Dean worked in the kitchen making chicken noodle soup from a can. He just set it on the stove top and waited, staring at nothing until the tremors in his hands got so bad he had to shake them out. The rest of him was numb. Sam was alive and he couldn't process it. So he just stared at the wall, listened to the muted sounds in the kitchen.

At some point the soup began boiling. He turned it down to simmer, found a bowl and spoon, poured a modest portion for Sam and set the pot back on the flame. He grabbed some paper towels and almost forgot to turn the stove off before he left.

He stepped through the empty, silent library where Sam had collapsed only days ago. He entered the main hall to their rooms. The colors were dull. The soup was nauseating.

He wasn't sure how long he'd taken but judging by Sam's surprised expression he assumed it was fast.

"Chicken noodle soup," Dean announced, voice scratchy, his throat sore.

He set the bowl down on the nightstand.

Sam watched his brother nervously.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I remember," Sam said meekly. Dean sniffed and nodded, unwilling to look at his brother. He wondered just how much Sam remembered. If he remembered exchanging I-love-you's or Hey Jude. He didn't know how he felt about it either way. He didn't regret it nor was he proud. Getting Sam back though, it felt like the most hurtful trauma had gone its full course and then somehow had been taken back. It left Dean feeling inexplicably hollow and haggard.

"Can you sit up?" Dean sat down at Sam's bedside. He took the bowl. It shook in his hands. Dean gripped it tighter.

Sam rustled under the covers, trying to sit up. With a quick glance Dean set the bowl back down to help. He lifted Sam up from under his arms and set him against the wall.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam murmured, trying to catch Dean's eyes. Dean wouldn't allow it. His eyes lit on the paper towels he'd brought.

"Still not strong enough to hold the bowl?" He asked as he spread the towels over Sam's chest.

"I don't think so," Sam replied miserably.

Ordinarily Sam would've argued against getting spoon-fed at all but Dean was being so weird that Sam knew this wasn't the time to quibble. And there was no way this was anything remotely close to a prank. After remembering the hypothermia and Lucifer, Sam figured Dean was just running on the blunt imperative to get him something he could keep down that'd warm him up.

"That's okay," Dean reassured calmly. Sam watched his brother, his concern growing at each passing minute wondering if Dean was really going to feed him soup with that same bland, shell-shocked look on his face.

"Dean?"

Dean grabbed the bowl of soup, its contents sloshing over the rim. Sam realized Dean didn't seem strong enough to hold it. Dean winced with frustration, trying to steady out and sidled up closer to Sam so he wouldn't have to carry the spoon far.

"Dean," Sam repeated, alarmed, trying to get his brother to snap out of it and just look at him for a second. "Are you-"

Dean looked away and coughed, effectively cutting him off.

"Okay here," he mumbled as he came back, spooning the soup a few times. He raised his hand up and the spoon's contents fell over the blankets.

"Damn it," Dean whispered, annoyed, and tried to scoop another spoonful.

Sam's brows furrowed, sympathetic eyes wide with worry.

"Dean."

Dean stopped and stared into the soup, trying to get his hands to stop shaking so he could feed his little brother. Sam was still cold, he hadn't eaten anything in the past day and he'd been on the brink of death not five hours ago. The saline had been a good start but there was so much he needed to do and it had to start with this damn soup.

He let go of the spoon and flicked his hands out angrily, trying to release stress and stop the shakes.

He couldn't even do this. He couldn't even feed Sam right now. How else was he going to fail Sam? How many more times could Sam come back from death's door?

Dean pressed his lips together, clenched his jaw, blinked his eyes clear. He'd had enough crying for today, damn it.

"Dean, put the soup down, man," Sam said reasonably. Dean winced, shook his head and looked away.

These trials deceived. Sam could already be developing new symptoms that wouldn't show themselves for what they were until it was too late. Sam sounded fine - he sounded so good right now but how long would that last? And how badly would Dean treat him before he realized?

Dean sniffed and stirred the soup, stalling.

He felt like God was personally looking down at them and offering his own personal "Fuck you. You said your goodbyes. Sam was ready to die but I'm keeping him alive for one more day just to fuck with you. Give you twenty-four hours of hope and then I'm going to take him away forever where you can't reach him. Where you can't hurt him."

"Dean," Sam pressed, his voice insistent. Dean flinched at the sound, grimacing and shook his head. He didn't know if he was denying his thoughts or Sam's calls. He fought tears back but they broke free anyway. He had to get it together, bottle his emotions, lock his thoughts up because what mattered most - what always mattered most - was how Sam still needed him.

Dean tried as hard as he could. He focused on his breathing and tracked his heart beat but no matter how much effort he put forth, his hands wouldn't stop shaking. It rendered him useless with this stupid soup. Dean kept stirring, frustrated, breaking the soggy noodles into smaller and smaller pieces which he knew Sam hated but he couldn't stop.

Sam was alive, looking at him right now, depending on him and so Dean had to do something - he had to feed the kid soup - because as fucking simple and easy as eating was, Sam still just couldn't do it on his own.

Unable to cope with the loss he thought he'd be enduring right now, the weight of his responsibility to Sam was slamming home. Dean had been so sure Sam was going to die. Subconsciously it was the shakes and now consciously Dean had to admit to himself that try as he might, he had no final say in whether Sammy would die. He had no choice, no control, no recourse. Dean had just held him, doing nothing, without any regard for the future, every ounce of him feeling just as dead or dying as he'd thought Sam had been.

Dean had thought he'd lost Sam twice before in his life but it'd never been like what happened this morning. It'd never been just him and Sam together in the events leading up to it. Dean had never faced the cold hard truth that bad things could still happen to his baby brother even while he was on the clock, even while he'd done almost everything right.

Dean felt a hand land lightly on his shoulder. He flinched and looked up to find himself staring straight into Sam's eyes, unable to hide the unbridled fear in his expression. Sam had managed to lean forward and keep himself upright without using the wall for support. His eyes glistened with deep sympathy, sporting the expression Dean, if he were in any way composed enough, would call his stupid puppy dog look. Sam tried to pull himself closer to his brother by scooting forward.

"Dean, Dean I'm okay," Sam whispered, keeping his eyes locked on his brother. Dean stared at him, clenching his jaw, curling his lips in, knowing what Sam was doing but unable to put up a front against it like he normally could.

"I'm okay," Sam repeated and finally reached him, his fingertips then hands on Dean's arm and shoulder. He tugged his big brother into him, weak but persistent. Dean remained unmoved, the last vestiges of strength keeping him still and unwilling to break.

"Dean, please? I'm okay, I promise, I'm okay," Sam begged, his own voice breaking, the sound of which finally managed to break Dean. His face screwed up and he looked away just long enough to lean over and set the bowl down. Coming back, he grabbed Sam around the waist and pulled him against him with a barely muffled sob.

Dean only ever cried silently. It drastically contrasted with Sam who tended to be a mess when he broke down. Dean was different. For Dean, you could only tell through hitched breaths and small shudders, breathy whimpers and choked off cries.

Overwhelmed, Dean hugged Sam to him. This embrace was different from all the other ones though. Dean was the one clutching Sam, not the other way around. Dean needed Sam right now whereas all the other times it'd been Sam needing Dean's stability and comfort.

Sam couldn't return the strength of Dean's embrace, his muscles fatigued and weak, so he did what he could with his voice as Dean hung onto him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Sam kept repeating, caught under his brother's hold as Dean started to rock them, needing to feel Sam alive and aware in his arms. Needing to hear Sam tell him over and over again that he was still with him.

Sam bit his lip, his own eyes prickling over the sounds of his brother's hopeless anguish. He realized that coming back had been a sort bittersweet victory for Dean. That nothing Dean had done had brought him back to health. That they were both so helpless in the face of this thing.

If something could shatter Dean's sense of control over anything, what'd happened this morning was it. Sam realized all that was left now was his big brother fraught with fear, clinging to him and praying to any higher power that'd listen to keep his brother safe and healthy and alive because Dean didn't think he could do it anymore.

Sam realized that had to change.

"Dean it's okay, I'm okay, I'm feeling better, I promise, Dean," Sam's voice teetered on the edge, feeling so sorry for ever having wished Dean would take the trials and his illness more seriously. He'd found strength in acknowledging his death but Dean... Dean only found deep, crippling fear and sorrow.

Dean held onto his little brother, unashamedly grasping him tighter as he listened to his brother's voice, the voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"Dean, listen to me. You were right, okay? I'm gonna get through this. I swear I'll survive this. It's just temporary - like you said. It was just... really... bad this time."

Dean choked off a laughing sob and Sam smiled and angled his chin over the back of Dean's neck.

Dean sniffed a few times and stopped rocking them. He rubbed Sam's back for a minute or so before he could speak.

"I thought you were dead," Dean breathed.

"I know," Sam replied softly, consolingly. "I'm not."

Dean gave another wet laugh and cupped his hand over the back of Sam's head.

"I know," Dean sniffed.

"And I'm not gonna be."

"Okay," Dean breathed weakly.

"Because you're with me."

With that, Sam felt Dean shake a couple times and he wasn't sure whether his brother was chuckling or holding back sobs.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean huffed and Sam could hear a hint of resolve in his tone. Sam tried to hug Dean a little more.

"Nothing bad can happen with my big brother around, right?" Sam asked earnestly, knowing Dean would like it.

Dean let himself laugh again. However lightly, however brokenly, he still managed to laugh.

"God," his voice wet and crackled from tears, Dean still dragged the word out using the same tone that he always paired with rolled eyes. He turned his head so Sam couldn't see him wipe his face.

"Such a bitch," Dean sniffed, making Sam grin.

"Jerk," Sam whispered smugly. He felt Dean shake his head, feigning weary disapproval. Dean patted the tangled mop of Sam's hair a few times before giving a heavy sigh.

That was Sam's signal to let go were this any other situation but Sam was still limp and ill-equipped to take his own weight back. Dean had still been holding him up the whole time even though Sam had been the one providing comfort.

"Okay I'm gonna... set you down," Dean said disjointedly, angling around to make sure Sam would land where he needed to.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, willing to be steered. Sam leaned forward and held on like a barnacle to his brother as Dean set the pillows up behind Sam's back.

"'Kay, you're good," Dean murmured and Sam started to lean back, finding the pillows against his back an instant later. He watched his brother carefully as Dean tucked him in just as tightly as he had before. Dean's eyes were watery, red and swollen but the tear tracks along his face had mostly been wiped away. He was still sniffling but the aftermath of his meltdown was gently fading away in the same equable manner Sam's had back in the bathroom.

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees. He covered his face with one hand, let it hold his head up as he turned and looked at Sam with a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, man."

Sam's faced pinched and shook his head.

"No. Don't be."

"I'm just..." Dean trailed off, about to say, "tired," but knew that'd sound ridiculous. He left the sentence hang.

"I know," Sam said solemnly. He didn't offer anything more. He just let Dean get it together for a few more minutes. Eventually Dean looked at his hands.

"I'm still shaking," he said with a soft, disbelieving laugh. He clenched and unclenched, trying to get them to stop.

"That's okay," Sam said openly. Dean coughed and shrugged. It was okay. He'd just get Sam something else to eat that didn't require steady hands.

"You still hungry?" Dean asked, suddenly worried that Sam's appetite had lessened.

"Yeah totally," Sam lied eagerly. "Starving."

Dean's eyebrows lifted, skeptical yet hopeful.

"Really?" Dean asked warily.

"Yeah," Sam said, expertly faking his most genuine expression.

Dean watched and licked his lips before looking back down at the ground, nodding absently.

"What... um... what d'you think you could hold down right now?" Dean said hesitantly, struggling to resume his role.

"I don't know. What can you make?"

Dean shrugged, still looking at the floor.

"Oh I could... do those... those ham and cheese roll things, remember those?"

Sam remembered. Their bread would occasionally go moldy too soon, leaving them with ham and cheese only. Sam wasn't ever really positive about whether it was because they couldn't afford another loaf of bread or just because Dean was lazy - either way, Dean found an enthusiast in Sam for cheese rolled up into slices of ham when they'd been young. It'd be an easy snack. It still was.

"Yeah. Yeah Dean that's perfect," Sam encouraged lightly. Dean gave a small crooked smile and Sam thought for all Dean mocked him with the puppy dog eyes, it's not like Dean didn't have the same thing.

Dean broke the moment by slapping his knees and shoving up to stand. "Okay," he said, looking at Sam and his space, checking to see if there was anything more he could do before he left. "Okay I'll be right back."

"Okay," Sam said with an honest smile, dimples clear and deep after all the weight he'd lost. Dean noticed it and despite it, he still manage to return his brother's smile with a genuine one of his own.

Dean turned away and left Sam's bedroom for the kitchen, slightly shocked about what just transpired... and even more shocked that he was already feeling better.

Writer's Note: Originally published on FFnet on 2/2/2014, revised 8/6/2019. Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! Love you all. ~ Alex