AN: Felt like posting my originally German story from fanfiktion punkt de on here..


Hold my Hand, Little Brother, for I will always Love and Protect You

"Dad, please. We should really take a break.", Dean said softly from the backseat to his father, who was sitting behind the wheel of the black Chevy Impala. It wasn't the first time that day that the eight-year-old had asked for a break, but the reply had always been the same.

"You know we can't, Dean."

Always the same, old story. As long as John Winchester had a hot scent on the thing that had killed their Mom, there was absolutely nothing that could stop him from going after it.

Not even one of his sons catching a nasty flu.

Dean sighed disappointed and looked down at his little brother, who lay curled up on the seat next to him, fast asleep. He was exhausted and breathing heavily through his stuffy nose, slightly snoring. His hair was a mess and even in sleep, he looked far from comfortable.

Ever since they practically lived on the streets, having no home other than the car, Sam had made it into an Olympic discipline to catch every virus that crossed his path. Thus, it became Dean's own tournament to catch and fight each and every one of Sam's sicknesses – preferably before the little guy even noticed what was going on. However, it had never been as bad as it was now.

Two days ago, when Dad and he had packed up their few belongings in the current motel of the week, Sam had sat at the little, rickety table having breakfast. The boy had suddenly started sneezing. Looking surprised, he had wiped his pajama sleeve over his nose and went back to eating his cereals.

Quite contrary to Sam's apparently non-existent interest, Dean's well-trained big brother radar had screamed in alarm. Concerned, he had paused his packing for a moment to give the child a quick once over. "You okay, Sammy?" The four-year old had shrugged, uninterested in Dean's question, and had instead focused all his attention on sorting the froot loops in his bowl by color.

As the day went on, the older brother had kept a close eye on Sam. He hadn't let him out of his sight, had counted, how often the younger one had coughed and sneezed, had 'accidentally' brushed his hand over Sam's forehead every now and then, only to notice that his skin became a little bit warmer with every passing hour.

Now, after they had spent the last days practically crammed up in the car, driving nonstop, only stopping for a few hours at night to sleep in crappy motels, Sam's condition had worsened dramatically. His fever was skyrocketing, as was Dean's level of concern. Sam's nose was either blocked or running faster than the Impala was eating up the blacktop, and Dean was pretty sure that the kid had to have one hell of a headache.

Sam sniffled miserably in his sleep and pressed his brown locks harder against Dean's thigh, unconsciously searching the close contact. Although the small body was radiating a nearly blazing heat and the mid-day sun of the above-average day in March was heating up the dark car pretty good, Sam was still shivering. Dean had made sure, that his little brother wore the warmest clothes he owned, yet even that could not counteract the fact that they were out of children's Tylenol before the medicine could have done any good. Dean had searched all their bags for a new bottle, to no avail. He knew that Sam needed more and that he had to procure a new box somewhere, among other things they needed. Unfortunately, all their breaks – the few that they did take – were just long enough for a quick trip to the restroom. Also, with a father that was barely interested in his son's well-being – Dean had always thought of his father's priorities as very questionable – he was on his own.

"Hey, Sammy. Wake up.", Dean called softly once he noticed Sam squirming in his sleep. He poked his shoulder lightly until the sick boy finally blinked open his bleary eyes, rubbing a small hand over his face.

Without thinking, Dean pulled his brother carefully into a mostly upright position against his side. He brushed a sweat-soaked strand of soft brown hair from Sam's forehead while checking his fever. It was still high but mercifully not higher than before.

"D'n?"

Sam looked up at him with big, wet eyes, trying desperately to breathe in through his congested airways. His nose was so clogged up that he could not force any air through it, his head turning red from the struggle as panic filled his expression. It was as if he had suddenly forgotten that there was more than that one way to breathe. He fearfully pawed at his nose and rosy cheeks while he kept fighting to escape from Dean's hold on him.

"De!"

"Hey, kiddo! Slow down. You're okay. Just breathe through your mouth!"

Hadn't Sam looked plain out miserably; the situation probably would have been funny. Dean felt far from laughing, though. Gingerly, he took hold of Sam's snot-nosed face and laid his hands over Sam's own. With his thump he started drawing careful little circles over his brother's sinuses. "Breathe, Sammy.", he encouraged the boy who stared up at him with eyes full of fear and still full of trust at the same time. The pressure Dean used was only small, but it was the only thing he could think about that could help. "Just breathe."

When Sam finally sucked in a few breaths, Dean smiled at him confidently. He continued with the massage until Sam's nose began running again. A gentle hand to Sam's heaving chest reassured him, that the younger's breathing had at least returned to a regular pattern.

"You're doing great!", Dean praised. "Come here, blow."

He put a tissue to Sam's nose and waited until the fabric was filled with snot. "Dude, gross!" Disgusted, he threw the used rag into the footwell, where it landed next to the crumpled-up remainder of the package. "The things I do for you.", Dean mumbled, making sure Sam understood the joke behind it. He would do everything for his little brother, no questions asked. Yet, Sam tended to get self-conscious in situation like this. Too smart for his own good.

"'m sick…", Sam mumbled, his voice quiet and nasal. Tears of frustration and exhaustion were running over his chubby cheeks, soaking the collar of his hoodie.

"I think you are." Dean smiled encouragingly at Sam. "Here, you need to drink something." He took a bottle of water from his backpack and held the open lid to Sam's lips. "Just a few sips, Sammy."

The child did as he was told. Once he was done and Dean had taken the bottle back, he slid down to lean against Dean's hip, clearly drained of the last bit of energy he had had. Sam looped his arms around Dean's middle, trying to steal as much heat from the older boy as possible.

"You still cold?"

Before Sam could say anything, Dean had already grabbed his backpack and rummaged through it for his beanie and woolen scarf. Sam had lost his own pieces a few weeks ago at a random roadhouse playground – Dean hadn't even known that the younger boy had taken them with him – and their dad didn't even bother to replace them. Another questionable choice of priorities.

The elder brother wrapped the scarf around Sam's neck and tugged the hat over his tousled locks. It was far too big, immediately slipping down over Sam's eyes, covering almost his whole face. Dean smiled affectionately while he watched the sick boy shoving the fabric out of his vision repeatedly, getting more frustrated by the second.

"C'mere.", Dean whispered. He took the beanie off of Sam's head and rolled up the hem until it somewhat fit onto his brother's smaller head. "That's better, isn't it?" He let his hands rest on Sam's head for a moment. The kid nodded satisfied before skidding even closer to Dean's side, nearly sitting on his lap eventually.

It didn't take long for Sam to go back to sleep, aided by the soothing rumble of the Impalas powerful engine in the background. He rubbed his face with little fists, coughed and yawned until he finally closed his eyes and his body relaxed into a worn-out slumber.

Although Dean had his arm wrapped around his brother's body, he could still feel him shivering. He sighed softly and made a note on his mental to-do list to get a blanket out of the trunk the next chance he got. The next time their father, for whatever reason, decided to stop for more than a red light.

Not longer able to watch the kid – his kid – suffer, Dean pulled the shaking body onto his lap, positioning him sideways against his chest. Sam immediately snuggled up to him, pressed his head to his collarbone and unconsciously laid a hand over Dean's heart. For the first time ever, Dean was glad that his second-hand jacket was way too big. This way he was able to close it around Sam's form, zipping it up and locking his brother and his body heat within the piece of clothing. The only thing important to him was keeping Sammy as warm as possible, making sure he was okay. As okay as it was possible, given the circumstances.

Dean fondly smiled down at the young boy. He carefully pushed a few wayward strands of hair under the beanie before wrapping his brother in his arms, pressing him closer. The heat Sam radiated made him sweat, but as long as it helped him, he didn't mind. He leaned back against the door, staring out of the window, and following the scenery with his eyes.

The way he sat there, Dean was reminded of a kangaroo carrying and protecting its baby in its pouch. Somehow, this was exactly it. Sam was his baby, and he would do absolutely anything to defend him. From every threat he could imagine, and even those he couldn't. Today, this threat was a stubborn flu and an idiot father. Tomorrow, it could be a skinned knee or a lost toy, and sometime in the future, it would be monsters that Sam would need his protection from. In any case, Dean was ready to put himself between Sam and the thing trying to hurt him.

The boy was lost in his thoughts and half asleep himself, as Sam suddenly started struggling in his arms. When Dean finally noticed what was happening, the sick child was already wide awake, ripping of his hat and throwing it onto the seat beside them.

"Hey, what's wrong?", Dean asked, a little panicked himself.

Sam panted and coughed while he pressed his hands against Dean's body to get some space between them. "Hot, Dee!", he cried before wiggling out of Dean's jacket. He crawled across the bench and laid down flat on the cool leather, pressing his too hot face into the upholstery.

Gently, Dean ran his hand though Sam's hair, resting it on his neck. The skin was boiling under his touch. He had to lower the fever somehow and mentally went through his options until he noticed the green cooler on the passenger seat. His father used to fill it with fresh ice every morning – he just needed something to put the ice into. But first things first.

"C'mere, Sammy.", the eight-year-old said softly, before carefully sitting Sam up next to him again. "Let's get rid of this sweater first." He smiled encouragingly, trying to stay calm and positive despite Sam's panic – letting the younger one know, that it would be better soon. That he would make it better.

Sam eagerly lifted his arms after Dean took off the scarf for him. The pullover revealed a sweat-soaked undershirt that clung to the kid's body like saran wrap. Sam's pants were equally damp, but Dean left it alone. Instead, he put a fresh set of clothes on his to-do list, right beneath the blanket.

While Sam sat next to him, pale and miserable, his gaze looked on his brother, Dean rummaged through his backpack for something to put the ice into. Finally, at the bottom, he found an old plastic bag, wrinkled but without holes. Better than he had expected, but still.

Bag in hand, Dean leaned forward across the backrest of the front seat and grabbed the cooler. It was still filled with enough ice for him to just grab a few handfuls from between the beer bottles and shove it into the baggie.

"What are you doing?"

His father's cold voice startled Dean but the nasty look he cast his way didn't surprise him. Dean knew how risky disturbing John Winchester was; especially when the man was on one of his missions. However, as much as it had become John's purpose to avenge their mother's death, it also had become Dean's purpose to look after and care for his little brother.

"I'm helping Sammy.", was everything Dean answered. Still, he added you should try that once in a while in thought. He knew that his father had not always been the way he was now and he really hoped that he would realize that there were more important things at the moment than chase after a slurred maybe hint of a drunk hunting buddy. Better sooner than later, Dean thought. He hurried up with the ice and took one of the cool water bottles, before closing the box under his father's critical gaze and withdrawing to the backseat.

By now, hot tears were streaming down Sammy's face and his breathing was a bit fast for Dean's liking. Also, he kept tugging on his wet shirt, waiting for Dean to return to help him out. The way he always did. Personally, Dean didn't really mind being his brother's personal superhero. Secretly, he even was a bit proud at that, although he would never ever admit it.

Sam didn't make any move to take the water bottle Dean offered him into his own shaking hands, so he held it and encouraged the younger one to take a few sips of the soothing liquid.

"You're doing great, kiddo. Let's get you cooled down."

Dean cautiously pulled Sam down, so the boy was able to lie his head on Dean's thigh. Tried to, at least, because Sam weakly braced himself against the movement, pushing up when Dean was pushing down. He swayed a bit, looking like he was dizzy as hell, which made Dean grab for his shoulder, preventing him from falling nose first into the back of the front seat.

"Don't. 's hot. Leave me 'lone.", Sam mumbled dismissively.

"I know you're hot. Just trust me."

Sam eyed his brother skeptically, knowing deep inside that Dean would never do anything to hurt him. Slowly, he lay down onto his side, his head bedded on Dean's leg, and waited.

Dean chuckled, once he heard Sam's relieved little sigh that slipped out of his mouth as soon as he put the ice pack to the kid's neck. He stroked Sam's back soothingly and let the ice do its work.

Half an hour later, the ice was reduced to warm water, but therefore Sam's temperature was also back to an acceptable level. Now he was almost shivering, his damp clothes not doing anything to warm him. Without hesitation, Dean took off is jacket, wrapped Sam up in the body-warm piece and pulled him back into his arms.

Sam permanently nodded off, but by now his cough had gotten so bad that it kept him from sleeping peacefully. Dean suffered for his little brother every time the thin body cramped from the strain, his fits of coughing seemingly having no end. However, he couldn't do more than hold Sam tight, rub his back and let him know he was there.

By now, even their father seemed to have an insight that Sam needed help and he couldn't turn a blind eye to the pressing issue of his son being sick any longer. Not very quick on the uptake, Dean thought bitterly. The bearded man repeatedly threw glances into the rearview mirror, in which Dean could see a bit of worry shine through the quick-tempered look. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision, stopping the car not long after on the roadside in the deserted town they were just passing through.

"I gotta make a call.", John mumbled and got out of the car.

Dean watched his father dial a number on his cellphone, followed by a short call. Judging by his facial expression, he seemed to discuss with the person on the other end but seemed pleased by the time he hung up. Afterwards, John vanished at the trunk for a moment, retrieving something from it and closing the hood with way more force than necessary.

His father got back into the car and threw a few items to Dean. The boy quickly recognized them to be one of their green army blankets and a set of clothes for Sam. Huh. The man was not as ignorant as Dean had thought after all. He seemed to have noticed Sam's sweat soaked clothing and his shaking little body. When John then announced that they would go to Bobby's, Dean knew everything would be fine. Their almost-uncle would be able to help Sam in ways he himself couldn't. Even if it seemed like it most of the time, deep down, John wasn't a monster after all.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Sammy. You'll see.", Dean whispered to his brother who had finally managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.


TBC