Why Is It Always Sammy?

He's Too Young For All This pt.3

Dean woke in a dark room to the sound of Sam crying. He was on his stomach lying flat. Dean sighed.
"It's okay. Calm down."
He reached out a hand to pat the small boy's back but he found no one.
"Sammy?"
Dean asked sleepily as he pulled himself up.
He saw a dim light coming from the bathroom. He heard a wet cough then a small voice calling his name.
"Hey Sammy. It's okay."
Dean knelt next to him and rubbed his sweaty back. The little one leaned into him and sobbed.
"It's okay."
Dean peered into the toilet to find nothing but spit.
"Okay, I think you're overtired, come on. Let's get some more medicine in you then off to bed."
"Won't stay down..."
The boy whimpered.
"Have you been heaving and flushing all night?"
"S-since m-midnight."
Dean took a quick glance at his watch. It read three in the morning.
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
Dean held Sam's head up in his warm hands and thumbed away the tears. Sam held onto his wrists and wept out shaky sobs.
"I tr-tried."
The boy bowed his head and dry heaved.
Dean quickly leaned him to the toilet before he heaved.
"It's alright just cough it all up."

    Finally, a small bit of bile came up and left Sam coughing badly.
Dean lied the boy's head on his shoulder and patted his back to loosen his airways a bit. When the fit ended, Dean carried the exhausted child back to bed.
"Don't go to sleep yet."
Dean said and brought his brother some medicine, water, and a trash bin. After Sam had taken the medication, he was almost asleep in Dean's arms. Dean rubbed his back and smoothed his hair out of his face.
Dean took the thermometer from the bedside table and put into to his ear.
"Still 102*. Any chance you want to hop in a cold bath?"
Dean laughed and soothingly ran a hand through Sam's hair. Sam moaned and shook his head.
"I know Sammy, I know. We'll try tomorrow."
He crawled in bed next to Sam and held him close. Sam still shivered hard, but Dean was right there to comfort him in much needed heat.

                            🤢

    Sam woke up the next morning with a bad taste in his mouth and the feeling of a dull knife being jammed into his skull.
"Morning kiddo."
Dean said from the small table at the other side of the room. He held a newspaper in one hand and cup of coffee in the other.
"Feeling any better?"
Sam shook his head and coughed into his arm.
"You okay?"
He asked as he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He noticed he was wearing one of Dean's old sweatshirts. It was originally black and had a falcon in the center of the chest. That had faded off from all the hell its been through since Dean received it from a school they attended for a week last year.
"I'm not catching whatever you got, Sammy. Don't worry."
Dean sat Sam back down against the headboard and covered him from the waist down.
"Now, I got you something to eat at the diner across the street."
"Not hungry, thanks."
Sam lied. He was starving, but he couldn't stand any more vomiting.
Dean laughed.
"Lair. I could hear your stomach growling from the diner."
Dean set two take-out containers on Sam's lap. One was circular and tall that obviously held some kind of liquid and the other was flat and large Sam opened the first to find hot chicken soup. The steam and look of it made his mouth water. In the second, he found it filled with bread and saltines.
"Eat up Sammy."
"I want to. I really do, but I don't want to throw up anymore."
Sam said in a weak voice. Dean sighed.
"I know Sam. But you gotta at least try. For me?"
Dean handed him a spoon and smiled encouragingly.
"I don't think I can eat all of it."
Sam sighed.
"Then don't. We can warm it up later."
Dean suggested, still holding the spoon. Sam bit his lip but accepted the utensil and started to slowly eat. After a few careful swallows of broth, Sam started to hungrily eat the chicken and vegetables in the soup.
Dean smiled when Sam had started to hungrily eat.
Suddenly, Dean's phone started to ring. It was his father.
"I'll be right back, 'kay Sammy?"
Sam nodded and opened another pack of saltines.
Dean stepped outside the motel room and answered before the last ring.
"Hey Dad."
"Dean, how far are you two from Bobby's?"
"Few hours. Dad, I feel bad lying to him about the hunt. He feels like he needs to go."
"I know Dean, but we both know he's too sick. Trust me, once Bobby, Caleb and I are done, he'll be glad he stayed back and rested."
"Yeah, I know."
"Any more vomiting?"
"Not this morning, but last night he was pretty bad again. It actually woke me up."
John sighed.
"Poor kid. Is he drinking enough water?"
"Not as much as I'd like, but enough. Right now he's able to keep some soup and bread down."
"Really?"
John asked, a bit surprised.
"Yeah, poor kid's starving."
John sighed.
"Bobby stocked up on meds for him before he left to follow me, so don't worry about that."
Dean smiled.
"'Kay dad, thanks."
Dean was about to say something else when he heard a thud coming from the room.
"Dad, I gotta go, I think Sammy just fell out of bed, I'll call you later."
"Take good care of him Dean."
"Always."
Dean hung up.