Hello all!! Good lord, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this story!! This has been the first day I've had off all week so I was finally able to sit down and type out this chapter O.o Okay, so anyway most of the ret of this story is based off of true events from the six year old I babysit. He got the chicken pox last year and we actually did have to tape his hands up so he wouldn't scratch, hehe. Also, I know John will probably seem a little OOC in this chapter but I figured since the boys were still little and Sam is sick he'd kinda take it easy on them. Hopefully its not too far out :D Hope you like it!!
P.S. I own nothing!! I'm super broke :(
The ride back to the hotel was quiet for the most part, Sam sitting in the back seat with Dean sitting in the front next to their father. A few billboards passed by the window and occasionally Sam would try to read the large words scrawled across them. He was very smart for his age and could read relatively well but he still had some problems with some of the bigger words.
"Pedi-tricks." He mumbled from the back seat, scratching his arm absently.
"What?" Dean raised an eyebrow and glanced to the back seat.
"Pedi-tricks." Sam repeated, his hand moving to the side of his neck to scratch at another patch of tiny red spots.
"What the hell is "pedi-tricks"?" Dean asked, shaking his head a slightly at his little brother's insistence.
"Language, Dean." John warned, glancing at his eldest son from the corner of his eye. "Where did you see it, Sammy?" He asked, looking in the rear view mirror to the five year old.
"It was on a sign back there. It said Pedi-tricks medicine and there was a little girl holding a teddy bear." Sam answered, indicating the window with one hand and scratching his neck again with the other.
John laughed softly. "Pediatrics." He corrected, pulling to a stop in front of a red light. "They're the doctors that take care of little kids like you and Dean."
"I'm not little." Dean challenged, sitting up a little straighter so it made him seem taller.
"You're under ten. You're little." His father responded, smirking a little as his son seemed to deflate a little at that logic. He glanced back at Sam again. "Don't scratch, Sam. You'll just make it worse."
Sam nodded and sat still for a grand total of about thirty seconds before he began scratching again.
"Sam." John said from the front seat, giving his youngest his best "stern father" look through the rear view mirror. "That's an order."
"But it itches." The little boy whined, dropping his hands into his lap and looking at his father helplessly.
"I know it does but if you keep scratching your going to make it a lot worse."
Sam sighed dramatically and fell back against the seat, looking out the window again. He wished he could be back at school; they were going to get to paint this afternoon and he couldn't do it! It wasn't fair…or as Dean usually said when their dad wasn't around, "it sucks." He let out a slow breath again, a dull headache beginning to form behind his eyes. He felt really hot even though it was still cold outside. Cold enough to wear the big, zip-up jacket Dean let him borrow. He shifted a little in the jacket, the silky material inside making his arms itch worse. He hated the Chicken Pox…
The car pulled into the parking lot of the hotel they were staying in and slowed to a stop outside one of the green painted door. John dropped the keys into his pocket and opened the door, watching as the passenger door opened as well. Dean climbed out, tossing his back pack over one shoulder, and few seconds later, Sam emerged as well. Once everyone and everything was out of the car that needed to be, John herded them to the front door and pushed it open, letting them walk into the still clean room. They hadn't been here long enough to completely destroy the room like they normally did and with the boys still being so young they didn't have that many clothes to work with anyway.
Dean walked to the other side of the room and dropped his back pack onto the rumpled bed sheets, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as Sam started toward him to do the same.
"Nope." John said, snagging the five year old under the arms and tossing him onto one shoulder. "Let me look at you first." Sam hung over his shoulder like a limp pillow case, unable to do much of anything under his father's iron grip. John walked to the designated "living room" portion of their room and dropped Sam on the couch, crouching in front of him and looking at his face. The little red spots had freckled Sam's face all over, creeping through his hair and down the sides of his neck. His eyes were glassy and faint tinge of red beneath the spots had stained his cheek bones. He definitely had a fever. "Alright kiddo," John said, standing and rummaging around in his back for a second. He retrieved a bottle of children's pain reliever and dropped two into his hand. A half-full bottle of water sat on the table next to Sam so he grabbed it and handed the pills to him. "Take this, alright?"
Sam nodded and obediently did as he was told. He didn't like taking pills but if his dad said so there must be a reason. He took a big drink of water and swallowed the pills, sticking out his tongue once he was done to prove that they were gone.
"Good boy." John stood and looked back toward the door. He was reluctant to leave, especially with Sam being sick, but that poltergeist needed to be dealt with as soon as possible before it got any stronger. He sighed and walked over to Dean, stopping in front of him. "Alright Dean, I need to go take care of something. Think you can take care of your brother until I get back?"
Dean nodded and glanced to Sam still sitting on the couch. "Sure."
"That's my boy." His father offered him a small smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Just make sure his fever doesn't get too high and try to make him go to sleep if you can." John glanced at his watch and thought for a few minutes. "I should be back later this evening. Make sure to lock the doors and don't answer the phone. You remember what I told you about when I call?"
Dean nodded again. "Yes sir. You said you'd call once, hang up, and then call again."
John smiled. "There you go." He squeezed his older son's arm briefly and walked to the door, Dean following him closely. "Mind your brother, Sammy." He said as he passed, pressing a kiss to the top of the younger boy's head before disappearing through the front door.
Dean locked the door behind his father and waited until he was sure he'd pulled away before going to sit back down. He switched on the TV and sat next to Sam, propping his feet on the table the way his dad did late at night. A few minutes passed in silence as he flipped through the channels, trying to find something on at this time of day, before he noticed Sam fidgeting next to him.
Sam had shed the big jacket and was busily scratching at his arms through his sleeves.
"Dad said not to scratch Sammy." Dean reminded him, grabbing one of his brother's hands and pushing it back onto the couch.
Sam sat still for a few minutes but the itching was driving him crazy. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and began scratching again.
"Sammy." Dean warned, eyeing his little brother carefully.
The younger boy sighed in frustration and dropped his hands. "I can't help it!" He cried, sandy hair falling across his eyes. "It itches so bad!" A few spots on the backs of his hands had been scratched so hard they were bleeding but Sam barely seemed to notice.
Dean sighed after a second and looked over to his bag tucked against the wall. He got up and walked over to it, digging around in the pockets for a minute before coming back to the couch and sitting down. A roll of duct tape sat on the table next to the bottle of water and he grabbed that as well, pulling the sticky material away from the roll. "Give me your hands." He said, holding one hand out to Sam.
Sam looked at him oddly for a second before he placed his hand in Dean's. Before he could react, Dean shoved a sock over his hand and duct taped it around his wrists, not tight enough to cut off circulation but enough so that it wouldn't move. Sam's eyes widened. "What the-?!" He started but never got a chance to finish as Dean grabbed his other hand and repeated the action. Within a few seconds, both of Sam's hands were securely taped into the socks. Needless to say, Sam wasn't too happy. "Ew! Dean! I don't want my hands to smell like your feet!" He cried, trying unsuccessfully to get the socks off.
Dean shook his head. "They're clean, Sam." He sighed, dropping the duct tape back onto the table. "Now if your scratch yourself it won't start to bleed." He explained as his little brother still fought with the cotton and duct tape bindings.
After a few minutes Sam gave up and fell back against the couch, his hands falling uselessly into his lap. He glared down at them and pouted. "They look stupid." He grumbled irritably, flexing his fingers beneath the cotton.
Dean shrugged, not taking the comment too personally. Sam tended to get a little bitchy when he was sick. "Well, think of them as sock puppets then." He suggested, looking back at the TV as the commercial break ended. They were watching some kind of talk show where the people screamed and cursed at each other more than they actually spoke. Dean loved these shows because he got to learn a bunch of new words when his father wasn't around to supervise the kind of television they watched.
Sam looked back down at his socked hands and began wiggling his fingers experimentally to test his older brother's suggestion. "Can they be dinosaur sock puppets?" He asked, looking at Dean hopefully.
The older boy raised an eyebrow for a second before nodding. "Yeah, sure. They can be dinosaurs I guess."
"Will you drawn it?"
"Sam…" Dean sighed, rolling his eyes in an over-exaggerated manner.
"Please?"
With another sigh, Dean grabbed a renegade permanent marker from the table and quickly sketched two eyes and several rows of sharp, pointed teeth on each of Sam's socked hands. "There," He said once the socks looked like off-white dinosaurs. "Better?"
Sam giggled and nodded, opening and closing his hand a few times so it looked like the dinosaur was opening it's mouth. He made a soft growling noise in the back of his throat and seemed completely entertained with the make-shift creatures.
Dean suppressed a smile and turned back to the TV. If that's what kept Sam's mind off of being sick then he was glad to do it. However, he was suddenly aware of why he hated Muppets again.
Hehe, hope you liked it!! It will get extremely messy from here on out (an I mean that literally) See you soon!! :D
