I don't own Supernatural, that's the WB. So please don't sue me because I already have enough student loans to worry about. Otherwise, enjoy. Thanks for the reviews.
-note: I wasn't sure if I'd even put this up, it started out as a one shot….but clearly it isn't. Don't know when I'll have time to update after the slew of chapters, but I will as soon as I can.
Sam woke not long after, sometime in the early morning hours. John leaned forward in the chair.
He rested his hand on Sam's hot forehead. "You okay, buddy?"
He didn't answer, he just curled on his side and looked up at John, exhausted.
"Sammy?"
Sam winced and then vomited, didn't even have a warning. For not having eaten anything but a piece of toast in the last twenty-four hours, he managed to bring up a surprising amount of some day's dinner onto his pillow. Tears ran down his cheeks, part from being sorry for causing trouble and part because he was just so sick.
John sat him up and wiped the vomit off Sam's face and chest with the sheet. "You're okay, Sammy. I'm here, you're all right."
He carried Sam over to Dean's bed and tucked him under the blankets. Dean woke and automatically put his arm around his baby brother. The heat radiated off Sam and he seemed frail under Dean's arm.
"Dad?" Dean whispered.
"Just stay with him."
John gathered up Sam's bedding and left the room. He dumped it in the laundry hamper and found clean sheets in the closet. He made Sam's bed with one eye on his sons. Dean's face was as filled with worry as Sam's was pale. John spread a towel over Sam's pillow.
He went over and brushed Sam's hair back. "Sammy?"
Sam struggled and opened his eyes.
John picked up his boy and carried him back to bed. Sam clung to his dad like he was a rescue line in the ocean. John placed Sam back in bed and pulled the blankets up. He helped his son take a few slow drinks of water.
Sam sunk into the pillow. "Sorry." He whispered.
"Hey, no need for that." John brushed Sam's hair back from his forehead. "It was just all the sudden, huh? No need to worry."
Sam nodded, relieved that his dad understood.
"You just rest and I'll be right here."
The boy's eyes slipped closed and his breathing evened out.
"Dad?" Dean whispered.
John looked over. "He'll be all right, Dean."
Dean sat up and played with the edge of his blanket. "It was my fault."
"Not possible."
Dean looked down at the floor. "I knew he was sick when we brought him along, I knew and I didn't tell you."
John glanced over at Sam. "Dean, I knew how sick he was just as much as you did. It's just one of those things that happen. I don't want you thinking you caused any of this. I know Sammy wouldn't either." John met Dean's eyes in the dark room. "Okay?"
Dean nodded and took a breath to relieve the tension and weight from his shoulders.
Sam coughed and his dad and brother turned to him. In the dim light of the room his face looked as though all color had been removed except for the bright pink of his cheeks. He tossed and tuned under the blanket and got it tangled around his legs. John straightened it and brushed Sam's hair back. Sam couldn't find a comfortable position to be in.
When Sam was younger and he couldn't sleep, the only thing that would allow him to rest was to be held. He grew out of it by the time he was five, but John figured there was nothing to lose. He pulled the blankets back and sat his boy up. Sam almost woke and half sobbed in his sleep. John sat with his back against the wall and pulled Sam into his lap. He pulled the blanket up and tucked it around Sam's fevered skin.
Sam struggled weakly for a few moments and then relaxed. "Dad?" He whispered.
"Yeah, Sammy."
"I had a bad dream." He muttered.
John brushed Sam's hair back. "You're all right now."
"You and Dean were killed." Sam shifted. "Where's Dean?"
"He's asleep, just like you should be." John took the glass from the table and held it for his son to drink.
Sam pushed the glass away and tried to struggle. "Let me go." Suddenly there was panic in his voice. "Dean."
John's heart nearly broke at the fear in Sam's voice. "It's okay, Sammy. You're all right, just calm down."
"No, you hurt Dean and my dad. Let me go, Dean help." He sobbed.
Dean sat up and looked over at his dad and brother. "Dad?"
"Come here, Dean." John tried to keep Sam from hurting himself.
Dean sat next to his brother and took Sam's wrists. "Sammy, it's me."
Sam's weary eyes found Dean's in the darkness. "Dean?" He breathed.
"Yeah, I'm right here."
Sam calmed down and he drifted to sleep. John shifted his boy in his arms and got up from the bed. He held Sam as he stood.
Dean stood next to John. "Dad?"
"Go get Bobby."
Dean ran from the room. John carried Sam out into the living room and placed him on the couch. He tossed a blanket over Sam. Bobby and Dean came in a few minutes later. Bobby handed the thermometer over without it ever being mentioned. John almost smiled and took Sam's temperature. 103.7.
"Daddy?" Sam hadn't called John 'daddy' in years.
John knelt at his boy's side. "Yeah, Sammy."
Sam's hot hand grabbed John's wrist with surprising strength. "Don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Bobby kept his voice low so Dean or Sam wouldn't hear. "You thinking hospital?"
John nodded slightly. "He's close to dehydrated, if he isn't already."
Dean sat on the arm of the couch and took Sam's hand. Sam struggled against the blanket thrown over him. John rested his hand on Sam's forehead and the boy calmed again.
Bobby slipped out the front door to warm the chill from the car.
"Dean?" Sam whispered.
He was at Sam's side in a second. "I'm here, Sam."
"He told me where it was."
Dean looked up at John, fear in the boy's eyes. "Where what was?"
"The treasure." Sam's eyes drifted closed. "He said he'd hurt you if I told you."
John brushed Sam's hair away from his face. "Sammy, we're going to go for a little trip. Okay?"
Sam nodded slightly. John gathered the boy up in his arms and wrapped the blanket over him. He carried Sam out to the car. Dean climbed in the back seat without being told and John sat in the front with his boy on his lap. Bobby drove down the quiet streets to the hospital.
Sam coughed again, harder and longer than before. John could feel the heat radiating from his son and felt so helpless that his heart nearly broke. Dean sat forward between the two front seats, his fingers just touching Sam's limp hand. Sam shifted and buried his face in John's shirt.
Bobby pulled up in front of the emergency room doors. John climbed out of the car and carried Sam inside.