I don't own Sam or Dean or John or the Impala or Supernatural…..that's all the CW. So if they would be very kind to let me borrow it all for a bit, I promise to give it back….eventually…..well, maybe. Also, I lack an editor, so any mistakes are mine and please kindly overlook them (or let me know). Thanks.
Sam is 16 and Dean is 20.
-ff-
Sam had finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. Lines of pain still creased around his eyes and his mouth was tight with it as he slept. John leaned back in the chair he had pulled into the room. Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed, his hand rested in the middle of his little brother's chest.
Dean looked to John. "What are you thinking?" He knew, but he wanted to hear his father say it.
"You're the one who knows Sam." He muttered.
"He'll be okay." Dean said it because there was no other option.
John had a theory that he didn't want to test, the theory that if he lost one of his boys, he would lose both of them and then he didn't know how much of himself there would be left either.
Sam rolled to his side and the ice pack fell from the back of his neck. "Dean?" He didn't open his eyes.
Dean leaned forward. "Right here."
He took a slow breath and cracked his eyes open. In that moment all Dean could see was fear in his little brother's gaze. Sam coughed a little and blood started to run from his nose. John pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and held it to Sam's face.
Automatically, Dean moved to Sam's back and sat him up a little. He pulled Sam's back against his chest and held Sam's head down so most of the blood wouldn't go down his throat. Sam's breath caught slightly as the pain spiked, but then he just let himself relax in Dean's arms.
"Just breathe, kid." Dean whispered in Sam's ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
John went to get a wet cloth.
Sam gripped the fabric of Dean's pants. He shivered slightly and Dean could feel the start of a fever.
"Dean?" Sam would have hated how young he sounded, but he was in too much pain to care.
"What do you need?"
He was so damn tired and everything hurt, like he was being burned from the inside. He wanted Dean and John to fix it, like they always did. He wanted this to just be some wicked flu he caught and not something a demon had given him. He wanted to be alive in a week.
"Sammy?"
If only he knew how to say all that in as few words as possible. He shook his head slightly and felt Dean's fingers pinch the bridge of his nose a little harder. It must have been bleeding more.
John returned with the wet cloth and passed it to Dean. Sam winced as the cold was pressed to his face. He focused on Dean's left arm wrapped around his chest, Dean's heartbeat against his back, Dean's right hand that held the cloth to his face. If he focused on that, then the pain was a little more bearable and the fear didn't wrap so tight around his stomach. Dean wouldn't let anything happen to him, never had. He slipped back to sleep.
It took a lot longer than John or Dean wanted to stop Sam's nosebleed. At that point, Dean wasn't sure whether his brother was sleeping or unconscious.
John met Dean's worried gaze. "We need to take him to Jim's."
"Now?"
He sighed, Christ, he didn't know what to do. "I don't know how to help him, Dean."
"Call him, maybe he can tell you something."
"I did, he's looking into it, but he doesn't know."
Dean looked at Sam in his arms. "Not yet."
"Dean, we don't have a lot of time on this one."
"I know."
John stood. "The morning, then."
Dean didn't answer. It seemed too cruel to move Sam when he was so sick, and it was only going to get worse. There was nothing anyone could do, and that was what hurt the most. He shifted out from behind Sam and gently laid the kid down in bed. Sam curled under the blanket and shivered slightly. It was going to be a long night for everyone.
He sat at Sam's bedside through the first of the night hours. John came in a time or two with a glass of water or an ice pack, but mostly he was at the table trying to figure out anything to save his son.
Around two in the morning, John came in to give Dean a chance to rest. He didn't figure Dean would actually sleep, but it was worth a shot. Mostly he just lay in his bed and looked at his little brother across the room. Sam was pale and his hair was damp with sweat. He hadn't moved in a while, Sam was notoriously a restless sleeper, even more so when he was sick. Seeing him so still made Dean's heart clench in fear.
Two hours into John's shift, Sam's eyes blinked open. He rolled to the side of his bed and vomited onto the floor. Dean was at his brother's side in half a second. He kept on hand on the back of Sam's fever hot neck and the other on his burning forehead.
"You're all right, Sam. Just breathe."
Sam retched again.
John quickly left the room and returned with a towel and a trashcan. Sam continued to retch for the better part of the next two hours. It was mostly dry heaves once everything had been purged from his stomach. They didn't even try to get him to drink anything, it was pointless.
As the horizon started to show the first signs of dawn, Sam finally stopped. He sagged in Dean's grasp, his breathing was ragged and harsh. Carefully, John cleaned up his youngest and eased him into Dean's arms. John stepped into the hall and closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn't strong enough to lose Sam, not Sam.
"Dad?" Dean's voice was quiet to keep from waking Sam.
John stepped back into the room.
"He needs to drink something."
He nodded once and went to get a glass of water.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was pretty much gone and his throat was raw.
He brushed Sam's hair back. "Right here."
Sam shifted uncomfortably and reached up towards his neck. "Burns, please. Hurts." His hand fell limp against his chest.
"What does, Sam? Talk to me."
He shook his head. "S'buring me." He half sobbed.
Dean eased Sam's shirt up and his breath caught in his lungs. Several circles were red and raw, fresh burns, along Sam's neckline. He saw the silver chain of the metal charm and gently lifted it with one finger. Sam sighed out of relief and Dean couldn't help but notice that the charm was the exact size of the burns. He unclasped it and tossed it onto the nightstand. Carefully he ran his fingers over the burns and Sam would have tried to get away if he only had the energy to.
He pulled down Sam's shirt. "You okay, now?"
"Hmmm." He sighed and pulled closer to Dean.
John came back into the room with the water. He handed the glass to Dean who expertly tipped it into Sam's mouth. Some of the water didn't make it in, but he swallowed most of it.
"Dean?" John's eyes were on the protective charm on the nightstand.
He glanced over and then back at Sam. "It burned him." The words were hard to say.
John felt his blood go to ice for a minute. He tugged up Sam's shirt and saw the round burns on Sam's chest. He didn't know what he could possibly do to save his boy.
He looked at Dean for a minute and then down at Sam. "Christo." He sighed in small relief, at least Sam didn't flinch at the word.
"Maybe Pastor Jim…" Dean let the words fade. "But it's a hell of a drive for him right now."
"We don't have many other options." John cupped his hand against Sam's fevered cheek. "And we're running out of time."
Dean knew as well as John did that once the kids got sick, they were in a coma in three days, dead in five. Sam was already at the morning of day two and it was a full day until they could get to Pastor Jim.
"Okay." Dean breathed.
John left to put what they needed in the impala. He'd put the rest of their things in the truck and call Caleb or Bobby to pick it up. He didn't want Dean driving alone with Sam, and he didn't want to be in a separate vehicle from his son.
Dean stayed with Sam, he wouldn't have left for anything. Sam shivered and Dean pulled the blanket up. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy." He whispered and hoped it was true.
John came back into the room. "Ready?"
"I guess." Dean slid out from under Sam. "It all just seems wrong." He wasn't sure if he was talking about taking Sam across the country or talking about Sam being in this situation at all.
John squeezed Dean's shoulder and picked up Sam. His kid was too big to be carried like he used to, Sam's head was tucked between John's shoulder and neck. Dean grabbed the blankets and went to put them in the back of the car. John carried his boy out of the apartment and hoped he was doing the right thing.
"Dad?" Sam shivered once the cool outside air hit him.
John glanced down. "Yeah, Sammy."
"Goin' t'pastor Jim's?" The words all slurred together and were no louder than a sigh.
"We are, kiddo."
He nodded slightly and John eased him into the car. Usually, when one of the boys were hurt or sick and they had to ride in the car, they'd stretch out in the back on their own. This time, Dean climbed in after his brother and arranged Sam's head on his lap. He needed to keep tabs on how Sam was doing, and it was harder to do that from the front seat.
John went around to the driver's side and they pulled out of the driveway. He pushed the speed limit as much as he dared. He kept half his attention on the road and the other half on the soft words of comfort Dean kept telling Sam. They had no intention of stopping for anything other than gas and bathrooms if they could help it. There wasn't time.
-ff-
Oh no! Hopefully Pastor Jim will know something. Don't worry, nobody dies. I don't write that kind of story. So at least you have that reassurance.