This is the last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing and favoriting! :) You made me realize how much I missed writing!
Bobby's leftover anger vanished the moment he laid eyes on the little boy, who staggered slowly through the hallway into his kitchen. Sam stopped next to him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He didn't look any healthier now than he did a couple hours earlier and Bobby was second-guessing his choice of meds. He just needs more time, he told himself. Sam's skin was ashen, a thin sheen of sweat glinting in the glow of the kitchen light, and his pajama clung to his little body. He looked up at Bobby plaintively, his eyes red rimmed and glassy.
"Hey, kiddo," the older man greeted softly. "Can't sleep, huh?"
Sam nodded shortly, screwing up his face when the movement obviously caused him even more of a headache. "It's hot…" he mumbled, his voice rough and scratchy. Then he squinted his eyes and let his head fall forward to rest on Bobby's knee, having not enough energy left to hold it up any longer.
The hunter put a gentle hand to Sam's curly hair and gave his neck a quick massage. "Come here." He lifted the kid into his lap, anxious to not move him too abruptly. Sam's skin was scalding hot under his touch, the dampness of his clothes instantly soaking into the thick material of his jeans. Bobby had to do something soon to get the boy cooled down. However, it was way too early to give him another dose of medicine yet. He swore mentally. Couldn't it, for once, work out the way he had envisioned it?
Bobby came to a decision and got up from his chair, bringing Sam with him, seated against his hip. He had no better idea than to put the boy into a cold bath, not only to fight off the high fever, but also to wash off all the sticky sweat Sam was covered with. "How about you take a nice, cool bath, huh? You'll feel better afterwards," Bobby proposed his plan, not even expecting an answer. At least he hoped it would help some. If not, he had no other option but to bring Sam to a doctor. So not the night he hoped he would have.
To his surprise, Sam mumbled "okay" before burying his face deep into Bobby's neck. The boy sniffed weakly, gripping all the stronger at the hunter's shirt. Bobby sighed, not only sad with Sam, but also for him. Sad, that the poor boy, sick as a dog, had been abandoned by his father. Sad, that he and his brother would never have a shot at a normal childhood. That their future had been laid out for them without them having a say in it. And sad, that Sam had to wait for help for three whole days and he himself couldn't just snap his fingers to put things straight.
In the upstairs bathroom, Bobby sat his precious cargo onto the closed toilet lid. The boy slumped down, running his sleeve absently across his ever-running nose. "Stay there for a moment. I'll be right back," the hunter advised friendly, hurrying to get a clean pajama. He would certainly not redress the boy in the one he was wearing now, since it was sweat soaked. The main point was, if Sam even owned a second pair of sleeping clothes.
Dean was sound asleep, sprawled out on his stomach and snoring lightly, when Bobby opened the bedroom door and tiptoed into the room. He must have been completely exhausted, as he had not only slept through Sam getting up, but also his lengthy absence. No surprise, Bobby thought surly. The kid had been under constant stress for the past days and Bobby doubted that he got nowhere near enough sleep while caring for his brother.
Illuminated by the hall light, Bobby took the boys' bag that contained nearly everything they owned. During his quick search, Bobby found more clothing, a few of Dean's schoolbooks, a small collection of action figures, and, finally, a second, Sam sized pajama. This one was older, had a used look to it, but the quality was still better than of the one Sam was currently wearing. The material felt more high-grade, although the cuffs were already baggy, and the dark blue had lost a bit of color intensity. Bobby realized sadly that it probably had been bought by Mary a long time ago, meant for Dean and handed down to Sam eventually.
Taking the clothes with him, Bobby hurried back into the bathroom. Sam still sat where he had left him, waiting for his return with his head hanging down. The hunter laid the pajama next to the sink, then looked for the softest towel he owned. Should his plan work out, he would have to dry the boy off quickly, since he only wanted to cool him down, not having him go hypothermic.
"Okay, we're all set. Let's get you out of those clothes and into the tub," Bobby cordially ordered, putting in the plug and opening the tap.
Sam slowly skidded to the edge of the toilet before letting himself land on his feet, where he simply froze on the spot, not moving an inch and looking like he had completely forgotten what Bobby had told him to only seconds ago. Breathing heavily, forehead dripping with sweat, nose running, and eyes red rimmed, Sam simply stood in the middle of Bobby's bathroom. He was swaying lightly, and Bobby could see his legs shaking, not for much longer powerful enough to hold the boy upright. The pitiable sight broke Bobby's heart, rushing him into motion to catch the kid before he could fall.
While lukewarm water was slowly filling up the tub, Bobby kneeled in front of Sam to help him get undressed. The boy's skin was still worryingly warm under his touch when he put Sam's small hands to his shoulders, where he hung on unsteadily. Sam did what Bobby told him and moved the way the hunter needed him to, but that was it. Whether it was the exhaustion, the sickness or simply the situation itself, Bobby couldn't tell. The way Sam was acting anyway, seemed like he had lost all his spirit with the sweat pouring from his pores. As soon as Bobby had freed Sam from the sticky clothing, he laid it onto the radiator and left it there to dry – who knew when they would need another dry pajama.
By now, the water was a hand's width deep. "In you go!", Bobby announced and carefully lifted the quiet child into the tub. When the water made contact with Sam's overheated skin, he jerked back, trying to lift his feet as far as they would go. Bobby was unrelenting though, and soon, Sam relaxed and let himself be sat down. He leaned against the side of the tub, pressing his chest to the cool porcelain, and put his head down onto the rim, completely worn out.
Tired eyes tracked Bobby, as he got a washcloth from the shelf and dunked it into the water. The hunter softly ran the cloth over Sam's back and arms, cleaning the sweat from his skin, always making sure the kid felt comfortable. Nevertheless, he could observe a light tremor running through Sam's body in reaction to the cold, his skin breaking out goosebumps. Still, he didn't withdraw, lifted his arms when prompted, and closed his eyes, while Bobby washed his face. The hunter was worried by Sam's passiveness, since it was not in the slightest the four-year-old's usual behavior. He could imagine that Sam was simply beyond exhausted, not even having enough energy left to discuss, like he normally did. Bobby could only hope that the boy knew he simply wanted to help.
Suddenly, Sam lifted his head and spoke up, his voice soft and a hint scared. "Are you mad at Dean?" Startled, Bobby paused his movement and stared at the boy in disbelief. Where did he get this absurdity from? He was pretty sure he didn't say a single thing about his anger in front of the brothers. "What are you talking about? Of course not!"
„At me?" the kid questioned then, his big, hazel eyes all of a sudden full of worry and regret. He hung his head, his forehead almost crushing onto the tub. "I'm sorry," Sam mumbled scarcely audible, before slumping down. He skidded back a bit, trying to bring space between himself and the hunter.
"Hey, hey, hey! Look at me, Sam," Bobby called out kindly, gently lifting the kid's chin with his fingers to be able to see his eyes. This was so not what he had expected to be dealing with. He knew the boys had a bit of a self-taught problem with their guilt perception – thanks again, John – but Sam still thinking he was angry with him or his brother, after everything he had done for them, did still surprise Bobby. He put as much convincibility into his voice as he was able and said, "I'm only going to say this once, so you better listen carefully, squirt. Neither you nor your brother did anyhing wrong, you know? Dean did everything he could to help you and it sure as hell wasn't your fault to get sick."
Sam looked at him doubtfully, still insecure if not even more than before. Tears were now running over his reddened cheeks and he was slightly shaking. "But you're mad," he whispered warily, a little wrinkle forming on his forehead. It was more a statement than a question though, causing Bobby to admire the four-year-old's remarkable intelligence once again. He had tried his best to not let his temper show but Sam had still picked up on it. Time to put some things straight after all.
"You're right. I am angry," Bobby said. "But definitely not at you or at Dean. It's your father I'm mad at, 'cause he didn't take care of you boys. Do you see what I mean?" He made a pause until Sam slowly but surely nodded, then cleared his throat. The thing he was about to say had to be said, although he would never repeat it in the presence of witnesses. "Good. As it is, you two are the best little fellas I had the pleasure of getting to know. I could never be mad at you," Bobby stated, leaving no room for further argument or doubt. He stroked Sam's hair affectionately and added, "As long as it's not really your fault, of course." He grinned, happy when Sam smiled as well.
The next few minutes passed in silence, with Bobby repeatedly cupping water over Sam's neck and shoulders until the boy was finally back at a more normal body temperature. Sam's cheeks were only slightly pink now, but therefore he was shivering, goosebumps already covering his body. "All right, that's enough." Before he got too cold, Bobby carefully lifted Sam out of the tub onto the fluffy rug in front of it. Sam looked helplessly up at the hunter. His teeth were chattering, and he had his thin arms wrapped around himself, trying to warm up. Hastily, Bobby swaddled him in the towel so that only his head was peeking out. He dried him off thoroughly, rubbing over his locks and making sure to catch even the smallest drop of water. After that, Bobby helped Sam into the fresh pajama.
„Are you feeling any better now?" the hunter asked, hoping the whole bathing session had helped even the slightest bit. He did not want to imagine what Dean would do to him would he think Bobby had hurt only a hair on his brother's body. Although the elder Winchester brother was only eight years old, Bobby thought he was capable of nearly anything regarding Sam's safety. To his relief, Sam nodded, looking healthier than he had seen him all evening, before yawning wildly and rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
"Very good." However, Bobby knew that Sam's current wellbeing would only be short-lived. A glance at his watch told him he had to kill at least another half an hour before he could dose the kid with more medications. Sam looked dead on his feet by now, but Bobby was not sure he could simply go back to sleep. Time for a distraction. "I feel like reading a book. What do you say?" he suggested, not really surprised when Sam eagerly nodded. The kid hardly refused any book. Even though he couldn't read yet, he had been fascinated by words and letters since he could sit upright. Maybe reading did some good now, take their minds off of things and help Sam relax. Bobby already had an idea which book they'd read.
After reaching the living room, Bobby didn't need long to find the book he was looking for. In all honesty, it was possibly the only children's book he owned, but it was Dean's favorite. The hunter had witnessed on multiple occasions how the older brother took the book to a quiet corner, usually when Sam slept, to read about the knight who saved his city from the attack of a fire breathing dragon. Bobby was pretty sure that he had read it multiple times already, so it just felt right to read exactly this story to the younger boy. Because what Dean liked, Sam loved.
With the child held in one arm and the book and a bottle of water in the other hand, Bobby sat down on his old but comfortable sofa. He fished the medications he'd brought out of his pocket, setting them on the side table for later use, while Sam was squirming on his lap in search for a snugly position. The kid ended up sitting sideways on Bobby's legs, leaning against the older man's chest with Bobby holding him with an arm around his back. To keep Sam from getting too cold, now that he didn't burn with fever anymore, Bobby tugged a thick, woolen blanket from the backrest. He spread it over the little body, tugging it in carefully and making sure that Sam's feet were covered, too.
The sick boy relaxed quickly, sighing softly and cuddling even closer. Bobby smiled affectionately down at him and rubbed his back, happy that Sam was trusting him this much. "Okay, ready?" he asked and opened the book to the first page. "'m ready," Sam mumbled exhausted, blinking slowly. At this rate, it wouldn't take long at all until the kid would be asleep again. Hopefully not before he was due for his next dose of medicine. Bobby would hate having to wake him up again.
After checking his watch again, Bobby began to read.
Dean woke up from a deep, restful sleep. Blinking his eyes open, he was met with nightly darkness. He hadn't slept too long, after all, but felt so much better than he had in days after taking care of Sammy - in fact, only Sammy. A few hours of uninterrupted sleep in Bobby's comfy spare bed seemed to work wonders. Not that he had regrets for putting his brother first – he would always be his number one priority – but only now after a few hours of sleep, he felt how exhausted he had really been. How much stress the last days had really been for him.
Tiredly, Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up, yawning widely. While he was still questioning himseld why he woke up in the first place, he quickly realized that something was wrong. Very wrong. A swift glance through the dimly lit room revealed a missing little brother. The bed next to him was empty, the bedding in a mess, hanging off of the side. But no sick brother, who spread his sweat everywhere and unperturbedly drooled on Dean's T-shirt every time they shared a bed. Suddenly, Dean was wide awake, jumping to his feet in panic. How did Sam manage to sneak out of bed and even out of the room without him noticing it? Had he really slept that deeply, for his normally sharp instincts to fail? Or had Sam possibly not left on his own, taken by someone or something?
"Sam?" Dean called, hushed, not willed to attract attention to himself in case of danger. He sneaked to the half open door, watching out for all the creaking floorboards on his way. He opened the door without making a noise and peeked outside. He couldn't see or hear anything in the hallway, so he called for his brother again. Tiptoeing from room to room he looked inside but found nothing out of the ordinary. Bobby's bedroom was as empty as the others, which did not necessarily reassure him.
Carefully, avoiding the squeaking steps, he padded down the stairs. The house was deadly silent, however, the closer he got to the first floor, the louder became a noise whose origin he knew all too well. As soon as his feet hit the floor and he rounded the corner to the living room, he saw the all too familiar causer. A big grin spread on Dean's face and all his worries went up in smoke when he found not only his missing brother but also Bobby on the couch. Sam was sleeping peacefully in the older man's lap, wrapped in a blanket and undisturbed by the loud snoring coming from their uncle's mouth.
It looked as though Sam had woken up and had gone to Bobby in search of help. Judging by the medicine packages and the water bottle on the end table, he had gotten the help he'd needed. At that moment, Dean was forever grateful to have Bobby in their lives. The man was exactly who their father wasn't, and what he missed so much. What Sam had never had the possibility to get to know and what Dean himself couldn't always be. Nevertheless, the day Dean had carried his baby brother out of their burning house, he had sworn himself to always be whatever person Sam needed him to be. A friend he could count on, an educator, who taught him writing, reading, and how to take care of himself. A father, who watched out for him but also trained and nurtured him. First and foremost, though, he wanted to be the best big brother Sam could think of who would be there every step of the way, who Sam could talk to about everything, and who didn't think of all his inquisitive questions as foolish.
With a smile on his face, Dean tiptoed over to the sofa where he sat down on Bobby's other side. Carefully, he tugged a part of the blanket free and pulled it over himself. He snuggled up to the hunter and laid a protective hand onto Sam's leg. It didn't take long until Dean fell asleep again, Bobby's snoring in his ears and his little brother finally on the road to recovery.
THE END
