him. "It's okay, I'm here. But what are you doing out of bed?"

"Ca't..." Sam cupped his palm quickly over his mouth as his throat protested speech. Dean waited patiently, as always, for Sam to get himself back together. When Sam finished, he tried to breathe again but it was useless and the pressure in his face was terrifying. He began gasping again in fear. "Ca't breathe..."

Instead of the fear Sam was expecting, Dean looked merely confused.

"Sammy" he spoke uncertainly, "you're breathing already."

"Do..." Sam shook his head firmly, but his body swayed as the room began to spin. "Do... Ca't..." he tried again but the pressure never let up.

"Hey, hey!" Dean grabbed Sam's jaw, forcing the young man to look at him "Calm down, Sammy, it's okay." Then Dean began smiling indulgently. "You're breathing through your mouth, you idiot."

Sam froze at the gentle tone, his brain clicking along a little sluggishly. He frowned as he turned his attention back to his lungs. Dean was right: they were still working.

"I... ab...?"

Instead of laughing, once more like Sam expected, Dean's frown appeared then his warm palm rested against Sam's forehead before sliding down onto his cheek.

"But... but..." he tried again to breathe in and the pressure sent a throb of pain up into his head. He reflexively lifted a hand to rub at his temple.

A snap of fingers right in front of his nose made him jump.

"Focus, Sammy" Dean spoke a little louder. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"By..." Everything felt a little stuffy now and Sam could barely keep his eyes open. And now he had a headache, as well... "By dose... Hurts..."

"What hurts, Sammy?"

"By face... Head..."

Dean nodded but didn't look surprised. Does he know already what's going on?

"Alright" Sam let the certainty in his brother's voice wash over him and calm him down. "Stay here and I'll be right back. We'll take care of your nose then."

Sam nodded tiredly and watched as his brother jumped up and hurried out of the room. A wild shiver instantly assaulted his body, chattering his teeth with its cold grip, so he wrapped his arms around his torso and huddled over, trying to get some warmth.

Dean will help him.

Dean will take care of him.

Dean can solve any problem.

And Sam trusted him more than anyone.

...

It was nice...
***

Dean grabbed the oven mitts and shut off the heat under the pot. The soft rumble of boiling water ebbed away and he grasped the hot handles with the mitts. It was a good thing he had listened to the warning bells in his head, because finding Sam in such a frenzy could've been more disastrous if left unattended for too long. It's already worrying that his brother thought he was gonna suffocate by a stuffed nose, when there was a perfectly convenient alternate route for air to get to his lungs. Dean was sure the fever began its rampage then, fogging up Sam's brilliant mind with its heat. Thankfully, Dean had dealt with feverish, hallucinating Sam before, although that only occurred once during their childhood. That time, the kid had been mostly floating on clouds with the Thundercats by his side and only had one nightmare about Pennywise, after which Dean was able to sooth him relatively fast.

However, what was his biggest worry with another episode like that nowadays was what Sam would hallucinate after all the crap they had gone through.

As he approached Sam's room once again, he took a deep breath, mentally preparing to deal with any outcome as calmly as possible.

When he stepped into Sam's room, the kid was gazing at nothing, his cheeks flushed once more, the rest of his face white, a couple tresses sticking to his damp skin. His large, Sasquatch body was huddled, making Sam look much smaller than ever possible. Dean could see his hands grasping at his sides, shaking and white, as if the kid was freezing to death. Dean could practically see his joints rattling in their sockets, which in turn hammered in the fact that his brother was still so skinny after the ordeal of the Trials.

Dismissing his quickly rising dark thoughts, Dean put the pot onto the desk and pulled out the chair for Sam to sit in. He stepped to his brother's side, who didn't seem to notice anything going on around him, and wrapped an arm around the shaking shoulders.

"Come on, Sammy" he spoke softly. Sam jumped at his touch but relaxed when he realized who was with him. Dean grasped Sam's upper arms firmly and pulled the kid to his feet. Sam was almost convulsing as he struggled to remain upright, so Dean waited a couple seconds, hoping some strength will return to his ailing little brother. He closed his eyes momentarily, keeping himself calm. He hated to see Sam so weak, the memory of his shaking body leaning into him for support still too vivid in his mind for his liking...

No wonder he got so sick: his immune system was wrecked ever since.

"Ready?" he asked, rubbing Sam's arm, hoping to entice some warmth into it to ease the kid's discomfort. Sam leaned into him, letting his head drop into the crook of Dean's neck with a groan. Dean squeezed him in a sort of hug before he pulled him forward, prodding him into walking. They shuffled to the desk at a snail's pace, Sam finally surfacing from Dean's neck, and the older brother wrestled his sibling gently into the chair.

"How you holdin' up, kiddo?" Dean asked as he walked to Sam's wardrobe to get a towel.

"Sleepy..."

Dean snorted softly as he closed the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. It was such a Sammy-response that he barely managed to keep his laughter under control.

"Let's unclog your nose and you can sleep again, okay?"

He draped the towel over Sam's head then grabbed the lid on the pot.

"Lean over it" he gave a small nudge to Sam's shoulder and the younger man seemed to startle back to responsiveness. Shaky arms slid onto the desktop, framing the pot and holding an unsteady Sam upright. Dean let the towel fall onto his arm, the soft textile covering Sam's head and creating a cocoon as soon as Dean will withdraw. "Ready?" he asked, not wanting to startle his brother. He received a grunt in response, so he lifted the lid off, tucking the towel around the pot. A muffled hiss indicated Sam's first meeting with the herbal steam.

"Hot..."

Dean grinned at the whine in Sam's tone.

"That's the point" he answered, not even trying to hide his amusement. "Try breathing through your nose as much as possible." He turned to Sam's bed and saw the handkerchief on the mattress, right next to a dark spot on the cover, which originated from the mug resting on its side. Dean grabbed the handkerchief and pressed it into Sam's hand, whose fingers loosely wrapped around the cloth. "For once it gets moving" he added with a pat to Sam's back before he began putting Sam's bed in order.

At first, his background noise was a gasp every now and then, as Sam tried to follow Dean's orders. During that, Dean stripped the bed, putting the empty mug onto the nightstand. He got a fresh set of bedlinen, crisp and cool, which will be soothing for Sam's fever-heated skin. He gathered the used sheets in a pile at the door.

"I'll be right back, okay, Sammy?" he called out as he picked up the mug. "I'll just take the sheets out to wash."

"'Kay..." Sam grunted out from under the towel.

"Don't move till I come back."

"M-hm..."

Dean rolled his eyes, but he knew the sickness was making Sam tired, so he left the uncaring tone alone. He made another mug of tea for Sam after he put the sheets into the front loader. He was glad Sam had insisted for them to get a new one, since there hadn't been any actual working washing machines in the bunker, and doing the laundry in town was too bothersome when they had enough space for it in here.

By the time he got back, Sam was blowing his nose hard enough to probably get a nosebleed. Dean tidied up the bedroom and folded back the blanket for Sam. The younger man just finished up when Dean stepped to his side.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thagks" Sam replied, his hand reappearing on the table. Dean checked the handkerchief and could see that the blockage had been dealt with - and that he was right about the nosebleed. It wasn't bad, just a small amount of blood, but that's normal when you blow your nose too hard, so he didn't bother worrying about it.

"Wanna stay a bit more?"

"Cad I?"

"Sure. And what about a shower after this?"

"Oh, yeah... Defiditely."

Dean rubbed at Sam's back reassuringly then got some fresh clothes out for his brother: a pair of warmer sweatpants, a shirt and a thicker bathrobe, all of them freshly washed. They were lucky Dean had done some laundry a couple days ago.

With nothing else to do, he sat down a little, watching his brother's hunched back. Was he imagining it or was Sam's spine sticking out? Could it be that Sam was this thin?

"Want some breakfast?" Dean asked, preventing the tightening of his gut. He glanced at his watch and frowned. "Well, lunch is more appropriate."

"Yeah" as if to confirm Sam's answer, a rumble erupted inside the kid's body.

"Soup?"

"What kind?"

Dean hummed in contemplation, listing the available types in the kitchen in his head.

"We have chicken broth, I can cook some more tomato rice soup, or if you're risky enough, I can put together some spicier stuff."

"Broth's fine..."

Dean was glad to hear some of the stuffiness disappearing from Sam's words. At least, that eased the kid's suffering.

"Broth it is, then" he nodded and as he stood up, he patted Sam's back gently in parting. The time it will take for him to make the soup will be plenty enough for Sam to finish with the herbal steam.
***

Half an hour later, Dean returned with a bowl which he placed on the nightstand. He stepped next to his brother and rubbed at his shoulders. The handkerchief disappeared under the towel and soon loud, honking blows erupted out of Sam, hard enough to rattle his back under Dean's touch. As the younger man straightened up, Dean kept the towel over Sam's face.

"Hold onto this. We don't want you to get worse."

Sam, still shaking, grabbed the towel and pressed it into his face, mopping up the moisture gathered on his skin. Dean put the lid back onto the pot, keeping the chamomile brew inside, in case they needed it again.

"I started the shower for you, so it should be nice and steamy by now" he spoke, wrapping his arm back around Sam and helping him to his feet. Sam leaned into him, one arm sliding around Dean's waist, trusting as always in times of need.

The two made their careful way to the nearest bathroom, the rush of water leading them to it. Dean let his brother inside and closed the door behind them, keeping the warmth contained.

"Alright, you can take this off" he said, grabbing the towel. Sam let go of it and Dean rubbed at Sam's hair, feeling the water soaking the cloth under his fingers. Slowly he pulled the towel off, revealing Sam's flushed features. His cheeks were red from the slow, inevitable rise of his temperature, but he wasn't as pale now. His nostrils were rubbed raw from all the wiping and blowing. "As soon as you're safe in the shower, I'll leave you alone, okay?"

Sam looked at him uncertainly then bit his lower lip, even as he shed his robe.

"Can you... stay?"

Dean stared at his little brother surprised. If Sam asked him that... maybe he should stay.

"Sure."

Dean gulped as his heart broke: Sam was wincing as his clothes rubbed at his sensitive skin. His movements were interrupted by various shivers assaulting his weak body, hard enough to make him pause. However, he seemed to be alert enough to stay upright and clean himself for now.

"I'll just get your stuff, okay?" Dean said, gathering the dirty clothes from the floor as Sam stepped into the shower.

"'Kay..."
***

The shower had been uneventful and Dean helped his brother dress into the fresher clothes. The steam had already settled, especially since Sam had turned the water to lukewarm by the end. That was another sign of a fever preparing for battle. Dean just wanted it to start, the threat looming over them fraying his own nerves.

Sam sighed when the warm, thick bathrobe engulfed his shivering body, the sleeves actually long enough the slide over the back of his hands. Dean had also gotten him some warm slippers, preventing him to catch a cold from the tiles. The brothers walked back to Sam's room together and Sam sat onto the edge of his bed where the blanket was folded back.

"How's your nose?" Dean asked as he pulled the chair around.

"Better" Sam sniffed slightly. Although it still rattled with blockage, he was able to breathe through it now.

"Let's help it along, shall we?" Dean smirked as he held up a tube of menthol rub. Sam nodded and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt while Dean squirted some of the substance onto his fingers. The younger man closed his eyes as his brother massaged at his chest and neck, working the cream into his skin. "Smell that?" Dean asked. Sam took a breath.

"Yeah, a bit."

"Good." With that, Dean withdrew his hand and buttoned the shirt back up. Wiping his fingers down with a tissue from the box left on the nightstand, he stood up. "Off to bed then."

Sam slid his feet out of the slippers and scooted back against the headboard, sighing as he settled against the pillows piled up behind him. He let Dean tuck him in with the blanket, trapping some warmth under it. Dean handed him the thermometer and he obediently put it under his arm, then wordlessly accepted the bowl of broth. His stomach rumbled satisfied as he slowly ate the soup, relishing every sip of it. It also provided with extra heat and his shakes settled down into tremors.

The thermometer beeped, again just as he finished his meal, and he gave it to his brother.

Who frowned after reading it.

"What?" Sam felt some worry enter his mind. This can't be good.

Dean sighed grimly.

No, it's even worse.

"It's gonna be fine, Sammy" Dean said. Which meant right now, nothing was fine. Sam let out his own gloomy sigh.

"This is why I hate beigg sick" he mumbled, feeling his nose clogging up already.

"Who loves it, anyway?" Dean shrugged as he reached for the cold medicine. Sam popped the pill into his mouth and took a sip of tea his brother handed him. Then came the cough syrup, which he also washed down with the warm liquid.

"It's dot as bad as everyone thigks" he remarked, nodding at the bottle.

"Well, you always had a weird taste" Dean's smirk at least seemed genuine enough. Sam shimmied down the bed until he was horizontal and Dean arranged his pillows until his upper body was slightly elevated. Sam hid his arms under the blanket, which was then pulled a little higher, only leaving the top of his chest in the open so the menthol can reach his lungs and clear his airways. He felt himself being pulled down as the warmth under the blanket wrapped him in its soothing embrace. His head tilted to the side slightly, towards Dean, and just as he let himself sink under the surface of sleep, a hand stroked his head tenderly.

"Sweet dreams, baby bro..."

And Sam was swept away, the waves rocking him into peace...
***

Dean glanced at the thermometer as his fingers carded through Sam's hair again, but the screen had already emptied out. The numbers, however, were seared into his brain:

103.7

He put the plastic object onto the nightstand and took a deep, shaky breath, allowing himself a moment of weakness. As he glanced at Sam's peaceful features, with no indication of the heat raging inside the weakened body, his fingers slipped onto Sam's cheeks, caressing the flushed skin gently. He was scared to death to face the depths of Sam's fevered mind, because he knew his own plenty enough - and his brother had it much, much worse.

The war has just begun, both parties gathering plenty of supplies and men for it.

But for now...

Win: for Dean Winchester.


The next battle: fever.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he sniffed softly. He concentrated on the cold slowly creeping up from the tiles and the wall behind him and into his body. He had his forehead resting on his clasped hands and he ignored the small tickling traveling down his cheeks. He felt his own body shiver as things caught up to him.

One of the worst nights of his life.

Right up there with Sam... gone...

Never again... He won't let things get so out of hand again. He didn't care if Sam will be pissed. Never! Again!
***

He woke up at 11 in the night and tensed up immediately. His stomach was tied into knots, and alarms were once again going off in his head. He threw his blanket off and jumped out of bed, rushing down the hallway towards Sam's room. Something was wrong, he knew it.

He could feel it.

The sight greeting him almost shattered him.

Sam was shaking in his bed, blanket slid off of his torso, hands lying limp, one on his stomach, the other on the mattress. His skin was white all over, except for the flush on his cheeks.

He was gagging into his pillow, which was soaked - and yellow.

Dean rushed in and ripped the drying towel from the back of the chair. He settled next to his brother and tried to save what he could, wiping at the kid's stained cheek and at the same time mopping up the vomit under him.

Just as he lifted Sam's head slightly to get to the hidden spots, Sam let out a heartbreaking whine and liquid erupted from his mouth. The force of his gags made the poor kid convulse and this time it wasn't just the pillow getting it, but the towel under his mouth and Dean's T-shirt.

"Crap" Dean breathed out, trying to catch most of the mess with the towel as his own body began trembling with worry. He wrapped his arm around Sam's convulsing shoulders and pulled him onto his side, closer to the edge of the bed. He knew he made a good choice: Sam gagged once more from the shifting around and a large amount of his stomach's content reappeared, most of it overflowing the towel and splattering onto the floor. Dean slid his hand up to Sam's forehead, keeping his hair out of harm's way. He dismissed for now the fact that the heat rolling off of Sam could burn his own skin off.

"Okay" he whispered, leaning down to Sam's ear, hoping he could give his brother some comfort. "It's okay... Just let it all out..."

Right on cue, Sam erupted again, grunting and whimpering with effort. Dean glanced at the trashcan close by mournfully, but he didn't dare to let go of Sam yet. He felt the pull on his T-shirt and knew his brother had sought out the closest banister he could grasp. The kid's hand was shaking so hard, Dean felt his knuckles knock against his stomach rapidly.

He sat there in silence, just waiting and holding his brother together, only mumbling a soft "It's okay" or "I'm here" here and there. Sam's body was slowly easing up, leaving longer pauses between convulsions, but the pained, panicked whines never let up. Dean knew that until Sam silenced completely, there was a risk of another surge in the near future.

So, even though the latest pause lasted for ten minutes, it didn't come as a surprise to him, when Sam gagged into the towel once more, because the whines never stopped.

For over half an hour, he had sat vigil over his brother, comforting him and keeping him from falling apart. Sam's last gag brought up air and a fat drop of saliva, but then, to Dean's relief, the kid relaxed. After the constant whimpering, the silence was eardrum-shattering. Dean still waited, wanting to make sure the fit had passed. The knuckles against his stomach stopped their rapping, although Sam's hand was still shaking on his thigh and the fingers never let up their tight grip.

"There we go" Dean whispered, pressing a kiss onto his brother's damp tresses. He leaned down, laying Sam's head onto a clean pillow, careful not to stain it with the yellow drops on Sam's chin. He yanked the trashcan closer and emptied the towel as much as he could into it. He threw the soiled cloth onto the puddle on the floor then grabbed the stained pillow. Using a corner of it, he wiped Sam's mouth clean. He grabbed the thermometer and placed it under Sam's arm. The kid most likely will stay still, exhausted and dazed after throwing up so much. While he waited for the results, he cleaned up the floor - he had to pry Sam's hand off of his T-shirt - and carried the soiled garments out into the bathroom to soak them in the tub.

How the sheets survived this ordeal was the greatest mystery he had ever encountered.

He settled back onto the bed, stroking Sam's hair soothingly as he waited. The kid's eyes were glazed over, glittering with fever above angry-red cheeks. Dean could see his brother's lips drying as Sam panted for air. He had to get the kid to drink something.

He almost broke down in sobs when he realized that.

The beep of the thermometer provided a quick distraction, but the numbers almost obliterated him:

104.9

Dean buried his face into his free hand momentarily before taking a deep breath and facing the enemy head on.

First, he had to solve how to keep the room and the bed clean. He jumped up and returned to the bathroom. He yanked open the cupboard and grabbed the small, plastic washbasin, pouring some water into it so it'll be easier to clean. He placed the basin next to Sam's bed on the floor. It will be faster if he pulled Sam to the side of the bed than trying to keep it steady in his lap at all times.

Next, he had to get Sam hydrated again. He ran out of the room and into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. He purposely left it out of the fridge so if Sam got sick of the tea, he could have something lukewarm and not freezing.

Speaking of fridge, after a moment of consideration, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade, as well.

Last but not least, he had to keep Sam's fever under control. Grabbing another basin, he filled it with lukewarm water and threw a cloth into it. He carried it back to Sam's room and put it onto the nightstand.

Feeling like he was missing something, he sat down once more and shifted Sam onto his back, making him recline against the pillows. Hazel-green eyes staring blindly forward sent a bolt of pain through his heart, but he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

He opened the bottle of water and pressed the lip to Sam's mouth. Sam whimpered but reflexively sipped when the water touched his lips. Dean pulled it back after a moment and soaked the cloth in the basin as he waited for the water to settle in Sam's stomach. He wiped at the kid's feverish skin, but Sam moaned in pain and yanked his head away from the cold.

"Ssh, kiddo" he shushed softly, stroking Sam's head with his free hand, at the same time keeping it in place until he wiped him down with the cold water. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and his hands fisted the blanket, shaking forcefully. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he kept whimpering, trying to jerk his head out of Dean's hands.

After Dean dropped the cloth back into the basin to soak, he grabbed the bottle again. Sam had become a little agitated, his eyes roaming unseeingly around the room. Dean cupped his cheek to direct his attention back to him and pressed the bottle to his mouth. Sam instinctively sipped at the water again so Dean dared to give him a bit more.

A mistake.

He just put the bottle down and turned back to his brother, when Sam's back arched and a trickle shot out of his mouth. He quickly pulled his brother over the edge of the bed and Sam managed to vomit everything back up into the basin on the floor. Even though he had barely anything inside him, the nausea kept him trapped longer, putting him through painful dry-heaves. Dean closed his eyes for a second, trying to summon strength to watch his brother's suffering. The sense of helplessness - and even uselessness - washed over him. He was trying so hard to help his brother, but there was only so many things he could do... He hated it when Sam was hurting...

Once he managed to settle Sam back onto the pillows, he picked up the bottle of water and began the whole process again: a sip of water, a thorough cooling by the wet cloth, another sip of water, another round of cooling... Long and monotonous... His ears were filled with constant whimpers and gasps as Sam reacted to the painful clash of temperatures. Dean tried to ignore the sudden tears rolling down the pale cheeks, but his vision kept blurring up with every heart-wrenching sound emanating from Sam's lungs.

Every couple of rounds Sam's stomach would protest harshly against the water, and Dean would yank his weak brother over the side of the bed and above the basin. Then the whole process restarted, creating a vicious circle of agony for both of them.

It went on for the whole night...
***

"Come on, Sammy" Dean whispered desperately, placing the mouth of the bottle against Sam's trembling lips. Sam jerked his head back with a pained whine, fighting Dean's grip on his chin. "Please, kiddo..."

It was 7 in the morning and neither of them had any sleep. Dean felt his soul throb in agony as he tried to get his brother's fever down for hours now. Sam had been able to do nothing but shiver, moan, cry and fight in fear and pain. It was horrible to live through and witness and Dean could feel the toll it took on both of them. His throat had been tight for the last couple hours now, still fighting against the sobs trying to escape and his stomach was tied into multiple knots, waiting for the next bout of vomiting that will shred his little brother's insides and throat.

He had already switched the water to Gatorade, hoping to quell the nausea long enough for the medicine to dissolve in his brother's stomach and enter his system, but so far his attempts were unsuccessful - and even worse: whenever Sam regurgitated the ginger ale, it turned frothy, spraying all over them, making a bigger mess than the water had. And coupling that with the wild shivering, Sam looked like he had rabies.

"No..." Sam whimpered suddenly, the first word leaving his mouth since this ordeal began. Dean followed the jerk of Sam's head with the bottle and finally managed to get a sip into him. However, Sam practically convulsed and this time spat it out on purpose. His arms flailed around, trying to push an assailant away - not realizing it was his own brother. "No, please..."

Dean quickly put the bottle onto the nightstand and grabbed Sam's head firmly, trying to get his attention.

"Sammy?" he tried to catch his brother's roaming eyes, to no avail. "Sam, look at me! It's me, Dean, your annoying as hell big brother. Can you hear me?"

"No!" Sam cried out, kicking under the blanket and shoving himself weakly towards the headboard. "Nonono, no, let me go... Please... No!"

Dean gulped at the plea in his brother's voice and he instinctively lifted a hand and caressed the damp, dark locks.

"Ssh, Sammy, it's me" he muttered soothingly. "You're here with me, you're home, safe and sound. No one will hurt you while you're here - and while I'm here. It's okay, ssh, calm down..."

"No..." Sam seemed to settle down somewhat and one hand gripped Dean's T-shirt. "Not real... No..."

"Sammy, whatever you're seeing right now is not real" Dean kept up the calming strokes on Sam's hair. "You're in bed, you're sick and your awesome big brother is taking care of you. You hear me, buddy?"

Sam let out a pained moan and squeezed his eyes shut, but before Dean could panic, the younger man's free hand flew up to his brother's wrist. Dean gritted his teeth against the fingernails digging into his flesh, and immediately forgot about the pain when Sam leaned his head into his palm. He cupped the clammy cheek and rubbed his thumb tenderly up and down the sensitive, flushed skin.

"De..." Sam breathed out, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but the rest of his body slowly calmed down. "Real De... Love De..."

Dean swallowed again as tears welled up in his eyes. The level of trust that he could hear in his brother's voice overwhelmed his fragile nerves right now, but the love in his heart instantly spread throughout his body and soul. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss onto Sam's temple, leaning his forehead against it to lend his own - although waning - strength to Sam for his fight, and also comfort the distraught young man with his presence.

When he finally looked up, his brother calm and resting at last, Dean caught the numbers on the clock: 8:30 AM. He was tired, his eyes were stinging, his back was killing him, but it was over. He stroked Sam's hair once more and, as the kid's fingers relaxed and let go of him, he stood up to wash the basin out.

While he worked in the bathroom, he wiped at his cheeks and eyes and sniffed loudly, trying to reign in his emotions. He knew most of this was from exhaustion, not just physical but emotional. This was a torture for the both of them... He only wished he could get to his brother through these deliriums, to give his comfort during the horrible images playing through Sam's fevered mind. Dean couldn't even imagine what would actually go through his brother's head. He knew the younger Winchester had the worse psyche and emotional baggage out of the two of them and on top of that, there was Lucifer and the Cage... Dean could only admire his little brother for being so strong and enduring all of this shit alone...

A large crash from outside the bathroom made him startle out of his troubled thoughts. Dean, heart pounding in his throat, let the basin fall into the sink and he bolted out of the room. He knew what caused that noise.

He was right on target.

Sam was lying on the ground next to the bed, some papers and books scattered around him after their fall from his desk. Dean rushed inside and threw himself down next to Sam, grabbing the shaking arms and checking all over his brother.

"Sammy?" he prodded, brushing Sam's hair out of his forehead as he turned the young man onto his back. It felt like his fingertips were scorched by the heat exuded by the clammy skin. He immediately caught the forming bruise on Sam's jaw where his head most likely met with the desktop. "Talk to me, kiddo."

Sam let out a moan of pain...

Then his body began convulsing.

Dean froze for one second before his instincts crashed through his shock: he turned the young man onto his side, arranging him into the proper posture. He held him in place, just like he learned from his father, while his mind reeled from the sight in front of him.

Seizure.

Dean, unable to contain it once this fact registered in his mind, let out a couple sobs of anguish, feeling the frustration engulf his already broken heart and shatter it into more pieces. He tried to keep his eyes on the clock, but Sam's out of control body kept drawing his attention back. He wanted to reach inside his brother, grab the fever by its throat and rip it to shreds! He wanted to find God and wring His neck as payment for the Trials that destroyed his little brother's body! He wanted to capture every last demon and carve them into pieces for every little torture they inflicted on Sam! He... He...

He had to gather his control back together. He can't lose himself right now. Sam needed him, more than anything, and he couldn't count on anyone else doing as good a job as Big Brother Extraordinaire Dean Winchester. So he took a deep breath, blinked the tears away and forced his eyes onto the clock.

Almost four minutes...

And Sam was slowly settling down once again.

Dean leaned over his brother and sighed in relief at the serenity on Sam's face. His eyes were closed in sleep it seemed, and when Dean stroked Sam's hair and cheek, the younger man didn't react. His pulse was slightly erratic, but strong, and he was still breathing.

Now... Maybe now...

Maybe it's over now...
***

Dean leaned his head back against the wall as he inhaled deeply. He let a shiver rush through his body, partly from the cold wall and partly from the memories, then pushed himself to his feet. He turned around and stepped up to the door, gazing into the room tiredly.

Sam was once again in his bed, lying slightly on his left side, eyes half-open and staring ahead, face pale except for the flush of fever in his cheeks. Dean still felt the painful churn he got in his stomach after he gauged his brother's temperature a while ago:

105.5

He knew he had to do something about the high fever before it got dangerous, but whatever he decided, he knew it will shatter the fragile peace currently surrounding Sam, bringing pain and terror into his delirious mind.

And Dean felt horrible about this as it is...

Hearing the soft whimpers in Sam's exhales, pitiful and heartbreaking, Dean cautiously snuck into the room. He reached out and stroked Sam's hair out of his forehead, the floppy, damp tresses always finding their way into the dazed hazel-green eyes. He didn't get a reaction to his touch this time and it broke him even more. The kid was so lost and tangled up in the woods of his feverish daze, he could barely acknowledge reality - if he even can.

Throat tensing up against another round of sobs, Dean yielded to the urge nagging him for the last hour now - since things got quiet: he climbed into Sam's bed, lying down behind him, and pulled his listless, skinny as hell little brother into his arms. He wedged his head into the crook of Sam's neck when the younger man's head tilted downwards from the shifting around, limp and unresponsive.

"We made it, Sammy" Dean breathed, letting his tears roll down his cheeks and nose. He pushed up just enough to press a kiss onto Sam's temple then settled down, just trying to remind himself that Sam was here, alive and they were both okay.

"We made it..."

Win: no one - but the Winchesters survived to fight another day.


The next battle: fever - second assault.

Dean smothered a yawn as he picked at his eggs in front of him. He blinked sleepily, feeling the pull of exhaustion after the rough night. He had a cat nap next to his brother from 12:35 PM till 2:12 PM - he knew that because he fell asleep and woke up with eyes on the clock - but it didn't seem enough. He still got the better deal, though: Sam was still awake - as awake as someone can be in their almost catatonic fevered daze.

He scrubbed at his gritty eyes as he reluctantly took another bite out of his... breakfast? Dinner? He couldn't even tell. He just had to eat something, because he had been getting dizzy from lack of sustenance and stress-induced high blood pressure. He had one ear and eye out for the broth he had cooking on the stove. Now that the nausea seemed to subside, he decided to try and get something nutritious into his little brother. The kid was burning up as it is, he didn't need to lose even more weight.

106.1

Dean shuddered as the numbers flashed by his mind's eye. This one was taken by the new thermometer, one that is used on the ear. Dean didn't want to agitate his brother further with the cold plastic against his armpit, and he also didn't want to disturb him with painful jostles in his serene unresponsiveness. He shoveled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, swallowing as fast as he could.

He had a bath to prepare.
***

A terrified scream made him jolt in fear. Dean stopped momentarily at the entrance of the corridor, before he realized: it was Sam. The mad dash sent his footsteps ricocheting down the hall, but as he reached the bedroom, something large collided with him. He let out an "Oof!" and he fell backwards on his ass, a slightly heavier weight landing on him.

"No! Get away! NO!"

"Sam!" Dean shouted, grabbing hold of his brother's twisting, wriggling body. Sam was trying to rip himself out of his arms, but the older man couldn't not notice the terrified glances backwards. "Sammy, it's okay, you're safe-"

"NOO!" Sam screeched after one of the glances over his shoulder. Dean instinctively followed his brother's fevered gaze to the door of his bedroom.

Nothing.

Why wasn't he surprised?

"Get aWAY!" Sam's voice could've burst Dean's eardrums, but the unabashed terror in them was more important.

"Sammy, there's nothing there" Dean tried, tightening his hold on his brother. "You're safe, the bunker is protected-"

His words were cut off as Sam began clawing at Dean's shirt, almost ripping it to pieces. Dean needed a moment - and Sam's arms actually reaching over his left shoulder to grip the back of his shirt and pull - to realize his brother was trying to climb over him to escape.

"No, they bite! They bit ME!"

Dean reached up and pulled Sam back into his lap, trapping the flailing arms as best as he could. He felt himself slide slightly backwards, which is when he noticed Sam's legs kicking out desperately. Luckily, he only had socks on his feet, so he couldn't get anywhere since he kept sliding on the tiled floor.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out, trying to reach his brother through the muddle in his brain. "There's nothing there, you hear? It's not real!"

For a moment, a fleeting glint of recognition seemed to flash across Sam's eyes, but it was gone too soon.

Followed by a loud scream and a hard flinch.

Dean grabbed the back of Sam's neck, forcing his brother's head onto his shoulder to still him, but after another violent jerk of his body - starting from the right leg and spreading onto his body - Sam began sobbing aloud in agony, fighting the hold around him.

Tightening his hold around his brother, Dean hunched over, doing everything he could to get Sam to stay still. Sam let out a few more shrill... he couldn't describe them, other than shrieks of horror.

"BITE! THEY BITE! DE', THEY BITE! DON'T LET THEM, PLEASE! PLE-E-EASE!"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the tears leaking out of his eyes as he just held on for dear life. He let themselves be rocked by Sam's jerky movements and endured his brother's nails raking over his neck and chest through his shirt. He curled his fingers around Sam's tresses, trying to keep the both of them together.

All of a sudden, Sam froze completely. Dean knew instantly he wasn't unconscious, because his body was as tense as a bowstring. He dared to lift his head and glance down and found his brother staring at something intensely, his hazy wide eyes pinned, unblinking. Dean followed his gaze - and met with the empty doorway once more.

Harsh, frantic gasps began exploding out of Sam, growing faster and faster by the second.

"Sammy, just breathe" Dean tried, even though he knew it was futile. No matter what he says right now, it will never reach his brother in this state. He curled back around the panicking young man, preparing inwardly for the explosion.

Sam's gasps turned even more frantic, filling up with whimpers of terror, and the kid started his desperate kicking against the ground as he tried to get away from something.

"No!" Sam shouted, his voice higher than ever from unabashed fright. "No! Teeth! NO! TEETH! NOOO!"

Sam's final scream stretched out until Dean's thoughts were ringing from its echo. The young man's back arched as if he was electrocuted, his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed shut. Dean thought he heard his shirt rip but his ears had no free space for any other sounds. Sam convulsed a couple times during his scream, before his body slumped. Dean grabbed at Sam's head as it flopped back lifelessly, preventing his neck practically bending in half. He tilted it back onto his shoulder then began slapping Sam's cheek gently. His stomach churned at the sight of half-closed eyelids, with only whiteness visible under them...

"Sammy?" he whispered, worry turning into fear. "Wake up, buddy... Sam?"

His palm slid onto Sam's neck, where he discovered the loud, rapid throbs of his brother's pulse. It was too fast for his liking... Too fast to be normal...

Sam must have passed out from panic.

"Okay" he breathed out, collecting his wits with a deep breath. "Come on, Sammy..." He pulled his legs under himself and maneuvered both of them upright. He grunted as he lifted Sam up, feeling his weight in every single muscle of his own body. Sam was much leaner than him, but was still muscular and heavy. Thankfully, he just had to carry him to the bathroom a couple doors down.

Instead of wasting his time with the bathtub, Dean lowered Sam into the shower. He quickly got him undressed then plucked the shower head off, set the temperature to lukewarm and started the water flow.

As he worked, he felt himself beginning to shiver. He knew he was getting soaked, as well, but he didn't really care. The only goal in his mind was to get Sam's fever down and induce the shakes in his brother's body. He let the water slowly trickle over Sam's pale, sensitive skin briefly then he kept it flowing. He leaned his brother against the tiles until he got a small towel and wet it thoroughly. Hoping to still give Sam some comfort, he settled down on the floor and pulled his brother into his arms, leaning him onto his chest. With that, he began the long process of gently wiping down Sam's feverish skin.

If this doesn't work...

No, it has to work! He won't be a witness to another one of Sam's torture! He'll beat this bitch down, even if he froze in his place from the cold water!

A soft, pained moan interrupted his angry thoughts. Dean immediately glanced down and found Sam's unfocused eyes roaming around the bathroom. Dean pressed a kiss onto the kid's forehead and resumed his ministrations. He saw Sam's mouth twist into a grimace as the towel of cool water clashed with his body. To his credit, though, he stayed relatively calm about it. Dean could only bless their luck at that.

And by the time Dean was ready to just collapse back against the wall and pass out, Sam began shivering, teeth chattering from the force of it. Dean squeezed his brother relieved.

Win: for Dean Winchester - but just barely.


The next battle: sinusitis - the revenge.

A couple days went by since the highest peak of the fever. Sam had been battling it constantly, sometimes being overwhelmed, and sometimes closer to victory. Dean had kept a careful watch on the hills and valleys, but at least the fever stayed under 104. Sam had lost the hallucinations, fortunately, and was mostly out of it, but on occasion he would be aware of his surroundings. And he would always feel his brother's presence.

Dean took up residence in Sam's room, bringing the usual comfy armchair inside and by Sam's bed. Him being there seemed to soothe his brother's muddled brain, so he did everything he could to keep Sam calm.

Another upside, which Dean took as a win: Sam was eating again. Nothing too hard, mostly soups, and was drinking Gatorade and water alternately to avoid another bout of sickness, too. Although, the basin was kept next to the bed, just in case. However, since he was still really weak, Dean had to feed him every bit of sustenance he could take. At least he grimaced in annoyance from time to time at being treated like an invalid, which Dean took as a sign of his brother getting better - and he never would've thought it would be the highlight of a long day.

One afternoon Dean was delivering the next bowl of soup for dinner, when he heard the rattle of Sam blowing his nose. For the first instant, he froze in his tracks. It seemed like decades ago since Sam had been ordered to bedrest because of a simple cold. Dean shook his head and continued his way to Sam's room.

The kid was hunched over, shaking fingers pressing the familiar handkerchief to his nose. Dean smirked at the almost relieving sight, but it melted off when he caught the frown deepening on his brother's brow.

As Sam wiped at his nostrils and leaned back with a frustrated huff, Dean placed the bowl onto the nightstand and sat onto the edge of the bed. He waited for his brother to acknowledge him, which he did after a pathetic sniff and a wince of pain.

"Hu'ts..." Sam rasped out, barely any sound emerging from his lungs.

"Where?" Dean asked, immediately laying his palm over Sam's forehead. It was on the warmer side right now, so he estimated his temperature around 103.5.

"M' head" Sam's pout was just enhanced by the nasal tone of his voice, caused by the blockage in his nose. Dean could also see the familiar swell of Sam's cheeks.

"You wanna steam it out?"

Sam looked at him with such hopeful misery that Dean smiled adoringly.

"Let's get some nutrients in you" he picked up the bowl as he spoke. Sam licked his lips with a small giddy smile, and Dean's heart fluttered in excitement: Sam was showing his hunger now - and some life reigniting inside him. He could only hope they were now on the last stretches of the path to recovery.

And for the first time since the fever, Sam managed to clean out the bowl in one go without nausea.

"Alright" Dean nodded, stroking Sam's hair with a proud smile. "I'll get the herbal steam ready."
***

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Sam jumped slightly as he glanced up at his brother. The green eyes were narrowed, glaring at him angrily, only softened up by the worried frown always present on his face.

"G-G-Got b-bor-r-r-red" Sam stuttered out, his job harder because of his chattering teeth. He rested his weight onto the wall of the corridor so he could wrap his arms around his torso without falling over. He had so much trouble producing heat that his shivers could've crumbled his unsteady balance. Even though he had a thick, cozy bathrobe on his pajamas, he felt like he was standing in a snowstorm.

"Then read a book" Dean snapped back, his voice gruff and slightly hoarse. It reminded Sam of all the sleepless nights his brother spent by his side anytime he was injured or sick - and this time was no different. He had seen the armchair next to his bed and the creased blanket haphazardly thrown into it.

"M-M-y ass-s-s's-s num-m-m'..."

Dean sighed in a 'Why do I put up with such a dolt of a little brother?' way, but Sam just smiled sheepishly. He missed these little joking, brotherly reactions these days. And his brother looked like he needed some distraction from the exhaustion still digging deep into his brain.

So, when Dean wrapped his arm around him to steer him back into his room, Sam didn't protest - although he would deny later how he burrowed himself into his brother's side, seeking for warmth unconsciously. He would also deny burying his face into Dean's neck for a few seconds - his head just got heavy for a second, it's not like it was comfy and warm there...

"Alright, kitty" Dean murmured gently and a knock on wood broke the pleasant silence around them. Sam was slowly lowered into the chair and turned towards the desk. He couldn't stop the wild shiver of cold attacking his weakened body. The warm hand around his shoulder tightened slightly as the rush reached it. "You cold?"

"As-s-s f-f-f-uck-k-k-k..." Sam hunched over even more, getting fed up with how out of control his body got without his consent. A moment later a thick blanket engulfed his body wrapping him up completely with its weight. Sam wriggled his arms free under it so he could lean onto the table and over the steam when it starts. Dean got to the wardrobe and pulled out a towel - and another blanket. Sam watched confused as Dean shook the towel out and threw it onto the desk then opened the blanket up. The warm cover was draped over Sam's lap then Dean shifted him to the sides so he could tuck it under his thighs then wrap it around his legs carefully.

"Just relax" Dean rubbed at his shoulders soothingly. "It'll get better soon."

Sam nodded erratically, the only kind he was capable of right now. Dean then covered his head with the towel and Sam eagerly leaned forward. At least there will be another source of warmth he could enjoy.

The lid was lifted off with a small clink and Sam hissed as the scorching steam billowed out and into his face. He slid his palms around the pot, just shy of touching it but the waves of heat slowly embraced his cold, white fingers. Sam couldn't wait to feel them oozing into his skin and flesh...

"I'll be right here, Sammy" Dean said, rubbing one last time at Sam's back. Sam nodded slightly, mindful of the towel on his head as he took deep, snot-filled breaths through his nose. The steam gradually settled over his skin, the condensation loosening up the blockage in his sinuses once it was absorbed. He took a long sniff, trying to move the slow process along, but a smack on his shoulder made him jump.

"Don't inhale it!" Dean scolded him then pressed a cloth into his hand: his handkerchief.

"Sorry" he mumbled and lifted it up to his nose. The rush of snot practically exploding out of his nose was probably the best feeling he ever experienced in his life. The constant ache in his cheeks and head eased up a little and he let himself soak in the steam some more, hoping to get the pressure to disappear.

Before he knew it, Dean had his hand rubbing down his back.

"You think you're done?"

Sam let out a whine of displeasure. He didn't want to leave the warmth...

"You can have a shower after this" Dean suggested and Sam could hear the teasing grin in his voice. "I remade your bed, as well, so you can sleep as much as you want, all cozy in crisp sheets."

That sounded so good...

Sam straightened up slightly and blew his nose out one last time, happy to feel no more blockage in there. As he wiped his nostrils clean, wincing at the raw pain in his sensitive skin, the pot was covered once more and Dean wrapped an arm around him.

"Ready?" the older man asked once Sam pressed the towel protectively onto his face. He nodded and let his brother help him to his feet and lead him into the bathroom. A nice warmth spread over his insides: Dean was the only person he could trust with his safety, even when blinded.
***

Dean stroked his fingers over Sam's almost dry hair. The rest of the day was spent in silence and peace, Sam practically dead to the world. As soon as the kid was wrapped up tight like a burrito, he was snoring softly. Not even a cannon fire - or the heavy thud of books landing on the ground, courtesy of Dean - could wake him up. But he was fine with that: the more Sam sleeps, the sooner he will get better.

With a swift decision, he grabbed the new thermometer and pressed it gently into Sam's ear. He didn't want to disturb the cocoon of heat Sam was finally able to enjoy. He was still giving praise to the higher powers that he bought this thing on a whim, almost dismissing the urge to do it. It made things so much easier to deal with...

101.4

Dean blinked with wide eyes at the number appearing on the tiny screen. There's no way... Sam was in a hot shower not too long ago and practically cooking all nice and slow under two blankets! There's no way-

He took his brother's temperature again, unable to believe the numbers. There must be something wrong with the thermometer, of course he would get the broken-

101.3

Dean blinked again. And again... And one more time, when the numbers remained the same... Then almost collapsed onto the ground in a fit of hysteric sobs. For the last couple of days Sam's fever had fluctuated between 102 and 104 and last night it jumped up to 104.2, scaring the hell out of him. He had been preparing for another fit of fevered hallucinations and cold showers...

Dean buried his face in his hands, feeling a shiver of his own wrack his body as he tried to empty his mind and just roll with the cards dealt to him... He probably wasn't making any sense in his head, but...

Finally... Finally...

He could feel it in his gut, which has never failed him so far when it came to sickness...

Finally...

Win: for Dean Winchester. The fever was defeated, at last.


The next battle: the final cleanup.

Dean yawned aloud, before shaking his head and continuing his whistling. An old radio was crackling with an upbeat pop-rock song that he didn't bother to switch off. It was good background noise for his good mood and for washing the dishes. As a girl's voice belted out the chorus, he began tapping his foot to the slow rhythm of the song.

"Since when do you listen to Avril Lavigne?"

The plate he was scrubbing slipped out of his grip as Dean jumped: the raspy voice came out of the blue behind him. He whirled around with wide eyes, his heart beating a mile a minute.

And looked into Sam's incredulous stare, hazel-green glinting gleefully as the younger man smirked.

"Jeez" Dean sighed out, glaring at his brother halfheartedly. "Give me a freakin' heart attack, will ya?"

"Sorry" Sam replied, leaning against the doorway. "Didn't mean to interrupt your... alone time." Dean glanced at the radio still gently serenading on the counter then took in his little brother carefully. The kid was still a little hunched, but his face was void of any pain lines and frowns, only showing some fatigue that Dean himself was feeling. He was still in pajamas, his hands hiding in the pocket of the bathrobe. However, Dean could not find any sign of shivering or fever, and his nose was only flushed from all the previous abuse by the handkerchief.

"Shut up" Dean finally replied, not even bothering to turn off the radio. "It's a catchy song."

"Yeah" Sam nodded, his eyes softening up. "The older ones tend to be."

"And how do you know who sings it?"

Sam huffed out a chuckle.

"Like I said: old songs tend to be catchy." Dean thought he could see some redness creeping into Sam's cheeks, and this time it was definitely a blush of embarrassment. That made him grin with a raised eyebrow. Sam rolled his eyes at the teasing. The older Winchester loved that he could pull his brother's leg without saying a word.

"How're you feelin'?" Dean asked just before a yawn decided to crack his jaw in two. When he managed to look back at Sam, the kid looked slightly glum.

"Much better" Sam answered softly and pinned his gaze onto Dean's. "Thanks to you."

"Nose?" Dean decided to ignore the pity-party his brother decided to throw. Sam huffed, fully aware of the segue.

"Only a little stuffed."

"Head?"

"Fuzzy but pain-free."

"Stomach?"

"As good as ever." Sam had the first signs of The Bitch-Face appearing on his features. "Are we done with the roll-call, Sergeant?"

Dean wanted to snap back a snarky remark, but was again interrupted by a yawn. When he was able to see again, he wanted to stab his eyes out just to not see his little brother's guilty look... And Dean must be getting tired, judging by the imagery his mind was resorting to.

"Dean..." Sam started and Dean really wished he didn't. "I'm sorry-"

"I guess 'Shut up' is goin' on the list now" Dean mumbled, rubbing at his face wearily. Sam frowned confused.

"What list?"

"The list of recordings I have to make to stop wasting my breath uselessly."

Sam's jaw dropped in surprise and for a moment Dean thought his brother will explode in irritation or anger.

Instead, the kid began laughing.

"You're so infuriating" Sam said, still chuckling, which took the edge off of his words.

"Takes one to know one, Sammy" Dean responded instantly. He turned back to the sink, happy that he had been finishing up when Sam had shown up. After he emptied the sink, he shut off the radio and made his way towards his brother, yawning one more friggin' time. At this rate his face is gonna split open.

Sam pushed himself upright and turned to follow him out, but the sudden shift of direction sent him reeling against the wall. Dean, reflexes always better than a cat's when it came to his brother, grabbed Sam's arms to steady him. The younger man lifted a hand up to his eyes with a moan of discomfort.

"You should get some rest, buddy" Dean couldn't help the tender tone. Sam became instantly white from the vertigo, making him look vulnerable once more. "Just a couple hours and you can return to all 'no nonsense, all business' demon hunter again."

Sam didn't move, even as his brother tried nudging him forward, presumably still recovering from the dizzy spell. Then he slowly lifted his eyes, blinking hard and trying his vision and balance out.

"Dean?" the kid's voice was cautious but hopeful.

"Hm?"

"You think... Amarra and Cas will be fine for one more day?"

Dean frowned at the unexpected question. He needed a couple seconds to realize what his brother was asking.

"Don't worry" he muttered, rubbing Sam's arm reassuringly. "They'll still be missing tomorrow."

Sam nodded and finally the two made their way to Sam's room.

"You're gonna sleep, too, right?" the younger man asked as he climbed under the blanket.

"Oh, yeah" Dean didn't even pretend to be reluctant. "I'm two seconds from just collapsing into a snoring heap right here right now. I'll just pack up in here then I'll sleep in my own bed."

"Good" Sam mumbled and while Dean tidied up the room and carried the armchair out, he blew his nose out one last time. When Dean returned one final time, tucking him in, Sam smiled before he let sleep overtake him.

He only remembered his brother's hand carding through his lanky tresses on his way in.
***

Dean let himself collapse into his own bed, the memory foam greeting him like a woman's gentle embrace, he just had enough awareness to pull the blanket around himself before falling into darkness with a smile of triumph on his face.

Win: for Dean and Sam Winchester.

The war was finally over.

The End


So, how was it? Not too long, I hope?

I'll take some time to work on the next set of prompts, but as soon as one is done I'll post it. :D I'll try to keep it in the order they came in, but also to post at least once a week, if that's okay with you guys. These five were given to me in February, that's why they came out faster, but now they're gonna slow down, because I need to gather the plots and thoughts together on them. I already have ideas, so don't worry!

Until then, have fun with my - and any - other stories!

See you soon!