Chapter 2

TWO DAYS EARLIER

The sun had just set when Sam noticed the signs that John had a hunt coming up. He packed the bags, checked the food supply, and made sure the weapons were loaded.

Sam immediately took his attention away from the book he was reading. His heart raced. They had been through this many times. But not like this. Dean had been sick for days, moving from the couch to the bed, eating when John told him to. Sam didn't understand how Dean could sleep so much. He didn't understand why John was allowing it. John was taking care of everything. It was a very different dynamic from what he was used to. Dad in command was always... strange.

John spoke to him. But then his dad told him something he had never heard before. And he couldn't process that information. "Take care of your brother" was a recurring phrase... said to Dean. Not to him. He didn't know how to take care of Dean. He didn't even know how to take care of himself!

Sam couldn't respond. He just stared at John, in shock. From his peripheral vision, he saw his brother lying on the couch. A pile of blankets on top. He knew Dean wasn't well. But that wasn't a concern. Things were under control. Under John's control. Not his!

— Remember what me and Dean do when you're sick. The main thing is to keep him hydrated. As much liquid as possible. Call if there's an emergency, got it, Sam?

— But...

— Sam, I need you to take care of your brother. You don't want to do that?

And those words broke Sam. Because of course he wanted to and would. My God. It's Dean. The person who always takes care of him. He'd do anything for Dean. At least, if he knew how...

— But this is already an emergency... — Sam said uncertainly.

— Your brother will be fine. It's nothing he can't fight. He just needs some help. You saw what I was doing with him over the last few days. Keep him hydrated. Okay, Sam? Can I count on you?

— Yes, sir.

— Keep the room safe. You know what I mean.

Actually, I don't. I don't even know what he has to be safe from.

John went over to Dean and stood looking at him. Sam thought John was going to give up on what he was about to do. Of course, Dad would see how bad Dean was and how absurd this idea was. Then Sam watched his dad grab his things and open the door. John stopped midway and turned around. His gaze went from Dean to Sam. He stood there so long that Sam thought maybe he would change his mind and actually stay. And he deeply wished he would.

Sam snapped out of his daydream with the sound of the door closing, followed by the sound of the Impala driving away from them. And now it was real. He was in charge. The thing was, he didn't know how to be in charge.

Okay. Liquids. Soup is a liquid. Sam decided to heat up one of those soups Dad had bought. He pulled a chair over to the stove. Carefully turned on the stove. Dean had taught him that. He put the soup in the pot.

Okay. Stir. Until when? How will he know when it's ready?

When the soup started bubbling, he got scared and turned off the stove at once. This will have to do.

Dean coughed from the couch.

Still using the chair to reach the cabinets, he grabbed two bowls. One for him and one for Dean. The cabinet was dusty and Sam wanted to sneeze.

Dean coughed again. Sam started to sweat, not knowing if he had done the right thing. He took the bowl of soup to Dean.

— Dean? Can you wake up?

Dean sniffed but didn't move.

Sam put the bowl on the coffee table.

Dean shivered at Sam's gentle touch.

— I made soup for you — Sam said a little nervously. — I don't know if it's good or if it's hot enough... but it doesn't smell bad.

Dean's eyes sparkled for a second and he squinted to understand what was happening. He registered Sam, the bowl, and... the absence of John.

— I can't believe Dad did this to you. It's wrong on so many levels... — Dean thought he managed to say this, but his breath was so ragged and his throat so hoarse that only a few words escaped to Sam.

Sam couldn't hear. He only registered Dean's disapproving look and the word "wrong." He was ready to apologize for messing everything up, but then he saw something that paralyzed him. Dean's face was wet. And the source of that came from his eyes. Dean was crying.

You hurt Dean. You did everything wrong, Sam thought to himself. — I just need to take care of you. I'm trying... — he whispered.

A hand emerged from under the blankets and Dean wiped the tears on his shirt sleeve. He gently ruffled Sam's hair.

— Thanks, Sammy. You did a great job.

— You need to sit up to eat the soup.

— Great. I really need to go to the bathroom...

— Now?

— For hours...

— And why didn't you go?

— I'm working on that plan.

Sam handed the bowl to Dean, not understanding much of what he was saying. He went to the kitchen, grabbed his own bowl, and sat next to Dean. Dean managed a smile at him, and he thought he had done a good job. His heart stopped racing when he saw Dean slowly but steadily bringing the spoon to his mouth.

Sam handed a glass of water to Dean.

— You have to stay hydrated. Drink! — Sam said with a commanding voice.

Dean laughed, seeing Sam's attempt to imitate their dad. But it triggered another coughing fit. He felt pats on his back. Sam was taking the mission of caring for Dean seriously. Dean felt inadequate but proud.

Sam didn't know if he should sleep. Does Dean sleep when I'm sick? Why didn't I ever think about that before?

Without making a decision, he ended up falling asleep. The fatigue overwhelmed him... it's very hard to have responsibilities.

He didn't know what woke him up. The room was very dark, so it wasn't morning yet. He sat up in bed, trying to see something... all he saw was Dean's empty bed. And it shouldn't be. He convinced Dean to leave the couch last night. He wouldn't have slept here if Dean were somewhere else.

His whole body protested against his attempt to get up. Sleep was still in every part of him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep them open. He didn't even need to look far because a coughing fit from the bathroom revealed his brother's location.

Dean coughed so much he thought he wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. He felt his consciousness fading, the bathroom floating around him... he thought he would faint and tried desperately to breathe. He knew being sick was terrible. He had been sick before, of course. But this felt nothing like anything he had experienced before. His body trembled. He knew the fever was high. His shirt stuck to his back. If only he had brought the blanket here... He wanted medicine, anything to make him feel better. Nothing Dad left for him was working.

He wished so much that Mary was here. The thought scared him. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to wish for his mom. He wanted Dad, wanted Sammy. Something felt very wrong, and he felt such a great fear that he didn't know if he was trembling from the fever or the fear.

— Dean? — a muffled, fearful voice from somewhere in the room interrupted his thoughts. Sammy. Not knowing he still had any liquid left in his body, tears rolled down his cheeks. Sam needed to sleep. He needed to be taken care of. Sam needed him. He knew Sam was scared. And he needed Sam so much with him. He tried quickly to wipe the tears. But he could barely lift his hands. Oh my God. I'm going to faint. Nobody will even know. And Sam will be alone. No! I need to do something.

— Go back to bed, Sammy. — Dean's voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, and his throat burned with it. He also had a headache that had been tormenting him for days. And now he couldn't even move his neck. What kind of flu does this to you? Dean knew the kid was worried about him and just trying to help. But that wasn't Sam's job. It was Dean's job to take care of everything. He HAD to handle this alone. But he couldn't. More tears fell, making him sob, and he felt miserable. He thought maybe Sam didn't hear the sobs, and not everything was lost.

— Dean... is it really that bad?

Damn, Sam. You weren't supposed to hear that. Please, leave me alone. He began to gag again and quickly turned his head to the toilet. There was nothing left to vomit. Then came the worst part. The dry heaves exhausted him completely. But suddenly, there was a warm hand on his back and comforting words in his ear. He thought he should push Sam away and yell at him for disobeying. But he was so grateful not to be alone anymore. He didn't remember ever feeling this scared in his entire life. He only realized he had started crying again when he felt Sam's hand on his face, wiping his tears. Maybe he hadn't even stopped crying yet, and that made everything worse. Sam shouldn see this.

They stayed in the bathroom for far too long. Sam wet a towel in the sink and wiped Dean's neck and forehead. He remembered that Dean did this for him. Dean felt grateful and could only sit there, vomiting and crying. He couldn't stop. Neither the vomiting nor the crying. He was tired of trying to.

Sam left his side, and Dean felt the emptiness of not having his brother there. But Sam returned with a glass of cold water and asked Dean to drink some. Dean shook his head... if he drank, he would vomit more. And he couldn't handle that anymore. Sam used his new commanding voice and said he WOULD drink the water, or Sam would tell Dad.

Dean didn't know what was happening to him or why his face insisted on staying wet.

Sam wasn't dumb. Threatening Dean with Dad was a low blow. But he didn't know what else to do. This reminded him of John and what he had said before leaving.

When his brother looked at him, there was so much sadness on Dean's face that Sam's heart broke into a thousand pieces. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, showing Sam that besides vomiting, he was also in a lot of pain.

— Where does it hurt Dean? Is it your heart too?

Sam felt really silly asking that. It wasn't Dean's heart that hurt. It was his. Dean managed to answer "head and neck." Dean held the glass for a few seconds, but soon his hand dropped as if the glass weighed a ton. Water spilled onto his legs and the bathroom floor.

Dean saw Sam running out and thought Sam was upset with him.

— Great. That's all I needed.

Then he heard Sam's crying voice: "Dad, please pick up, it's an emergency."