"Dean," Sam whined throwing himself onto the sofa next to Dean one Saturday morning while they were living in Louisiana after Sam started second grade. "I don't feel good."
"What doesn't feel good," Dean said pressing the back of his hand to Sam's forehead. Sam pulled away like Dean was trying to burn him. "Hold still ass hat. I'm trying to see if you got a fever."
"I don't have a fever, I'm freezin'," Sam answered, letting Dean feel his head. "And my stomach hurts, and my head hurts and my legs hurt."
"You're burnin' up, kiddo," Dean said, wiping the sweat from Sam's head on his brother's shirt. "Any of the kids at school sick?"
"No," Sam said shaking his head and trying to pull the blanket off the back of the couch. "Andrew's been absent for a few days, but I think his family went on vacation, and Vanessa hasn't been at school because her sister has the chicken pox."
"The chicken pox is sick, Sammy," Dean sighed. "Let's just hope you don't got that. That would suck. Normally, you gotta go to the doctor for that, and Dad won't be home for at least a week. I don't think we can go to the doctor without him."
Sam shivered and pressed into Dean's side. "Did you ever have chicken pox?"
"Before you were born," Dean answered. "I don't really remember it. Dad said the kid next door had it, so I caught it from him. I remember that I couldn't be around Mom for a while, so that you wouldn't be sick when you were born. And I was itchy. Dad worried about you getting' it when you started school. I heard him talking to Uncle Bobby about it. You can only get it one time I think, cuz when I was in first grade this mean girl got it, then everyone else sept me and one other kid got, cuz we both had it when we were really little. We'll find out if you start gettin' a rash if you got the chicken pox."
"What does the rash look like?" Sam asked, situating himself so his head was in Dean's lap, blanket pulled tight around him.
"I don't know," Dean answered. "It looks like a rash."
"Like this?" Sam unrolled himself from the blanket and pulled his shirt up a little showing Dean his red and pock marked belly.
"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Probably exactly like that. Get up, I'm gonna call Bobby, find out what to do about you."
"Can I have soup?" Sam asked. "With fishes. The sick soup."
"I don't know if we have any Goldfish, Sam," Dean said picking up the phone and dialing the familiar digits. "I'll see what I can do in a minute, okay."
Sam nodded as Dean listened to ringing on the other end of the phone, until Bobby finally answered.
"Uncle Bobby, it's Dean. I think Sam has the chicken pox and I don't know where Dad is, and he's not supposed to be home until at least Friday, and I don't know what to do."
"Calm down," Bobby's soothing voice said into his ear. "Why do you think he has the chicken pox?"
"He said a kid at school's sister had it," Dean explained. "And he has dots on his belly." He turned to Sam and asked. "Do they itch?"
Sam shook his head and groaned, pulling the blanket tighter.
"But they don't itch yet," Dean added, slowly growing into a panic as he spoke. "Dad's not here. I think I have to take Sam to the doctor. But I don't think there's doctor in this town, and I don't know how to get there. I don't know what to do."
"Just calm down for a second," Bobby said. "Where are you right now?"
"We're in Louisiana," Dean answered. "That's far away from you. I don't know where Dad is, and I don't know anyone else."
"You gotta thermometer anywhere around?" Bobby asked. "Take his temperature, then tell me what it is."
Dean nodded and placed the phone on the table and ran off to the bathroom to see if their dad had left the first aid kit under the sink. Dean ran back and told Sam to open up taking his temperature and relying the information to Bobby.
"It says that he has a 100 degree fever," Dean explained. "But Sam says he's cold."
"Okay," Bobby said calmly. "This is what I want you to do. Make Sam eat something, soup or something like that. Even if he doesn't want to eat, make him anyway. And I want you to take his temperature every couple hours and if it gets any higher, I want you to call me back, you got that? I'm gonna try to find your dad. You just take care of your brother."
"Okay," Dean breathed. "I can do that."
"Don't let him scratch if he gets itchy," Bobby added. "If he scratches it'll scar. Don't want that now, understand?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded.
"Call me back before you go to bed," Bobby said. "If the fever doesn't get worse."
"I will," Dean said. "I'll talk to you tonight."
Goldfish crackers weren't on the list of necessities for the boys, no matter how many times Sam tried to tell John they were an actually a vital food group: "Cereal, pizza, spaghetti, spaghetti sauce, and goldfish, the five food groups." Almost every time they were in the snack aisle of a grocery store. But they had plenty of soup. Dean put a pot on and waited doing his best to keep an eye on his brother over the back of the couch. It appeared like he'd fallen asleep, wrapped up tight in blanket, shivering.
He set the hot bowl of soup on the coffee table and shook Sam lightly.
"Bobby said you should eat something," Dean said as his brother looked up at his drowsily. "Even if you don't want it, it's the best way to keep the fever down."
Sam nodded and sat up enough to take the soup on to his lap. Dean stood over him, watching, making sure he slurped down most of it.
"I'm too full," Sam said, halfway through the bowl.
"Alright," Dean nodded taking the bowl from him and placing back on the coffee table. "Bobby said to make sure you don't scratch. So if you start itching, dad has stuff you're supposta put on poison ivy to keep it from itching, I can put some of that on ya if you think you're gonna scratch." Dean sat down on the couch next to his brother who promptly fell into his lap.
"I'm cold."
"Want me to get the big blanket off the bed?" Dean asked. "It's the only other blanket we got."
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I do. I want it."
"Okay," Dean smiled sliding out from under Sam and rushing to the bedroom and back with the big comforter.
Sam was sound asleep when Dean got back, curled into a ball. Dean laid the blanket over him and curled into the less comfortable arm chair. Like he promised Bobby he woke Sam up every few hours to check his temperature. It didn't get any higher, but it didn't go down either. When he called Bobby that night after tucking Sam into bed, Bobby explained that he'd found their dad.
"He'll be home by first light," Bobby said. "Got another guy on his job. He'll figure out what to do about Sammy."
"Okay," Dean said with a sigh of relief. "Sammy spent most of the day asleep. He's still asleep, but in his bed now. He was starting to itch before I put him to bed."
"You make him eat?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah," Dean answered. "He had about a can and half of soup. He was mostly thirsty and cold."
"Good," Bobby said, Dean could feel the smile through the phone. "You did real good. Your Dad got poison ivy cream? That might help with the itching."
"Yeah, I already did that," Dean said. "I figured it was a good idea. Couldn't hurt anyway. His fever didn't go down, but he says he's cold. And he's all sweaty."
"That's how fevers usually work, kiddo," Bobby said. "He sounds like he was doing alright all things considered."
"Okay," Dean said. "Thanks for helping me."
"No problem," Bobby said. "Tell your dad to call me when he gets there. Keep an eye on Sam, keep checking his temperature. You're goin' real good kiddo."
When John got back to the dark and silent house, Dean was passed out cold on the couch with a thermometer in his hand. Sam was wrapped in every blanket in the house in Dean's bed. Clearly it had been a long day judging from the state of things.
"Hey, Buddy," John whispered shaking Dean slightly. "Wake up."
"Call Uncle Bobby," Dean said sleepily. "What time is it? I gotta check on Sammy."
"I got it," John insured him. "You just go to bed."
"Sam's got all the blankets," Dean said sitting up and blinking rapidly. "He says he's cold. He's also in my bed, and I didn't' want to sleep in his gross sweaty bed, but he didn't either."
"I'll grab the extras out of the Chevy," John said. "You gonna be comfortable here?"
Dean nodded and laid back down, curling into himself and falling slowly back to sleep as he felt the warmth of his Dad's leather jacket over him.