Ciao lovelies. Second short instalment of whatever this is! Yay! Seriously though I have commitment issues already, is that bad? Oh well. Enjoy~

The fever broke, and Dean nearly cried in relief as Sam was finally able to relax a little. His brother still hadn't woken since he'd passed out in the back of the Impala two days ago, but the stress of battling everything coursing through his body had had him wound up tighter than a bow.

Dean sat against the headboard of Sam's bed, running a hand through long brunette locks as he crooned along to the radio. It wasn't the first time an infection had set in this bad, but it was the first in a long while and it'd had him in a panic.

"You scared me real good, Sammy. Could'a gone either way with you." Dean sifted his hand gently through Sam's hair, admiring the softness of it and smiling at his brother's relaxing into the touch. He picked up the tune once again and quietly sang along, serenading the still room fondly.

Dean felt Sam stir on his lap and looked down in surprise, grinning when he saw his brother's face squidged up as he woke.

"Nghhh….Dean?"

Sam's voice was raspy and wavering, sending refreshed waves of concern over Dean.

"Hiya Sammy, you had me worried." He gently got off the bed and all but shoved a glass from the nightstand in Sam's face. "Drink."

Sam gave him a bitchface as he downed the water greedily, moaning in relief. The corner of Dean's mouth twitched in amusement as the glass was shoved right back, a silent plea for a refill.

"How're you feeling, baby boy? Try not to move too much, I've only just got your stitches to do their job."

He handed the groaning Sam, who had been trying to sit up, the glass of water, not so gently pushing him back down onto his stomach.

"Feel like shit. What'd you do to me?"

Dean paused, hurt flitting through and knocking him around the head. "What I did, you ungrateful jackass, was fix your pus-oozing love bite from that fang you were stupid enough to get bit by." His voice had slowly risen in volume, to the point where Dean was near shouting by the end. How could Sam pin his suffering on Dean, when Dean himself had suffered so much just to keep his little brother breathing?

He had to stop as he took note of the effect his words had on Sam. The giant man was resting as far up on his elbows as his condition allowed, reaching out with one hand to grasp onto the only part of Dean he could reach.

The indignant fight flew straight out of the older brother as Sam's twisted humour registered, hastening to cough out a reluctant "sorry" before turning away.

"I'm just glad you're okay, kiddo."

Sam had been getting progressively better over the following few days, swelling down and oozing liquids kept to a minimum. He'd even, Dean noted with satisfaction, resumed his customary geeking out over lore books 'just for fun'.

It was hard, though. Sam's body was still so weak, infection not totally fought off and his immune system was in overdrive keeping it at bay. Now and then Sam would just drop in a dead faint, Dean left to lunge to his rescue. And boy, if he wasn't heavy.

It was after the second drop in as many hours that Sam remained out cold for longer than usual.

Dean was freaking out. Sam'd been asleep for 16 hours straight, whereas the longest previously had only been 20 minutes. Nothing he did could wake him up, and if he was being honest, Sam reeked of sweat and blood and that sickly scent only putrid flesh gave.

The particular motel room they were staying at afforded the luxury of two (two!) wheelie chairs stationed at the desk, as well as a decently sized shower/tub combo utility. It had taken some manoeuvring and a significant amount of grunting, but Dean had managed to transport his comatose brother onto the chairs, and then into the basin of the now full tub.

"Whew. Okay Sammy, let's get you cleaned up."

He grabbed a washcloth and gently started scrubbing his brother's broad shoulders, admiring the girth and their aesthetic definition. Purely platonically, of course, everyone knew Sam looked good; it wasn't weird for Dean to take notice and maybe linger along the more bulky areas…right?

Humming along to the radio just as he'd done the other day, Dean set about carefully washing Sam's hair, enjoying its silken feel and fondly tugging at the overly long strands. Truth be told, although he often teased him about his long hair, Dean secretly loved it, especially when he got to touch it. Sadly, there were few reasons that excused that kind of behaviour, so it morphed into a guilty pleasure he planned on capitalising upon during his term as Nurse Dean.

The water grew tepid, then cool against his skin and Dean realised he'd spent the better part of an hour massaging Sammy's scalp and toying with his drying locks. During his last indulgence, the reclined unconscious figure beneath his fingertips groaned, and Dean jumped back as if he'd been stung, terrified of being caught doing something that could be – not that it was! – seen as unbrotherly.

Yeah. Okay. So there's that. My verbal cohesion isn't too fantastic, things just kind of come and go in my head and nothing really makes sense and isn't transmitted to words very well. Please review, tell me what you think