Disclaimers: General disclaimer, disclaiming all rights to Supernatural, Sam's health, and Dean's character. General disclaimer about being inspired by you wonderful people who write a million and one times better than I do, and probably unintentionally stealing your work, as opposed intentionally stealing Supernatural and then returning it only slightly damaged. More specific disclaimer goes out to someone who I cannot remember who to credit (and as a result I feel like a lying, stealing bitch) but would love to, because it is their doing that Sam reads Dean "Green Eggs and Ham." Directly influenced by their writing. Can give credit, but can't remember who. It was initially between "Green Eggs and Ham," and "Go Dogs Go," though, because those are two books from when I was four that I can recite almost cover to cover.
Sam got sick on the third day John was away. He started coughing that night, and while he didn't wake up again after Dean put him to bed for the third time that night, he didn't sleep well. The nightmares went in and out and even when he wasn't dreaming, Sam tossed uncomfortably all night.
Once Sam was coughing, that was it for Dean. Already uneasy about sleeping while he had to look after Sam, Dean wasn't able to sleep a wink while Sam was uncomfortable.
When Sam woke up that morning and looked at Dean dolefully, Dean was almost positive he had a fever. He didn't even need to check. Sam was pale and shivering and his eyes were glazed. A thin film of sweat was covering his forehead. Dean was sitting with his back turned to the beds, contemplating calling Bobby.
"Dean," moaned Sam. Dean stood up and smiled at his brother.
"Hey, Sammy," he said. "How ya feeling?"
"I'm cold, Dean," he said.
"Come here," Dean instructed. Sam stepped forward and Dean placed his hand on Sammy's forehead. It was warm to Dean's touch and Sam flinched.
"Your hand cold, Dean," he protested, pulling away.
"You have a fever, Sammy," Dean told him, catching his hand before he got too far. "Come on, I think I have something that'll make you better."
He took Sam's hand and led him over to the sink. Dean, still eight and not yet tall enough to reach the cabinet over the sink, climbed up onto the counter and pulled out the children's Tylenol. He squinted at the bottle carefully, eyeing Sam, trying to figure about how much he weighed.
He shrugged and hopped down and poured a little into the little medicine cup.
"Learn to swallow pill soon, Sammy," he said as Sam took the medicine and handed the cup back to Dean. "You hungry?" Sammy shook is head ,but Dean smiled. "I'll make you something anyway." He crawled back up on the counter, replaced the medicine and scooted along the top until he found a can of something his sick baby brother would eat. Sam watched Dean carefully and protested as Dean pulled the can out.
"I change my mind," he said. "I is hungry."
Dean looked at him expectantly. "This isn't okay?" he asked, putting it back without even waiting for the answer. "And since when do you even know what kind of soup's in there anyways?"
"There's a tomato on the front, Dean," said Sam matter-of-factly. "Plus, I can read, Dean."
Dean smiled down at him. "Yeah?" he said, even though he was completely aware Sam could read better than most kids his age. He sort of used it as bragging rights at school. "You should show me sometime."
Sam sneezed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay," he agreed. "Now."
"Gotta get you lunch first, Sammy," said Dean, looking at the clock. Almost noon. "You're sick, dude."
But Sam just smiled, his mood changing so quickly, Dean though maybe he'd been imagining his brother's illness. He still didn't look good though, and Dean, whose sole concern had been looking after Sammy since Mom had died, knew that Sam had a half-hour before his temperate skyrocketed, regardless of the medicine in him.
A half an hour before he'd refuse to eat. And Dean wasn't going to force him if he swore he wasn't hungry, but If Sam didn't eat now, he probably would be too sick by dinner time to eat. And the Sam would wake him in the middle of the night, complaining that he was hungry.
Or worse, he wouldn't.
Either way, it was best that Sam had lunch within the hour.
"What do you want?" asked Dean. But Sam decided now was a good time to be stubborn and he set his little jaw and pursed his lips. He looked up at Dean with his puppy dog eyes. "Sam," he insisted.
"Read with me," begged Sam. And he looked into Dean's eyes and resistance became futile. Dean vaguely wondered if Sam did it on purpose, brainwashing his victims by looking so pathetic.
"Fine," said Dean. Sam smiled and produced a picture book out of seemingly nowhere. Green Eggs and Ham, the only book Sam could read cover to cover, probably because it had his name in it some many times.
"I-am-Sam," read Sam, sitting down, looking up at Dean proudly. Dean smiled and showed Sam a can of something without really knowing what it was, and Sam beamed. "Sam-I-am."
"Do you want it, or not?" Dean asked impatiently.
"Yeah," he said. "That one."
Relieved that Sam had some interest in food before he crashed, Dean opened the can, poured it in the bowl, and popped it in the microwave, because if there was one thing Dean was good at, it was microwaving food.
Dean sat down at the table across from Sam, who hadn't stopped reading while Dean had started the microwave. Now, he looked up at Dean and pushed the book towards him. Dean sighed and picked up the book. "Do you like them in a box?" read Dean right where Sam had left off. Sam jumped up at once and climbed onto Dean's lap. He read with Dean in time and pointed at the pictures as if Dean hadn't seen them. And Dean smiled at each one like it was a masterpiece.
By the time they reached the end of the book, Sam's fever was back, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The microwave had stopped almost twenty-five minutes ago (leave it to Sammy to take a half-hour to read a picture book), but Dean hadn't been able to get up because of the brother on his lap. Sam had taken Dean's hand some time ago and Dean could feel his temperature climbing. Dean wished he knew why the Tylenol seemed to wear off much quicker than it should, and Dean contemplated (again) to see if he knew, or at least if he should give Sammy some more.
Dean looked down at Sam. He looked up blearily. "You has to finish it," he said.
Dean sighed. "Thank you, thank you, Sam I Am," he said gently, closing the book with a snap. Sam smiled weakly. "You're worse," said Dean. Sam didn't answer. "Think you could eat something?" Sam shook his head. "Okay," said Dean, and he stood up in one fluid motion with Sam in his arms and carried him back bed. Sam curled up and started to shiver. Dean tucked him in and gauged his brother's temperature again, this time with a soft kiss on the forehead. "You call if you need something, Sam," he instructed severely. "I'll just be over there."
But Sam didn't answer. To Dean's relief, Sam had already fallen back to sleep. Or, at least, he was settling in enough not to answer.
Dean went back to the kitchen area. It was almost two o'clock by now, and Dean was hungry. He thought about being lazy and eating Sam's soup, because it was unlikely that he'd want it when he woke up anyway, but he took it out of the microwave and covered it instead.
Sighing, Dean made himself a sandwich. He positioned himself at the table, oddly uninterested in his lunch, watching Sammy sleep.
A/N: With Sam burning off the medicine really quickly, I'm just going to chalk it up to demon blood, and as he gets older, it doesn't work the same, because he's taken adult strength and perscription meds. Easy way out, but whatever.