I had a dream about your baby sam ficlet actually, in the morning sam was running a slight fever and dean knows of course and is hovering and slowly sammy just gets worse throughout the day ;( hes quiet and feverish and pale and so exhausted for such a small baby. Dean held him,brushed his hair, rubbed his tummy and back and sang him a song and was just doing all he could to make him feel better and it was the most adorable thing. overnight sammy couldnt sleep because he had an upset tummy and-
- he had an upset tummy and was really feverish and was just feeling really bad. (It reminded me of my own baby). dean then made an ice bath because the fever was way too high for comfort and as he was easing he and sam into the bath, poor baby limp in his arms, dean was just apologizing and pressing kisses to sams head when sammy started whimpering from the sudden cold and ugh it was basically just dean being the best big brother in the world and doing all he knew to make him feel better 😔 [2/3]
It was one of the best dreams I've ever had, I slept for a solid 10 hours and it was just really beautiful so thank you💌 if you feel up for it, making it a fic would be awesome but I understand if you can't, I'm a college bub too haha. Again though thank you for the dream and the works [3/3]
Anonymous said: oh wow okay! hmm, I saw you do a lot of angst so I think something with some more sick sammy would be awesome. it could be a really bad fever or aw you know what I just thought of? sam catching on that Dad isnt coming back and getting depressed, not eating and being really clingy with Dean. If you dont want to do angst then the boys making breakfast, jamming out to music and sammy giggling his ass off would be really nice -lizzie
you guys are honestly so sweet ;-; i’m so so sorry that this is late, real life has been A Lot recently, but this fic refused to leave my mind till i wrote it down lmao
[part 1] [part 2]
--
The first thing Dean does in the morning is put his palm across Sam’s forehead. He frowns when he notices that the fever still hasn’t broken, and Sam’s skin is still far warmer than it should be. Still, he’s not too worried, not just yet -- if memory serves, Sam should be fine by the end of the day, or tomorrow morning at the latest. In the meantime, Dean’s got leftover soup, lozenges, and flu meds. They’ll be golden.
He checks his phone; it’s around ten, which means it’s time to be up. The technical problem with getting out of bed, though, is that Sam’s sleeping curled into Dean’s side, fingers curled loosely into his shirt, and Dean’s going to have to be really careful if he wants to get up without waking his very little brother.
It takes some gentle untangling, but Dean soon has his shirt free of Sam’s grip. He yawns as he heads to the bathroom, leaving the door open so that he can hear if Sammy wakes up. Some coffee would be a fucking blessing right now, he thinks sleepily as he empties his bladder, but he can’t really leave Sam alone in the motel room just because he needs a caffeine fix. Maybe if Sam feels up to it when he wakes, they can go out for breakfast.
Sam’s still asleep when Dean comes out of the bathroom, but Dean figures he’ll be up soon. Just in case, he checks Sam’s temperature again. It’s pretty much the same, and Dean tamps down his disappointment -- after all, it’s not as if a few minutes would’ve really made a difference.
But half an hour later Sam is still asleep, and still feverish, and now Dean’s beginning to get worried. He gets up from his chair and heads over to the bed, sitting down and gently running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Hey,” he says, voice low. “Up and at ‘em, kid.”
Sam opens his eyes after a couple shakes, blinking blearily up at Dean. “Hi,” he says, and then yawns. “Don’ feel too good,” he tells Dean a second later.
“Aw, kid,” Dean says, letting Sam crawl into his lap and slump against his chest. He puts his arms around his little brother, rubbing his back gently. “Better or worse’n yesterday?”
Sam shrugs. “Dunno. Is Daddy back yet?”
“Nope,” Dean lies easily. “You feelin’ up to some breakfast?”
Sam considers this for a second. “No,” he tells Dean in the end, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Dean’s neck.
“Gotta eat something,” Dean tells him, tucking wayward curls behind Sam’s ear. “Okay, how ‘bout orange juice? You like orange juice.”
“Okay,” Sam mutters, not opening his eyes.
“You feel up to goin’ out?” Dean asks.
Sam shrugs again. Taking it as a yes for now, Dean gets to his feet, Sam still cradled in his arms. “C’mon, then, let’s get you changed,” he says. “We’ll have some breakfast, and if you still don’t feel better, we’ll come back and watch cartoons. Anything you like. How’s that sound?”
Instead of answering, Sam turns his face into Dean’s neck, small fingers curling into the collar of Dean’s shirt. “’M cold,” he says. He’s still throwing off heat waves, Dean notes with the beginnings of worry.
He tries not to think about it as he dresses Sam and helps him brush his teeth. The diner’s not far, and Dean gets their food to go, not wanting to risk being seen by anything that could want to harm Sam in this vulnerable state. Besides, Sam’s still lethargic, almost still in his arms though he’s not asleep, and Dean knows he doesn’t feel like being anywhere that’s not a bed or a couch.
The kid downs his orange juice without much fuss, and then accepts the spoonful of flu medicine Dean gives him. Then he curls into Dean’s side again, both of them seated on the bed facing the television. Dean has his breakfast wrap and coffee with one hand, the other placed across Sam’s back. It seems to bring the kid some comfort; he’s soon dozing off, paying the cartoons no mind.
Dean texts Castiel once he’s done with breakfast. Still a kid. Still sick.
There’s no reply, so Dean tries praying. O Cass, who art probably busy somewhere, he thinks with considerable effort. Pray thee, uh, drop by and pay us a visit. Sammy’s still a kid, and now he’s sick too. Some help would be great. Uh. Amen.
Nothing. Dean tries calling. There is no response. He’s probably all right, Dean reassures himself, just busy somewhere. He’ll try contacting him again in some time.
He whiles away the time watching television and playing games on his phone. His hand never leaves Sam’s back, rubbing absently as he flips through channels, occasionally stroking through his hair. Sammy’s a little sweaty, which is good. Hopefully the fever will break soon, thinks Dean as he pushes the sheets off Sam until he’s in only a thin blanket.
He dozes off too, eventually, head lolling against the headboard, TV remote clutched loosely in his free hands. The curtains are drawn, not letting much light into the room, and the low hum of the television serves as a lullaby, as well as Sam’s small, warm form next to him. Dean falls asleep with Sam tucked into the space between his side and his arm, his breath puffing warmly over the skin of Dean’s hand.
It’s late afternoon when he wakes again, going by the golden glow barely visible around the edges of the curtains. Sam feels even hotter against Dean than he’d thought possible, and he can’t help the curse that slips out when he puts his hand against Sam’s forehead. The kid is burning up, skin flushed and sweaty, and he looks uncomfortable even in his sleep, face scrunched up.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Dean mutters as he scrambles out of bed, rushing to the bathroom and plugging the drain in the ancient, stained bathtub. He opens both taps as far as they’ll go and then goes to get Sam.
The kid wakes up when Dean begins taking off his pajamas. “Dee,” he cries out as he’s lifted into Dean’s arms. “Dee, I don’ feel good--”
“I know, kid, I know,” Dean murmurs soothingly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Here--” He gently lowers Sam into the bathtub, wincing as Sam lets out a cry at the cool water against his overheated skin.
“Dee! ‘S freezing!”
“I know,” Dean mutters sympathetically. “But we gotta get your temperature down, buddy. I promise it’ll be over soon, okay, and then we can watch a movie if you want, all right? Anything you want. Or I could read to you--”
But Sam’s not listening, too busy trying to get out of the tub. Dean steels himself and then gently pushes him back in. “I know it feels cold, buddy,” he tries, “but it’s just for a few minutes, okay? I promise--”
The water isn’t even that cold; it’s tepid at best, but it probably feels icy against Sam’s skin. The kid is crying now, shivering as tears roll down his cheeks, and the sight makes Dean’s chest hurt something bad. He could never bear seeing Sam cry, as a child or an adult, and it’s almost impossible now, even though he knows he’s helping him, not hurting him.
“I want Dad!” Sam’s crying, hands rubbing at his eyes. “Dee, I want Daddy, where’s Daddy?” He hiccups, and then resumes sniffling.
“He’s not here, kid, ‘s just me and you,” Dean tells him, heart aching at the sight of Sam sobbing. “It’ll be okay, Sammy, I promise, just a couple more minutes--”
“Is Daddy coming?” Sam asks, wiping ineffectually at his running nose. “Is he on his way?”
“I -- yeah, yeah I just spoke to him,” Dean lies, helpless. “He’ll be here soon, kiddo, don’t you worry--”
“Does he know I’m sick?” Sam demands.
“Yeah, I told him--”
“Then why’s he not here--”
Unable to handle it any longer, Dean puts his hands under Sam’s arms and lifts him out of the bathtub, cradling him close to his chest and not paying any mind to his shirt soaking up all the water off Sam’s skin. “It’s all right, I got you, I got you,” he rambles, grabbing for a towel with one hand and managing to wrap it around Sam as he carries him back to the bed. He sets Sam down carefully and dries him off, paying special attention to his mop of limp, wet curls. Sam’s shivering a little now, but his sobs have reduced to the occasional sniffle, and his eyelashes are clumped together from tears, but he’s no longer actively crying.
“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispers to him as he begins dressing him in clean, dry and warm clothes. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I get it if you’re mad at me, but I hadta do it, kiddo. You were burning up.”
Sam sniffles, and Dean wipes his nose with his own shirtsleeve. “’M not mad,” Sam whispers a second later, blinking wetly at Dean.
Dean zips up the little hoodie he’s just put around Sam, and then lifts him again, hugging him tight. “Promise?” he asks, throat suddenly dry.
“Yeah,” Sam says, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. “I feel a bit better.”
“You do?”
Sam nods, and rests his head down on Dean’s shoulder. “Little bit.”
“That’s good,” Dean says, and then presses a relieved kiss to Sam’s damp hair. “That’s really good. D’you wanna go outside in the sun for a little bit?”
“Okay,” Sam says, curling his fingers into Dean’s collar again.
There are still a couple hours of sunshine left, and Dean spends them walking up and down the motel parking lot, humming under his breath as he rubs Sam’s back. Sam perks up a little once his hair dries off, and begins demanding his favorite songs, and after that his favorite King Arthur story, which Dean takes as a sign that his health is improving. His own mood improves along with Sam’s spirits -- he hadn’t realized how heavy it had weighed on him, having Sam not well, until he’s better.
“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he tells Sam, interrupting his own story.
Sam smiles at him, and presses a wet little kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I am,” he replies.
“You know why?” Dean asks, taking one of Sam’s tiny hands in his and kissing the knuckles. “‘Cause I’m an awesome big brother.”
Sam giggles. “That tickles!” he says, patting Dean’s face with his free hand. “Your face’s like -- like a cactus. ‘S spiky.”
Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I’m about overdue for a shave. You wanna see how I do it?”
“Like how Daddy does?” Sam asks. He seems to have forgotten about when John’s returning, until now, and for a second Dean’s afraid he’ll remember again, but Sam remains cheery as he continues patting Dean’s cheek experimentally.
“Yeah,” Dean answers, grinning as he begins heading back inside. “Except better, ‘cause I’m cooler.”
“’Cause you’re Batman,” Sam says, completely seriously.
“Yep,” Dean says, popping the p. “And you’re Robin.”
The fever’s worn off, and Dean can only hope the curse will follow. Just in case, though, he thinks as he locks the motel door behind the two of them, he’s going to need to start looking into alternatives. Maybe try Castiel again, when Sam’s asleep or distracted.
For now, though, he’s just going to spend some time with his little brother, and make the most of however much of it he’s got left.
