Disclaimer: Never in my life have I wanted to say yes... but... alas... no...

A/N: Well, yesterday's one shot got pretty much the response that I expected. Haha-- I warned you there was no plot! The best review though, and I kudos... was from 'Ciya', who worded the thing perfect; 'OMG that was so freakin' bad but I loved it!'. Haha-- that made me laugh. Todays one shot, thankfully, does have a plot, so you can sink in and enjoy it!

Title: Fire Bugs
Genre: A little angst... not much; a lot of fluff and nice stuff. Haha...
Summary: Sam is sick, and Dean is trying to take care of him. Pretty simple plot, but in the end we all know it will make you smile!

Fire Bugs

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean grunted, pulling at his brother, "You gotta get up dude."

Sam's head lulled to the side, his eyes rolling lazily into the back of his head. Dean frowned, and tried to hide his worry as he pulled Sam up into a sitting position.

"Sam!" Dean's sudden voice shook Sam into momentary consciousness, "Don't even think about going back to sleep. You have to get up."

"Fire bugs," Sam slurred out.

A ghost of a smile came to Dean's face. The whole thing would have been hilarious to the older man if Sam wasn't running a fever of 103.4 and hadn't just got sick all over the bed for the second time in an hour.

"Sam, you got sick in the bed again," Dean tried to explain, "I have to clean it up, and then I promise you can go back to sleep."

"Fire…"

"--bugs, I know," Dean sighed, "And someday you're going to explain that to me, but for now, just--" Dean heaved Sam onto wobbly legs, "Time to get up."

Sam's cheeks were pink, and he stood staring around the hotel room. It was three in the morning, and the only light which shone was that from a small end table light in-between the beds. The room swam in front of Sam's eyes, and it was an impossible task to focus on any one thing.

"Think you can stand for a second Sammy?" Dean questioned.

Sam remained silent, and Dean let go of his little brother to make a dash to the bathroom. The previous twenty-four hours had given way to a pattern that Dean was quickly catching on to. Sam, at first, was getting sick nearly every fifteen minutes, and then would be conscious and almost lucid for around five minutes before collapsing back into a stupor. Much to the relief of Dean, the sickness was loosing its grip, and with the constant pill pushing that he was doing on his little brother, Sam had managed to keep his insides calm for nearly forty-five minutes before he'd get sick.

Dean was caught off guard this time, however. The older brother fell asleep, and was awoken to Sam's gagging beside him. And now as he wet a cloth in cool water, Dean knew he had about another five or ten minutes before Sam would be out again.

Crash.

Or not.

"Sammy?" Dean came out of the bathroom to see Sam half collapsed onto the ground; feebly trying to grip a nearby chair.

"S-Sorry," Sam whispered.

"Hey Sam," Dean crouched down, and spoke softly "You ok?"

Sam stared at Dean a moment, "Dean? …hi."

"Hi Sam," Dean rolled his eyes, "You gotta take off your shirt."

"Dean…" Sam sat limply as Dean struggled to take off his soiled shirt, "Dean…"

"What is it Sam?" Dean forced back his own gag reflexes as he tossed Sam's shirt into a plastic bag.

Sam swayed back and forth slightly, "…fire bugs."

"Sam," Dean sighed, "Shut up. Just sit here for a minute, while I clean up your bed."

Sam nodded, and leaned his head into his hands. Dean patted his shoulder lightly and stood to his feet. By that point there wasn't much left in Sam's stomach, so the mess on the bed was minimal. With a quick pull, Dean grabbed up the sheets and blanket in one swoop, and tossed them in the corner of the room. Five minutes later a fresh set of linen was put on the bed, and Dean rounded it to check on Sam.

"Sammy, you with me?" Dean asked crouching down.

"Mphh," Sam muttered incoherently.

Dean grabbed a small bag from behind him, and pulled out a thermometer, "Hey Sammy, I'm gonna check your temperature again-- see if it's going down at all."

Dean turned Sam's face to look at him, and stuck the instrument in his mouth, with a firm 'keep it in this time'. Sam's head hung backwards, and Dean took the few minutes to use the cool cloth to wipe down Sam's chest and face. The younger brother barely flinched at the cold water, and the whole time Dean just prayed the temperature would be down. If not, a hospital trip would be taken the next morning-- something neither Winchester wanted.

"Alright," Dean took the thermometer out at the small buzzing sound, and looked at it, "Oh, thank God… good job Sammy… down to 101.7."

"Happy?" Sam squinted at Dean.

Dean smiled and placed a hand on Sam's still warm cheek, "Yeah Sammy, I'm happy about that. It's still not perfect-- you have to take some more pills now, ok?"

"F-Fire… bugs," Sam breathed, his eyes slowly closing again.

"Yeah," Dean pulled out two Advil, two Gravol and a bottle of water, "Here Superman, take these."

The struggle was minimal, and soon Dean had pulled Sam up onto the bed. His little brother was fully unconscious by that time, and Dean knew nothing short of the end of the world would wake him.

"Get better Sammy," Dean whispered as he laid on his own bed, flicking on the television.

Dean didn't plan to fall asleep. He wanted to stay awake for the next inevitable time that Sam would get sick. But it was halfway through It's A Wonderful Life when Dean drifted off.

The first sound that came to the elder man's ears was that of running water. Memories rushed into his head quickly, and Dean sat bolt up in bed.

"Sam?"

The bed beside him was empty, and the bathroom door was open ajar, with the light on. The clock red 8:56am as Dean quickly got up and walked to the bathroom.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke again, opening the door fully.

A still shirtless Sam looked up from the sink, his face wet, "Hey Dean."

Dean let out a long breath, "Hey Sam… how are you?"

Sam nodded his head, "I'm ok…"

Dean placed the back of his hand on Sam's cheek, "Can't cook a fricken egg on your face anymore… that's good."

Sam smiled, "Yeah… it was 99.9 this morning when I got up."

"When was that?" Dean questioned.

"About twenty minutes ago," Sam answered glancing at the clock as they exited the bathroom, "I didn't want to wake you."

"You should have," Dean's voice was hoarse, "Sit down."

Sam sat down on the chair which sat near the bed; Dean taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"How's your stomach Sammy?" Dean asked, "Did you get sick at all?"

"No," again, Sam shook his head, "I feel a lot better. I-- don't remember too much. How long was I sick?"

It was Dean's turn to smile, "Almost two days dude."

Sam smiled sheepishly and looked down at his bare feet, "Thanks Dean."

"For what?"

Sam took a deep breath, "For looking after me."

"Aww, don't worry about it," Dean waved it off, "I'll just make you do all the laundry."

Sam laughed, "Yeah. Listen-- it really does mean a lot to me… when you help me. I want you to know that."

Dean nodded, trying to get past the sentimental moment, "I'm just glad you're ok Sammy… give it a day, and you'll have forgotten about it, and be down my neck for some stupid thing I'll do."

Dean stood up and tousled Sam's hair. Sam gave a small chuckle and watched as Dean got some fresh clothes out of his bag. His big brother didn't know how wrong he was…

"It's ok Sammy," John soothed, rubbing six year old Sam's back, "You're ok."

Sam finished getting sick in the round bowl, and looked up at his Dad, tears coming down his red face. John smiled reassuringly, and held onto Sam, rubbing his shoulder.

"Feel better buddy?"

Sam sniffled loudly, "Yeah. W-Where's Dean?"

"He went outside," John explained as Sam curled up onto his lap.

"He promised we could catch the lights tonight," Sam spoke sadly.

"The 'lights'?" John frowned as he brushed back dark brown curls from Sam's sweat laden forehead.

"Uh huh," Sam's breath stuttered out, "The lights. D-Dean said."

"What lights?" John asked, beginning to again rub Sam's back.

"They fly," Sam tried to explain, "At n-night. Dean said w-we could catch them."

"Oh," John laughed lightly, "A fire fly."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "A fire bug. Dean said we c-could catch fire bugs."

"Well you and Dean can catch some when you're feeling better," John promised, "Right now you're sick, and Dean wants to do his own things."

A sad sniffle came out of the young boy's body as he snuggled in closer to his Dad. The six year olds eyes were just closing when a slam from the front door caused him to jolt awake.

"Dean," John scolded as the ten year old came into the living room, "Your brother was almost asleep."

"Sorry Dad," Dean panted out of breath, his arms behind his back, "But I have something for Sammy. To make him feel better."

John smiled, and looked down at the tired looking Sam, "What do you say Sammy?"

Sam nodded wordlessly.

Dean grinned and bent down in front of Sam, "Look what I brought you Sammy!"

Proudly Dean pulled out a small, lidded glass jar from behind his back. Inside was a small glowing ball floating around.

"A fire bug!" Sam cried out struggling to sit up.

"Easy Sammy," John cautioned helping him into a sitting position.

"Yup!" Dean grinned, handing the jar to Sam, "I caught it just for you."

"Thanks Dean," Sam stared in awe at the small bug flying around the glass jar.

"No problem Sammy," Dean grinned proudly, "Do you feel better at all?"

"Yeah!" Sam eagerly nodded, and turned towards John, "Look Daddy! Dean caught me a fire bug!"

"That's great," John looked at Dean and winked, "And I heard that they have special healing powers. I bet you'll be feeling better in no time."

"Really?" Sam looked again at the glowing bug.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "And then maybe tomorrow you can come and catch some more with me."

Sam smiled and gave a wide yawn. Soon the six year old was laying comfortably in his own bed, sleeping soundly-- the small jar sitting protectively beside him-- the fire bug nestled safely inside.

The End.