AN: Hey, readers! Sorry about the time it's taking me to get this out. I've been having migraines that are bogging me down, and now I've just started an internship. If the migraines can stay away I could get this out a bit faster. In the meantime, please bear with me! I feel like this story is kinda like a slow-burn. I feel the scenes drawing out… If it seems that way to you, please let me know. Hope you enjoy!

.~*~.

Dean could feel himself shaking as he looked into the small trashcan in the light of the bathroom. Sam had had such a frightening coughing fit that Dean almost couldn't stay with him through it. It'd hurt to see Sam go through it, and now Dean wasn't sure if the shaking was the after-effect of that scene or of what he was looking at.

Sam had thrown up before coughing up whatever this was. It was the blood that seemed to float at the top that had Dean's mind screaming.

Blood.

Not that the both of them hadn't seen their fair share of it, even just from themselves. It wasn't the blood itself. It was what the blood implied and this was one of those things that Dean really didn't have any control over. He couldn't Dennis Quaid himself into Sam's lungs and fix the havoc that was being wreaked in there.

He dumped the contents into the toilet and flushed, then rinsed the can in the tub before placing it upside-down to dry in there. He washed his hands. The water was so hot the steam was clouding up the mirror above the sink. He scrubbed, soapsuds dripping as he scratched into the skin of his palms. He might not be able to fix Sam, but he sure as hell wasn't going to make it any worse...

"Dea'?" Sam's weakened voice sounded from the bedroom. If the bathroom door hadn't been open Dean might not have heard him. He quickly dried his hands and rushed to Sam's side. "You okay?" he asked his big brother, and Dean couldn't help a small smirk.

"You just coughed up a lung and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

Sam managed a grin. "Worst part's over," he told him. Dean shook his head.

"I dunno about that."

"For now," Sam amended.

"You want some water?"

"In a minute. Can you put this popcorn somewhere I can't smell it?" Dean didn't need an explanation as he grabbed the bowl and stuck it in the bathroom, shutting the door behind it so the smell was contained. "My head hurts," Sam said absentmindedly as he tried to get comfortable.

"You wanna take something for it?" Dean asked as he hurried to the dresser where he'd set up all the meds. "Something light on the stomach. Tylenol? Think that'll help?"

"Maybe. I don't wanna take anything just yet."

"I'll put it on the end table so you can grab it when you want."

"Dean, just…calm down, okay? I'm not gonna break."

"No, you're not. I'm gonna make sure of that."

"I know," Sam said, shaking his head at the absurdity of the notion otherwise. "Just…could you come lay with me?" Dean turned to his brother again and tried to shake off the feeling of dread. "I'm a little cold."

"Oh," Dean said, then walked around the bed and climbed in, scooting close to Sam and wrapping and arm around him. "You're actually really warm. Fever might be coming back."

"I'll take the Tylenol in a bit. Promise." It was silent for a moment, the movie playing just as background noise. Dean studied his brother's face. Sam's eyes were closed. His brow was a little bit furrowed, probably from the headache, Dean thought. "I think I might have pneumonia," Sam said quietly.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I mean, that's what usually happens with this thing. Just kinda hit me by surprise anyway, ya know?"

"I think maybe all the cough suppressants might've been a bad idea."

"What?" Dean lifted his head a bit. "Why? You wanna be coughing like that all the time?"

"Of course not, but the crap sitting in my lungs needs to get out. Suppressing it's only gonna make it worse."

"Shit. I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault," Sam said with a small laugh as he turned his face to his brother. "You're not a doctor."

"Yeah but I mean…we do have internet."

"Which I'm sure you've been obsessively researching on whenever you're not in here taking care of me."

"Which is why I should've known better."

"You were trying to keep me comfortable, which I appreciate very much," Sam said. Dean let out a self-depreciating huff. "You didn't cause this. It's part of the virus."

"I certainly didn't help."

"'course you did," Sam replied, his hand cupping Dean's cheek. "I've been waited on hand and foot, and any time I so much as sneezed I had this super-hot nurse by my side the whole time."

"Oh, I'm a nurse now?"

"Well, we established that you weren't a doctor. Candy striper?"

"You're pushing your luck."

"I'm sick. You're not allowed to retaliate."

"At least I'm super-hot."

"Yes, you are…"

.~*~.

Next thing Dean was aware of, he was holding Sam from behind. Sam was sitting up, legs off the side of the bed as he struggled through another coughing spell. They must've dozed off after talking about a whole lot of nothing earlier. As Dean felt the strain in Sam's entire upper body, he was at least grateful his little brother had gotten some rest in-between.

Dean's arms held firmly against Sam's chest, each arm draped over as much of his ribcage as possible, and his own upper body was an anchor for Sam's back. One of Sam's hands gripped onto Dean's arm when it became particularly difficult. His other reached for the tissue box.

"Need the can?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head, though if he were to admit it out loud, he wasn't completely sure about that. He just didn't want Dean to let go of him. "You can do this, Sammy," Dean encouraged, patting his hands against Sam's ribcage in effort to help him out. As if on cue, Sam let out another big cough and spit several times into the wad of tissues in his hands.

Dean could feel Sam's heart beating hard and fast in his chest, his breathing erratic from the struggle. But he seemed to be done with the coughing fit. He moved to sit beside Sam, his hand rubbing up and down Sam's back and taking the balled-up tissues from Sam before tossing them in the general direction of where the trash can should've been. He wasn't concerned. He'd clean it up later. Right now, he needed Sam to be okay.

"Maybe the can should be in here for next time," Sam said as he breathed heavily.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll get it in a minute. Are you good?"

"I…I dunno," he replied as though he wasn't convinced either way. "Maybe."

"Maybe? Dude, if you need something just tell me. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong. Your stomach still bothering you?"

"Not really. No."

"How about the headache? Did the Tylenol help?"

"Marginally." Sam was still out of breath. It seemed like his whole body was putting in the effort to get it together. Dean appraised him for another few moments.

"Alright." Not that he necessarily believed the vague answers. "I'm gonna get the can. Drink some water."

Sam watched Dean head to the bathroom and then his eyes began searching for the bottle of water beside the bed. It was half-empty after he'd taken the pills earlier. He reached out and grabbed it, holding it in his lap for a moment. It was taking entirely too long to get his breath back and he didn't want to end up with half that water going down the wrong pipe and making everything worse.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He paid attention to his heartbeat and tried to take more deliberate breaths to try and slow it. Upon the first deep inhale a pain blossomed in his chest. He ignored it as he tried to slowly release that breath, then did it over again. Each time he breathed in, it hurt.

Sam had had pneumonia in the past. He remembered the pain all the coughing ended up causing in his ribcage. But that had been a while into being sick. This cough only just started recently, and the pain wasn't the same.

"You okay?" Dean was suddenly back, setting the can beside the bed before sitting back down beside Sam. His presence pulled Sam from his thoughts and he looked over at his brother.

"I'm not sure this is pneumonia," Sam told him.

"What do you mean? What do you think it is?"

"I don't know, but it's just…different. It hurts to breathe in. I don't remember that being a thing this soon. Not even the same pain, ya know?"

"Maybe because this stupid virus? I'll have to ask on the forum. I wish we had a stethoscope."

"Why? So you can hear the problem and still not know what it is?" Sam asked with a raised brow and an amused smile.

"Smartass."

"I mean, it's the lungs. I'm guessing whatever it is, oxygen is probably part of the treatment." Sam looked over at the box of things on the dresser and Dean's eyes followed his. For some reason the mention of needing to use the oxygen made something in his chest sting with fresh fear. Obviously, this was going to be on the checklist of crap that would happen with this virus. Hell, he'd forgotten to grab tanks when he was at the hospital and maybe that was a subconscious way to stand his ground thinking Sam would be fine and wouldn't need it. At least there were those portable machines in the doc's SUV by pure luck. What if they hadn't been there? What if Dean had picked up a different set of keys?

"Dean?" Sam's voice brought him out of the rabbit-hole his mind had just dropped into. He looked over at Sam.

"Yeah?"

Sam wanted to ask if he was okay. Again. But chose to let it go. Dean would say he was fine either way.

"Do you know how the Inogen thing works?"

"Uh…" Dean got up and grabbed one of the boxes, emptying the contents out onto the dresser. "There's probably instructions, right?" He scrambled through the little bags taped onto the side of the wrapped machine. "If not, I mean…internet." Sam got back into bed, pushing to sit up against the headboard as he watched Dean fuss.

"You don't need to rush it, Dean," Sam said with a grin.

"I'm not," Dean defended. "Do it right, not fast. That's what I always say."

Sam laughed at that. "Yeah, sure. You say that."

"Found 'em!" Dean said victoriously as he flipped the manual open and began scanning through the pages.

.~*~.

4 days later

Dean had Sam on a very specific diet since he discovered there was one that could actually help him to heal. Whenever Sam was napping, Dean was in the kitchen preparing anything possible that they had in their stores. He never would've thought in a million years that he would be so good at brewing ginger tea, but according to Sam it was the best part about being sick. Of course, he said that about the chicken soup Dean had created for him too. The great thing about both of those items was that they could be prepared in large quantities at a time just as easily as the small.

There were no more scheduled mealtimes. Sam slept more and more as the days went on. He was getting tired of the nasal cannula, but as Dean had told him, "That's too bad. It stays." Sam couldn't argue. Dean secretly wished that he could. That would mean Sam was feeling better.

Sam usually got up fairly early in the morning, but that literally could mean anywhere between four and nine, and Dean stopped trying to guess. Breakfast would be cold by the time Sam was ready for it, so Dean found the best way to do it. Every morning started out with a coughing spell that brought up what Dean imagined was the night's build-up. It was painful to watch, but it was a good thing and he had to remind himself of that repeatedly.

When Sam's fit died down, he would sit back against the headboard and just breathe. That's when Dean took advantage of the moment and heated up the tea. Sam liked it with some honey and a cinnamon stick that Dean would let sit in the cup until he got it to Sam's bedside (to reuse every time, since they didn't have a very big supply of them).

He'd let Sam sip on the tea while he went back to the kitchen to heat up the overnight oats. Dean liked them cold, himself, but Sam wanted them warm in the mornings. Dean was getting more and more creative with them each day. Sam liked all that girly topping stuff after all. Blueberries fresh from Sam's garden, which Dean now tended for him, a splash of vanilla and some chia seeds that—yes—Sam had in the cupboard for God-knows-what, and an extra splash of almond milk (which they had plenty of because it didn't expire as quickly as regular milk) was the recipe this morning. Dean's had granola and sliced almonds which was actually just cereal he'd stocked up on previously.

He brought them up to Sam who had gotten halfway through his tea by then. He was looking more awake and sat up a little bit straighter when Dean entered the room. Dean smiled at him, loving when the sleep was farther away from his eyes these days. Sam couldn't help but smile back.

"You do too much for me," Sam said as Dean plopped down beside him on the bed and handed him his oats with a spoon tucked inside.

"Shut up and eat your breakfast," Dean said without any bite. They clinked their spoons together before diving in.

"You're gonna make someone a great house-wife someday," Sam commented with a mouthful of oats.

"That's sexist," Dean replied. "And you're obviously the wife." Sam snorted a laugh and shook his head.

"Seriously though, this is good."

"It's oatmeal, dude."

"It's good is what it is. You're like a kitchen...sorcerer."

"Sorcerer, huh?" Dean smiled at that. "I'm glad you like it. Good thing you haven't had a loss of taste with this virus."

"Don't jinx it!"

That's just how breakfast normally went. They'd finish up, Dean would check the oxygen machine and make sure everything was right, set out Tylenol and water on the bedside table, then take the dishes to the kitchen to be washed. Before he could get them to the sink, his cell started ringing in his back pocket. He set everything down on the counter and grabbed it.

A video call from their favorite sheriff. "Hey, Jody," Dean greeted with a smile until the camera came on on her end. That was definitely not her place in the background and there was only a sympathetic smile on her face. "Where the hell are you?"

"I'm in DC," she told him. Dean thought about that for a moment.

"Did Charlie call you?"

"Yes, actually," she replied, a little surprised that he'd known that. "She called me yesterday morning."

"How'd you get there so fast? Wait… Did she ask you to come?"

"Got a friend with a private plane. He's been in quarantine underground. Told him I wouldn't ask him to come out if there wasn't a vaccine waiting for us here. He was happy to oblige. And uh…yeah she wanted me to come, Dean." Her voice got sad and she looked down for a moment to contain herself.

"Hey," Dean said weakly, a hand moving to steady himself on the kitchen table. "Jody, what is it?" She looked back at the camera and took a breath.

"She wanted me to come because they needed to put her on a ventilator," she told him quickly, then moved the phone so that he could see Charlie lying unconscious in the bed, a tube leading from a machine into her mouth. Dean needed to sit. He slowly sank into the chair at the table. "She wanted me to let you know…"

TBC…