Writer's Note: Edited 6/16/2019! Originally this chapter was 3 chapters (Numb part I, Numb part II, etc) but I combined all 3 parts of 'Numb' into this one. It looks like I'm not losing my reviews when I deleted the chapters but to sort reviews by chapter there's no longer an option for chapters 43 or 42 now (but I can still get to them if I just type it into the URL). Very interesting! I'm still screen capturing all your reviews so I don't lose them though. Thank you so much for them, seriously from the bottom of my heart thank you!

Fun fact: this section of Trialculosis Sam is why my icon on pillowfort & AO3 is Sam eyeing a floating baked potato hahah

Happy readings!

Sam woke up with a jolt, his body shivering him up and aware. His grasp tightened on instinct and only a second later when Dean returned the pressure did Sam realize he was practically lying on top of him. His knee was bent across Dean's legs, torso covering Dean's side, his head against his collarbone and neck. The sense memory was there for them both from years of childhood and growing up. Sleeping with Dean was simply and plainly comfortable... and Dean was always warm. He felt his brother's hand brace the back of his head. Sam went with it, bending his head down and curling in further, trembling.

"Okay... okay..." Dean whispered, sounding like he was talking to himself more than Sam. His fingers combed through the strands of Sam's greasy hair. Sam let out a sigh at the same time his body shivered. He felt Dean's other hand reach over to pull the blankets up over them, nearly covering Sam's head. Dean rubbed Sam's back and shoulders. "It's okay," he said softly, trying to lull Sam back to sleep.

It worked.

…

"Dean?... Dean?"

Dean flinched and blinked his eyes open. He frowned as he looked down at Sam's head in the crook of his arm.

"Mm what?" He asked sleepily, unconsciously hugging Sam to him. He tried to focus, becoming vaguely aware that Sam was raising his hands up into the air above the bedspread, palms facing them. "What're you doing?"

"Dean I.. I can't..." Sam murmured below him, swaying his arms as he tried to clench his fingers. They barely moved. "I can't feel my... h-hands..." he said just as Dean reached out to pull his brother's closest hand from the air and into his grip.

"You can't feel that?" He asked, placing gentle pressure on Sam's fingers and palm. Sam shook his head. It brushed against Dean's shoulder.

"No..." Sam answered wonderingly. Dean got up, jostling Sam until his head was settled against the pillow. He leaned over to turn on the lamp and both of them squinted when the room lit up a warm yellow. The two of them had been sleeping soundly, their skin thin and papery, hair disheveled, faces pale, expressions pinched.

Dean looked over his brother and found Sam continuing to blankly study his hands as he blinked the light and sleep out of his eyes. "I can't... feel either of them..." he trailed off. Dean winced, not sure what to think or do.

"Dean?" Sam prompted, scared.

"Okay," Dean replied quickly, kicking into gear. His voice was still hoarse but he was alert enough as he knelt closer and hunched over Sam on the bed. "Here," he said, holding his hands out. Sam automatically placed his hands into Dean's, looking up to his brother to anchor him. Dean massaged Sam's hands.

"Nothing?"

Sam shook his head, eyes watery. "No."

"They're warm - you could've just been sleeping on them wrong," Dean ventured quietly, voice scratchy as he tried massaging Sam's hands and wrists more vigorously now. Sam swallowed and shook his head.

"No, no they were just on my chest when I woke up," Sam replied, voice trembling.

"Okay, relax. It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured. He moved up to feel along Sam's forearms.

"How about that? You feel that?" Sam was about to look down at what Dean was doing when Dean spoke up. "No, Sammy, look at me, " he ordered. If Sam looked he'd convince himself he was feeling Dean's touch. "Just look at me and tell me what you feel."

Sam shook his head, glanced down despite Dean's orders then back to Dean, eyes wide and worried.

"Hey... hey c'mon it's fine," Dean said, letting go of one of Sam's arms to lean forward and touch his cheek. "It's going to be fine. They're just... asleep," he said, referring to Sam's hands. "They'll wake up."

Sam nodded bravely, rasped a soft, "okay, yeah."

Dean sat back and started massaging Sam's arms again. "Tell me when you start to feel something, Sammy," he whispered.

"Okay."

Sam didn't watch, just focused his sight on his brother leaning over him. He searched Dean's expression for any sign this was too much for him or that he was really worried for Sam. Dean was pulling out all the stops. It wasn't even a poker face, Sam knew. It was Dean's own brand of self-control: focusing on one task - one job - and refusing to entertain any other thoughts. Specifically Dean was committed to the idea that Sam was numb from a lack of circulation judging by the intense arm massage he was getting.

Getting the massage itself was disconcerting for Sam. He knew Dean's hands were on him even though he couldn't feel it, the bed creaked as Dean developed a rhythm. Their breaths were loud, the sheets rustled, and Sam soon closed his eyes to send out silent prayer he'd be able to feel something soon.

Finally Sam felt a warm twinge.

"Mm... yeah, I feel that," Sam reported, his eyes opened to look down at his left elbow.

Dean's hand had stopped at Sam's hum then immediately resumed the massage.

"You feel that?"

Sam sighed with relief and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied just as he felt the same warmth and pressure against his right elbow.
"Same with this one?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's elbow and upper arm. Sam managed a small smile.

"Yeah."

Dean gave a sigh and let go, sinking back on his haunches with a confused expression.

"No pain?"

"No, no pain."

"Just another symptom of the trials?"

Sam shrugged. "Probably," he replied miserably.

"Temporary," Dean stated. Sam frowned and nodded.

"Probably."

Dean nodded, deep in thought.

"So… is it the weekend? Should I call you Bernie?" Dean smirked.

"You…" Sam paused, trying not to smile, "You're a jerk," Sam chuckled, flopping his numbed hands out in an attempt to hit him. Dean laughed and moved forward, brushing his little brother's hair back affectionately before he moved away. He positioned himself down at the foot of the bed.

"Can you feel this?"

"Oh. Shit, are you holding my feet?" Sam asked.

"I'll take that for a 'no,'" Dean replied witheringly. "Okay, same deal, look somewhere else until you feel something," Dean said, voice calm and clinical. Sam nodded, blinking, and looked off to the side. He felt the bed moving again as Dean moved up his leg.

"Ah - there," Sam announced meekly. Dean stopped, then placed pressure on his kneecap.

"Here?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. Dean moved to the other leg and placed his hand over Sam's other knee. "Yeah I feel that too."

"Sweet, so..."

Sam felt Dean's hand creep under the crook of his right knee, igniting a memory from childhood. Dean wouldn't...

"Dean-No!" Sam reached out weakly just as Dean, giggling stupidly, started light jabs into the tendons under Sam's knee. Sam's whole body lurched as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"Dean!" He croaked, but instead of anger the call to his brother was nothing but mirth. "Stop it, seriously," Sam laughed, making Dean tickle him harder, thoroughly delighted to hear his little brother's genuine gaiety. Sam continued his pleas until Dean let up in good time, smiling.

"I was just checking you weren't lying," Dean claimed innocently.

"Uh huh," Sam panted, smiling. As Sam brought his breathing back to normal, Dean cupped Sam's kneecaps and rubbed them idly, looking around the room.

"Okay," Dean whispered decisively, getting up. Sam had calmed down and begun to turn back to the gravity of their situation.

"What?"

"I'm going to get more blankets," Dean replied.

"You know it's not a lack of circulation or warmth, Dean."

Dean stopped and shrugged back at Sam.

"Humor me," he replied before ducking out of the bedroom.

Sam sighed and looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand. A quarter to five in the morning and he'd just discovered that he had no use of his hands or feet for who knew how long. Yet he wasn't panicking. It had a lot to do with the way Dean was handling it, making jokes, tickling him to destroy any tension or fear. It was innate in Sam to gauge situations based off his brother's cues. He had grown up doing it.

But also Sam just felt safe.

There was no impending threat, no frightening monster in the shadows, and feeling numb was a whole hell of a lot better than the straightforward pain he'd been experiencing before. He imagined Dean was tolerating this new symptom with so much grace due to this too. Not feeling anything was preferable to active anguish and if it meant that he had to stay in bed and trust his brother, well... He was already doing that anyway. As loathe as it was to rely on Dean this heavily, this particular challenge was less stress on both of them.

"Back," Dean's voice cut through the room and Sam's thoughts as he shuffled in with a couple of lightweight comforters. He threw one lengthwise across the bed over Sam's feet and kneeled onto the mattress to fold the second comforter out over Sam's chest.

"Put your arms on your chest," he ordered lightly and Sam did as he was told. He felt the comforters cover him then Dean slumped down next to him.

"Might overheat now," Sam complained. Dean huffed a laugh as he lifted back up to turn the light off.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean replied. Sam grinned in the dark.

They languished in silence, resting next to each other and thinking their own thoughts. Sam blinked and took a breath, about to say something then let it go with an exhale. He sensed Dean tilting his head to the side on his pillow, curious, so Sam figured he'd just ask.

"Think you'll be able to sleep?" Sam said tentatively. Dean sighed and pulled Sam against him. Sam went with it, feeling extra warm and grateful to his brother for letting him know just by that one gesture. Their closeness between them wasn't just for Sam's benefit. Dean would be able to sleep.

*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*

Sam had lost feeling in his hands and feet only a few hours ago. It was alarming but it wasn't painful and it didn't seem to be anything mundane like poor circulation. Sam's hands and feet were going AWOL in a supernatural fashion. While it had been disturbing to hear Sam's voice on the edge of panic last night, Dean had actually taken the new symptoms in stride. He was more relieved that Sammy's other symptoms had started to lift. He was coherent, he wasn't throwing up blood anymore and his fever was gone. Dean had been waiting anxiously for when Sam could down solid foods again and numb limbs or not, it was finally an option again.

So Dean wracked his mind trying to think of what solid foods would give Sam the nutrition he desperately needed while also minimizing the level of embarrassment the poor guy would feel while trying to eat it. He'd mocked this situation earlier asking Sam if he wanted the airplane spoon because he'd thought it wasn't going to happen. Now it was obvious this very much was going to happen and Dean found himself uncharacteristically reluctant to humiliate his kid brother. Instead he'd make something Sam could eat with some kind of dignity. Then if he still found himself laughing at Sam's expense, that would be okay because he'd done everything he could to prevent it beforehand.

With any luck he'd get Sam to find the comedy in the situation too. He used to be really good at that.

When he considered his options over what to make he couldn't hold back a grunt of laughter at the thought of feeding him a juicy hamburger laden with too much ketchup and mustard. He vaguely hoped one day this situation would repeat itself under less dire circumstances so he could follow through on that but for the time being he'd had to acknowledge hand foods were out.

He wished Sam knew all the breaks he gave him.

Moving on, stew or soup had to be ruled out because Sam would be mortified if Dean had to wipe his chin. Salad was out too because Dean would end up spending too much time doing concentrated fork maneuvers to make sure all the lettuce leaves got inside. Dean also considered eggs since it was breakfast time but soon decided against it. Eggs weren't substantial enough: he needed Sam to eat a heavier meal which meant carbs, fats... Protein was important but the protein shakes had kept him up well enough on that front.

Dean needed a food that would stick to the fork (or spoon) so it wouldn't fall on its way from the plate to Sam's pale, miserable face. Only with something like that would the two of them maybe be able to pretend like it was totally no big deal that Dean was spoon-feeding his huge mentally competent thirty-year-old brother.

Okay, that was unlikely. But Dean had to try. So he'd ended up with two baked potatoes with melted shredded cheddar cheese on top and good solid chunks of bacon thrown in. He sprinkled the last touches of salt and pepper over it all and appreciated the tempting aroma. He took a small bite 'to test the temperature' and yes, delicious. If Sam had any appetite whatsoever this would get him.

Dean set it down on the serving platter and got his and Sam's drinks together. Sam got a new protein shake that he'd already mixed and thrown into the fridge to chill. He opted for just a bottle of water and brought two in case Sam wanted a break from the shake.

Ready and set, he took a breath and lifted the tray.

Sam opened his eyes, vaguely registering his surroundings before closing them again. He moved around, getting more comfortable and let out a sigh. He absentmindedly tried to push hair off his face. When he realized he couldn't, his eyes snapped open as the memory of last night came back to him. He looked around the dark room - wherever Dean had gone, he'd kept the lights off so Sam could continue to sleep - and then down to his hands resting comfortably against his chest under the covers. He tried moving the left, then the right, his right foot; his left. Total paralysis still. This was pretty fucking wretched.

The upside, Sam supposed, was that his fever was down. Yet he was still just as, if not more, incapacitated. At least with a fever he'd been able to fall off the bed. Although he could probably still fall off the bed if he rocked his body back and forth.

Sam rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and wriggled himself up against the headboard. Realizing he couldn't redo the pillows, he made a face and leaned forward so they wouldn't dig into his back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted miserably, his voice scratchy from sleep, and waited for a reply.
The walls were too thick. "Dean!" He called again, louder this time. He felt five again calling his brother like this.

"Coming!" Dean returned, his voice distant. Sam swallowed his embarrassment and looked down at his stupid useless arms. He tried using his shoulders to wipe his face which... didn't really work.

Dean appeared in the doorway carrying a huge serving tray which thankfully gave Sam something else to think about.

"Hey - how you feeling?" Dean asked casually, turning the overhead light on.

Sam watched Dean set the tray on a small table against the wall to his right. It didn't really smell like breakfast food but it was alluring all the same.

"Um... good... actually," Sam replied, sitting up straighter and rustling the blankets around so it'd hide the sounds of his stomach growling. Dean blocked his view until he turned around with the protein shake and water bottles, moving over to the nightstand to set them down. He looked up at Sam.

"Paralysis thing still-?"

"Yeah." Sam confirmed, moving his shoulders back and forth to show how his numb arms dangled from the movement like a puppet. He looked back up at Dean sadly.

Dean grimaced and rubbed his eyes, clearly trying to hide the laughter threatening to break out.

"Shut up," Sam said wearily, falling into a wan smile as Dean let out a few snickers.

"You're not in any pain though, right?" Dean asked.

"No, I'm fine," Sam murmured, scooting up. "Pillows are digging into my back..." he trailed off self-consciously. Dean gestured for Sam to lean forward and so he did, bending over so Dean could fix the pillows behind him.

"Thanks," he whispered, leaning back when Dean was done and closing his eyes. He wished he could cover his face with his hands just for a second. Dean ignored Sam's courtesy.

"Hungry?"

"Nah," Sam replied immediately, hoping against hope that maybe, somehow, please God, this paralysis would go away soon so he could feed himself without resorting to Dean's help.

"'Kay," Dean said lightly, going back to the serving tray. Sam raised his eyebrows. Under the circumstances Dean would normally be pressuring him to eat or at least negotiating a time frame. Instead he was letting it go, turning to pick up the serving tray without a single further appeal to Sam.

Despite himself, Sam subtly straightened, lifting his head higher to catch sight of what Dean had made - just to satisfy his curiosity was all - until he realized Dean was moving to set it on the foot of the bed in full view anyway. He stood up straight and looked at Sam.

"Okay hold on two seconds - I'll be right back," Dean said, backing up, grinning. Sam's brows furrowed as he watched his brother leave. His gaze drifted to the baked potatoes. The fragrance of bacon wafted towards him and covered every other less-than-appetizing scent in the room and... it looked really good.

Sam's stomach growled again. He twisted to pout at the protein shake on the nightstand and sighed with resignation.

Another good thing about rejecting food was how it meant more food for Dean. Sam had been out of it for awhile so his brother could totally have been taking care of himself while he was monitoring Sam's health and whatnot but it was just as likely Dean had neglected his own needs under the stress.

Sam was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of something heavy and metallic rolling down the hallway outside.

"Dean-?"

Dean didn't appear but a metal cart did, a small television resting on its top shelf. Dean angled it over the threshold and centered it in front of his bed.

"Found this!" Dean beamed, crouching down to plug it in. "We can watch a movie or something, you know?" Dean said, hopeful.

"Uh, yeah," Sam acknowledged, surprised. "This is great," he huffed with delight. He took a better look at the machine and his eyes narrowed. "Dean, how'd you find this in the bunker?" He asked skeptically. "It has a DVD player in it."

"Shut up," Dean replied easily, fiddling with the controls. Sam laughed, affection washing over him. At some point Dean had to have gotten them a modern television for the bunker.

Dean took one look at him and went into determinedly focusing on opening a DVD case. What did Dean used to call them? Sam's puppy dog eyes?

Sam used his shoulders to wipe his eyes again. He wasn't that emotional; it was just the stress, the sickness, he'd just woken up still and these small meaningful moments took a toll. Sam sniffed and got himself together.

"What're we watching?" Sam asked, willfully upbeat. He didn't mind Dean's taste in movies most of the time, especially if they were action or adventure-oriented. He didn't like horror but if that's what Dean had in store for them then hey maybe it'd turn him off the idea of food altogether.

"Godzilla," Dean replied simply. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked. Dean grabbed the remote from the lower level of the cart and made his way to his side of the bed. He stood by, pointing the remote at the TV, and pressed play. As soon as the DVD registered on screen, Dean dropped down next to Sam. He crossed his legs, socked feet on the top blanket, and reached out to pull the serving tray of full of hot buttery bacon-filled potatoes up from the foot of the bed.

Sam couldn't help but track the food, not the television. Dean was oblivious to his focus, busy getting through the DVD's intro trailers to get to the main menu. Sam finally looked up when the film began, chiding himself for wanting to steal Dean's food, and let out the slightest, manliest gasp at the very modern-looking production company logos of TriStar Pictures and Centropolis Entertainment. It took a second but then Sam started laughing, gratitude written all over his face.

"The remake?" Sam asked, thrilled. Dean was settled further from the headboard, hunched over his food in the center of the bed. He saw Dean's shoulders shrug.

"I can take one for the team on this one," Dean grumbled, making Sam laugh again. "I mean it's still a big monster destroying shit."

"Totally," Sam grinned. So not only had Dean had managed to pick up the television but he'd also bought the Godzilla he knew Sam liked. A thank-you punch on Dean's shoulder was completely in order. Sam slumped against the headboard when he tried and realized he couldn't with numb limbs.

As the movie began, Dean backed up and shifted around, getting comfortable hovering over the serving tray before picking up the cutlery to dig in. Sam braced himself. Godzilla would be a great distraction but he was still going to have to watch Dean eat while he was - okay, he could admit it now - hungry himself.

Sam glanced over at his protein shake again. He turned back to the film and watched Dean take his first bite out of the corner of his eye.

"This is kind of weird. Watching Godzilla at seven... eight in the morning," Sam commented lamely. He saw Dean shrug.

"We're on weird schedules," Dean replied. Sam nodded, understanding. Time was different when sick or wounded - sped up and slowed down at random and inconvenient times. And Dean was along for the ride with him. He had to be Sam reminded himself, guilt seeping into his reflections.

A few minutes in, Dean leaned back and twisted around.

"How you doing? Still okay?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, smiling with pursed lips.

"In a few minutes, I'll help you with the shake, okay?" Dean said openly. No judgment, no jokes; just Dean telling him he was going to help Sam.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, nodding. Dean gave him a quick nod back before hunching over his food again. He stuck a bite of savory cheesy bacon potato into his mouth and chomped loudly, gazing at the television.

"...Unless," Dean hedged, his mouth full, "you want to eat some of this," he finished, still watching the TV.

Sam frowned and didn't say anything. His stomach gurgled and he quickly moved his feet around the blankets trying to cover the sounds but Dean was sitting right next to him. He probably heard. After a few seconds Sam realized he wasn't going to say anything about it though and relaxed. That was when Dean turned around, his eyebrows raised.

"No," Sam enunciated, annoyed. This was a set up. This was a set up from the get-go, wasn't it?

Dean smirked knowingly.

"No!" Sam repeated vehemently, fixing his brother with an unblinking I'm seriously serious expression. Seconds later, a quiet moment in the movie made his traitorous stomach's growl unmistakable.

Sam blushed and jutted his chin out to compensate. Dean was not going to... No. No. Dean looked down at Sam's stomach, then back up at Sam, eyebrows raised, trying not to laugh. Sam kept his steadfast expression of rebellion.

Finally, Dean relented. He shrugged and leaned forward, sticking his fork on an already-cut piece of baked potato and whirled it in the air before leaning back, twisting around to face Sam again.

"S'really good," he said bluntly, looking straight at Sam as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. Sam huffed, sullen, and hated he couldn't use his hands to eat right now. He pointedly glared at the television screen.

Dean laughed obnoxiously, still eating, then hummed with his mouth open, masticated food clearly visible as he leaned into Sam's frame of vision.

"That is so… foul," Sam finally broke a laugh at the last word, unable to help it. It was gross humor for the lowest common denominator but Sam never failed to laugh when Dean went all in with it.

Dean swallowed his food, laughing good-naturedly. "Ya gonna eat some of this, then?"

Sam sighed and studied his brother's face, searching for an ulterior motive. He found none. Dean was genuinely hopeful Sam would eat, never mind the fact that Dean would have to feed him.

Sam grimaced, conflicted, wanting to eat and yet hating the idea of Dean feeding him.

"You're not gonna be an asshole about," he paused nervously, not knowing how to put it, "helping me?"

Dean's smile disappeared.

"No," Dean replied indignantly, "Sammy, no. C'mon, man... I just want you to eat, dude."

*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*

Sam clenched his jaw over his brother's unusual sincere kindness and looked down, then nodded.

The bed moved, Dean angling to sit so he could still watch the movie while he helped Sam. Sam subtly inched closer to Dean.

"Okay, c'mon," Dean murmured. He'd already forked a small bite for Sam and was holding it in the air. Sam stared at it for a second before looking up at Dean with the most hilariously sad expression his brother had ever seen.

Dean snorted and moved the fork towards Sam. He held his other hand below the utensil to catch anything that might fall but his hand was steady and solid. Not entirely surprising; Sam realized that Dean had done this before. He'd even be better at it now because he wasn't six years old. And Sam certainly wasn't two.

"Your face is priceless right now, Sammy," Dean said softly, his smile gentle. Sam couldn't help reddening but before Dean had to actually say 'open up,' Sam took the bite off the fork swaying in front of his face. As soon as the fork left Sam's mouth, Dean turned back around and let Sam chew without being watched. Sam waited for his brother to say something snarky but instead Dean just watched the movie and took another bite for himself.

"S'good, right?" Dean asked absently.

"Yeah," he replied honestly. It made it better that it was so tasty, Sam realized. He could take the hit to his ego being fed if this is what he was getting fed.

At that, Dean twisted towards his brother again, lifting the fork up. It had another small piece of potato on it.

"Here," he muttered, nodding to Sam as though he were doing nothing more than insisting Sam try some tasters at a fair. He brought the bite to Sam's mouth and Sam opened up.

The second bite was just as good. Buttery and creamy cheesy baked potatoes with bacon had always been a favorite of theirs' growing up. It took time to make and bacon was expensive so they hadn't had it very often though.

Things went on like that for awhile. Dean did everything he could to make it feel casual and normal for Sam and Sam quietly went with it, eating every bite all the way to the part Matthew Broderick discovered Godzilla was just a mother protecting her nest.

This really wasn't as bad or undignified as Sam thought it would be. Dean wasn't messing with him and it made all the difference. With all their trust issues springing up at times Sam least expected he was pleased this hadn't turned out to be one of them. Dean was genuine and careful. With a small pang of guilt Sam figured it might have been the result of how much he'd scared Dean in the past few days. He didn't remember a lot but he distantly recalled Dean catching him out on hallucinations, a slurry conversation with Dean's picture of Mom, and on the floor half-naked hanging to the side of the bed. Even if Dean only liked him a little bit these days those symptoms were enough to elicit genuine care.

Morose now, Sam watched the movie and continued to accept the bites Dean offered him. He resolved to stop anticipating the worst from his brother and just focus on getting better. With Dean so sincere and making such efforts to get him back on his feet, the least Sam could do was drop the bullshit and help.

...

Yes, Dean was serious. He wasn't going to mock his little brother while he was still practically starving. However Sam had just passed the half-mile mark on this: he'd finished about two-thirds of his baked potato without any problems and they were large potatoes.

Monitoring things without gawking at him, Dean knew Sam had no nausea because he wasn't nearly as pale as before and while he hadn't smiled much yet, Dean was sure the next time he did his eyes wouldn't look so glassy. No shakes or sweats either. Dean felt that triumph. His worries continued to ebb away.

So, yeah, now? Now he could... maybe...

Dean had purposefully been preparing smaller bites for Sam so the food wouldn't fall off the fork and also to take things slow and easy on Sam's stomach. Dean's own bites were larger. He wasn't sure but if Sam had been watching he would've deduced that the smaller bites were for him by now. Also he hadn't deviated once giving Sam bites between each of his.

So Dean prepared another small piece of food after taking a large one of his own and instead of turning it to Sam, he ate it.

...

Sam squinted when he noticed that Dean took his second bite in a row... it was a small one.

That bite was supposed to be his.

...

A few minutes later, Dean grinned when he felt Sam shift his position next to him enough to make the bed move. He pretended he didn't notice and took another bite. He felt Sam's eyes on him and fought against smiling. He had to see how long this could go before Sam would finally break and whine for his turn.

...

Sam stared daggers at Dean's back. He'd hoped shaking the bed would clue his brother in. He was still hungry. He still wanted more and he could easily see there was more but Dean was just blithely eating on.

What the hell.

...

Dean prepped another piece of potato and quickly turned to Sam, surprising him.
"Open up," Dean said clearly, no nonsense, as he navigated the fork to Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's as he obeyed hesitantly.

Just as Dean pulled the fork out of Sam's mouth, Sam caught the playful glint in his big brother's eyes; the mischievous smirk that pulled at his lips right before he turned away. Sam's eyes widened, realizing this was deliberate on Dean's part.

"Oh my god, fuck you," Sam garbled.

"Sammy don't talk with your mouth full," Dean shot back teasingly, laughter in his tone.

Sam swallowed and gave a furious sigh.

"Dean, I swear to god-"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean interrupted good-naturedly, balancing another bite on the fork and turning back to Sam. "Eat your food," he added, smiling, as he gave a flamboyant wave of the fork 'soaring' to 'touchdown' into Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyes blazed, willfully ignoring the fork's motion until it stopped in front of his purse-lipped frown. Dean stared right back, his own eyes full of amusement, his smile still threatening to reach laughter again.

There was clearly no purer entertainment than this for Dean.

"Sam-my," Dean warned playfully. Sam's breathing was heavy with anger, lips still pushed together, his jaw set sharply. Dean could just see the conflict in Sam's eyes: he wanted to yell him but if he opened his mouth he knew Dean would try to push the food in.

Deadlocked for a few seconds, Dean finally snickered, his face about six inches from Sam's as he opened his own mouth unconsciously trying to get Sam to open his.

"Ah...ah..." He fell into laughter again as Sam's eyes seemed to flare up in disbelieving rage.

When Dean actually pressed the forkful of food against Sam's closed lips in an effort to wedge it on in there, Sam jerked away and sputtered.

"Dean, god damn it, no. I don't want any more. I'm done eating. We're done," Sam yelled, voice scratchy but clear. He used his shoulder to wipe the mashed potatoes off his lips in the midst of Dean cracking up next to him.

Eventually Dean stopped and Sam glanced up to find him feigning a downtrodden look from Sam's rejection of him. Dean was ready to go another round of comedy but Sam was tired and sad. He'd thought Dean wouldn't be a jerk. He thought Dean wouldn't add insult to injury or illness and it wasn't fair. He thought Dean knew and cared about him enough to know he shouldn't be doing this.

Sam sighed angrily and used his shoulder again to wipe his bangs off his now sweaty face. When he turned back, Dean's hand was reaching out to him.

"Dean, no-" Sam cried, annoyed at any attention being paid him by his brother now. He tried to shimmy away from Dean's hand along the headboard.

"Stop it," Dean murmured seriously and Sam stilled on automatic whenever Dean used that tone. Dean wiped Sam's bangs back more efficiently than Sam's shoulder had and pressed his hand against Sam's forehead gently. He kept it there while tilting his eyes to meet Sam's.

"You okay? Fever?"

Sam sniffed indignantly and shook his head, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

"You're just mad at me?" Dean asked easily, pressing his palm along one side then the other of Sam's face now. Sam nodded, sullen but accepting Dean's ministrations when it was serious.

"Okay, just take it easy," Dean said soothingly, "I'm just messing around, Sammy," Dean reassured warmly, finally placing his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, still not willing to look up at his brother. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or angry or if he was even still hungry now. He was tired.

...

Sam refused to make eye contact with Dean now. Dean wasn't happy about how this had panned out. He shifted up right next to Sam so he'd press along Sam's side. Sam let him but didn't lean into it, not even when Dean wrapped his arm around his little brother's shoulders. Sam slumped into that and Dean got his whole arm around him but Dean didn't rule that as a gesture of forgiveness. Sam always unconsciously slumped when Dean hugged him or whatever; sense-memory, maybe. Sam wanting to still feel he was smaller than his big brother.

Still, on the conscious side of things Sam really wasn't appreciating Dean at the moment.

Dean sighed, miserably noting how skinny Sam had gotten, and decided to try again without being a dick.

Sam's eyes fixed on Dean as he prepped another small bite of potatoes. He bristled, bracing himself for further mockery. Dean felt it and gave him a half-hug with his arm before lifting the fork up to Sam's mouth.

"Dean-"

"No, really, c'mon," Dean interrupted.

Sam sighed and opened his mouth, sporting a threatening look in his eyes before he focused on the fork. He bit down a little harder than usual and hit his teeth against the fork's tongs. Giving a small grunt of discomfort, Dean pulled the fork out quickly.

"Dude, don't-"

"I know," Sam interrupted, reeling from that awful feeling of accidentally biting metal.

Dean rolled his lips to keep from smiling but Sam could tell.

Sam finished chewing and exhaled a chuckle which permitted Dean to get a laugh in too. Dean rubbed Sam's arm and settled, arranging another bite for himself.

"You're like Nurse Ratched," Sam muttered. Dean snickered and gave a thumbs up as he prepped another bite for Sam. He leaned back to look down at Sam with the fork in hand and fed him as he replied.

"Florence Nightingale."

"Doctor Kavorkian," Sam replied, his mouth full.

"The hot chick from E.R."

"You're like a hot chick?"

"Shut up," Dean retorted, jamming another bite into Sam's mouth when he opened it to laugh. Sam laughed anyway albeit with more difficulty given the food in his mouth. He started coughing and Dean pulled him up higher against the headboard.

"Sit up straight, you're sinking," Dean murmured as he adjusted him. Sam went with it. This time Dean felt Sam lean into him.

"Sorry. I'm tired."

"You want to go back to sleep?"

"I don't know," Sam replied vaguely. He felt pretty good now actually: full and warm under the covers next to Dean...

He melted further against his brother, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder. After a few minutes Dean angled around to let Sam lie his head more against his chest, let his arm wrap around Sam's back.

As rotten as this was, Sam felt closer to Dean now than he had in a long time. It felt really nice to, for once, drop all pretense and find that beneath all their bullshit they really did care about each other. Dean really loved Sam and Sam had missed knowing it.

Dean brushed Sam's hair back, his hand lingering on Sam's head for a quick massage which honestly felt so good Sam couldn't keep his eyes open.

...

Dean tilted his head after awhile, shooting a furtive glance at his little brother. Sam was pretty close to passing out on him. His eyes were closed, he was breathing steady, looking comfortable and snug against him. A smile came over him as he relished these 'big brother' moments that had become so few and far between as Sam had gotten older.

He stopped messing with Sammy's hair: as much shit as he gave him for it, growing up he couldn't remember a better go-to way to put the kid to sleep than when he played with his hair. The additional plus was Sam's confused and exasperated face when he woke up with ratty hair with so many knots.

Dean pulled the plate of food up so he could polish off the last bits while Godzilla finished. Sam rustled around against him and stilled as he sank against Dean's chest. Dean followed suit, lowering himself down a little further against the headboard to get comfortable as Sam's pillow. He pulled the covers up over them with a sigh and closed his own eyes.

Before following Sam into dreamland, he unconsciously rubbed Sam's back to soothe his own nerves as he prayed to Castiel that this was recovery... that they were through the storm and not in its eye.

Writer's Note: Thank you for reading! If you can spare the time, please leave a comment/review!