Summary:  Sam’s mind whirled, Dean sounded like John Winchester.  He realized at that moment, Dean had stepped totally back into ‘super big brother mode.
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Dean Winchester eyes took in the scenery as he drove along the empty roadway. The wind blew through the open driver’s window of the Impala. The breeze warm on Dean’s face, his eye’s noticing the Spanish moss laden cypress trees, muddy grass, and vines going by in a blur. They were on their way to their next hunt in Southeast Louisiana. The sun was sitting hazily in the early evening sky causing a smoky hue across the marshland. Dean glanced over to the other side of the front seat, looking at his brother.

Sam was fast asleep, head leaning against the passenger window, dark red lump on his forehead, arms hanging limply at his sides. It had been a rough couple of days, their latest hunt had taken its toll, and Sam had taken the brunt of it. Dean recalled how the nasty poltergeist had gotten the jump on them at Rock Creek Graveyard, just outside of Tolar, Texas. Dean had been digging up the body of one, Silas Martin, ghost from hell, Sam was keeping watch, salt gun at the ready, unfortunately, the screaming ghost had snuck up behind Sam, surprising him, and flinging him into a headstone. Dean had watched in shock, from his position by the grave, as his brother slumped to the ground. Dean had reacted quickly, his heart racing. He salted and burned Silas’ bones faster than he thought possible, wanting to be done with it, wanting to help his brother. The ghost had vanished in a gray mist as the flames burned high above the dirt that surrounded them.

“I’m okay, just a little bump on the head”. Sam had slurred, once Dean had roused him from his meeting with the head stone. Dean had helped Sam to the passenger seat, bent down in the car door, checking him over. Dean unconsciously took his hand and smoothed it over Sam’s long bangs, pushing them out of his eyes and off the knot rising on his brow.

“Slight concussion, but you’ll live”, Dean grunted as he realized his own ‘chick flick’ action and dropped his hand to his side.

“A concussion, you think so?” Sam stared up at his brother, his eyes wide, questioning.

Dean walked around to the trunk, stowing away their gear; he slid into the driver’s seat, smiling to himself, he remembered that look, it was one Sam gave him when he was little, the one that made him go into full big brother mode. He started up the engine, glancing over at Sam; he pulled the Impala out on the road.

Dean had been driving all day while Sam dozed in and out of sleep, a large bruise now decorating his forehead. He thought about stopping, but every time he brought it up, Sam objected, saying he was fine. Dean kept a close tab on his brother as he drove, watching as he slept. Ever so often, he would rest his hand on his face to check for a fever, so far, so good. Dean smiled to himself, he knew how to do this, take care of his brother. It was what he did. It gave Dean a purpose, made him who he was, gave him focus. The one thing Dean remembered, for as long as he could remember, was his little brother, his Sammy. He was practically an extension of Dean himself, a part of him, his shadow. He glanced over at Sam again, and then stared out through the front windshield, one of his first memories from his childhood coming to his mind, his lips curling up into a small smile.

When Dean was four years old, he remembered going to stay with their next door neighbor, Mrs. Bea for two days. He remembered because his Dad and Mom had gone to get his baby brother.

“I don’t want a baby brother”, the small, blond boy stammered out as he stomped his foot on the floor.

“Oh, you will like having a brother”, Mrs. Bea had said, as she patted the small boy on the top of his head.

“You will have to take care of him, he will be younger, and he will need a big brother to take care of him”, Mrs. Bea smiled down at Dean as she scooped him up and sat him beside her on the faded old couch, pulling him in close.

“I don’t think so…” Dean smirked up at her as he squirmed to get out of her grasps. “I don’t want a little brother; I like me, mommy, and daddy”.

Dean laughed to himself; this had to be his oldest memory. He could still see the shock on old Mrs. Bea’s face when he had told her he did not want a little brother, her scolding eyes, still embedded in his brain.

Sam stirred in the seat next to him; Dean reached over and ran his hand over his brother’s forehead, his skin was a little warm to the touch. Dean decided it was time to stop, with or without Sam’s approval. He stared out into the darkness, hoping he would come up on a motel sign in the near future.

When Dean’s mother died, he remembered that his Dad had withdrawn into himself. He was only a child, but he knew that his Daddy was different after that. He used to read to Dean, tell him stories, play with him, now, when he wasn’t feeding or changing Sammy, he just sat in the chair in the living room.

“Daddy, the baby’s crying”, Dean stood in his superman pajama’s staring at his daddy.

“What…” his Daddy slurred out into Dean’s face, his breath thick. Boy, Daddy needs to brush his teeth, Dean thought.

“Sammy, he’s crying”, Dean’s little hand rested on his Daddy’s big one, pulling it. “Common Daddy, Sammy’s crying”.

“Well take care of him, he’s your brother”. John Winchester slurred out through his alcohol induced brain. He slumped in the chair, as the Jack Daniels bottle fell empty to the carpet below.

Dean looked from his Daddy to his baby brother’s bed, and back to his Daddy. Daddy was asleep; he guessed he would have to do something. He padded across the floor to his brothers bed and peered through the rails.

“It’s okay Sammy”, the baby still screamed and thrashed around in the bed, big tears rolling down his cheeks.

Dean grabbed hold of the railing of the baby bed and clamored his short legs over the top, landing on the mattress with a thud. Baby Sammy stopped crying and looked over at his big brother. Dean smiled at his baby. Sammy’s small hand flailed around in the air toward Dean, as if grabbing for him.

“It’s okay Sammy, I’m right here”, Dean reached his little hand over and grabbed hold of his brothers tiny fingers. Sammy clasped his fingers around his brother’s hand, and held on tightly.

Sammy cooed and smiled at his brother, his wide eyes blinking. Slowly Sammy closed his eyes, Dean snuggled in closer, pulling his little brothers baby blanket over them both.

As Dean pulled into the motel, he gently placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam, I’m getting us a room”, he gave Sam a shake.

“Kay…” Sam opened his sleep filled eyes to look over at Dean, as he stretched his long arms over his head, muscles popping.

“Just stay here” Dean stepped out of the car and quickly entered the motel lobby, looking back at the car, he saw Sam’s eyes drooping shut.

Dean handed the night manager his fake credit card, glancing down at the name as he did so, ‘Gene Simmons’ he smiled to himself.

“Hey, weren’t you one of the group KISS back in the 80’s?” the night manager asked as he looked down at the name on the credit card.

“I get that a lot, but it wasn’t me”, Dean nodded at the manager as he hastily signed the receipt, lips curling up in a grin.

He grabbed the keys from the manager’s hand and made his way back to the Impala. Sliding in behind the stirring wheel he looked over at Sam, the Impala’s engine roaring to life. He couldn’t help but notice the large knot and bruising that was now decorating his brother’s forehead. Pulling the car around the building and parking in front of number seven, he opened his door and made his way to the trunk.

Sam slowly opened the passenger door, leaning into it as he stood up.

“Come on Sammy, lets get a move on, I’m beat”. Dean walked past Sammy and glanced over to his brother’s face; he quickly dropped the gear and moved over to his brother’s side.

“Sammy, you okay? You look little pale”. Dean reached an arm around his brothers back to support him, Sam swallowed as he swayed on his feet. He leaned towards Dean.

“I think I’m gonna pass out”, he barely whispered, knees buckling. Dean grabbed his brother’s arm and flung it over his shoulder, taking all of his weight.

Dean hauled his brother to the doorway of their room, leaning him against the wall, he held Sam there with his open hand on his chest, inserting the key in the lock, he kicked open the door with a thud. Sam’s head was lolling around on his neck, breath coming in slow pants, he looked at Dean, eyelids blinking slowly.

“Its okay, Sam, I gotcha”, Dean lead Sam over to the second bed in the room, his usual spot, and sat him down on the edge. Dean moved his hand quickly up to the back of Sam’s neck and gently helped him to lie down on the pillow, swinging his legs onto the mattress. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, peering down at his brother as he leaned over to the nightstand and turned on the light.

“Dea…n, my head hurts”, Sam groaned, as he brought his thumb and forefinger up to rub on his eyelids.

“I’m getting our bags, Sam, hang on a sec, I will get you something for that headache”. Dean shuffled quickly out the door and returned with both their duffels and the medicine kit. Sam still lying on the bed as Dean had left him, face drained of all color, breath coming in heavy sighs.

Dean went into the bathroom and wet a cloth under the cool tap water. He tore off the plastic wrap, filling the hotel glass with water, shaking 3 pain relievers from the bottle; he made his way back to Sam. Dean reached up and pulled Sam up with his hand under his brother’s neck, he pushed the pills in his mouth, and held the cup up to his lips.

“Drink, Sam, get those pills down and you can go to sleep”. Dean urged his groggy brother to sip some water and swallow the pills in his mouth. Sam followed Dean’s instructions without hesitation, he was too tired to argue, his head just hurt, he wanted to go to sleep, to fade into the darkness that was dancing around his vision.

Sam’s head hurt, he groaned, his head pounding, his brain making a humming noise. He heard the Impala come to a stop and felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He hazily heard Dean say something about a room and opened his lazy eyes to look at his brother.

“Just stay here” Sam heard Dean say as he felt the car door slam shut. His eyes were burning, and he blinked them slowly trying to focus as the black dots danced around his vision. He looked out the windshield, trying to focus, as his brother retreated from the car. He didn’t want to make a big deal, but he felt like crap.

He felt the car door open and Dean saying something about getting out of the car, but his legs were not cooperating, he heard a voice in the distance saying something about passing out, was that his voice, he thought, strong arms pulling around his waist. His vision blurred and he felt like he was falling, his breath hitching in his chest, the taste of bile rising in his throat, he knew he was moving, laboriously toward the bed, leaning heavily on Dean.

He heard Dean’s authoritative big brother voice tell him to swallow the pills, he did as he was told, closing his burning eyes, he would just rest for a minute, he thought, just a minute, as his weary body drifted off to a fever driven sleep.

Dean sat on the side of Sam’s bed, a cool rag folded neatly on Sam’s forehead. He pulled the bedcovers up to Sam’s chin, patting them lightly with his hand, tucking Sam in as he had done when he was a small child. Dean ran a ragged hand through his own hair, he stood and made his way back to his own bed, weary, tired, wanting to sleep, but knowing there would be no rest for him tonight. He would be keeping silent vigil over his little brother, like he had done many times before.

The T.V. was the only light in the room; Dean had the volume turned down so Sammy could rest.

He sat with his socked feet crossed, back leaning up against the headboard, remote grasped in his hand. He looked across at Sam and back to the TV; he knew he would need to wake him up in about two hours, just to make sure he was okay. He hated concussions; they were such a bitch for the person that had one, giving them little rest since they had to be woken up every hour or so. It sucked, Dean thought, as he eyed Sam again, the light from the TV making his skin take on a blue hue in the darkness.

Dean’s mind wondered back to another time, he was ten, Sammy was six, it was the first time Dean remembered his little brother being sick, really sick, and he remembered how mad he had gotten when his Dad was slow to notice. The memory assaulting Dean’s tired mind, making his heart race.

“Come on Sam, get up”, Dean leaned down and shook the six year old with great delight, evil smile leering on his lips. He loved bugging his little brother, it was so much fun, he thought, as he gave him another shake.

”Leave me alone….Daddy…make Dean leave me alone”, Sam yelled from under the covers of the bed he was currently sharing with his older brother.

Dean shook his head at the memory of the awful motel they were staying in. How could his Dad let them stay in such crappy places? He glanced back at his brother and shifted down into the mattress.

The Winchester’s were staying in a run down motel northwest of Champaign, Illinois on Route 150. The room was small, the double beds mere inches from each other, ratty carpet smelling of cigarette smoke, toilet continually running water all night long. This was home, the only home that Dean and Sam knew, and each week, home was in another town, another dump.

“Get up Sammy, its 11:45, we got to get to GrandviewGardens and salt and burn that ugly poltergeist, get up”. John Winchester’s voice was gruff, demanding, and Sammy opened up his eyes slowly.

“It’s dark, I don’t want to go”, Sammy said as he rubbed his clinched fists over his eyelids.

“Too bad, so sad”, Dean said as he leaned over and pulled the covers off his little brother.

Sam stumbled out of the bed, pulled his jeans and shirt on over his pajamas and reached down for his shoes, a little shiver running slowly down his spine as pain clinched in his stomach.

“Gees, it’s cold”, Sammy looked over at his big brother as he curled his short arms around his stomach. Dean quirked his nose up and looked over at his brother.

John stomped past them both, slinging his weapons duffle bag over his shoulder.

“Move it boys, in the car”, his voice boomed out. Standing in the threshold of their motel room, he glared down at his son’s.

Dean watched as his little brother seemed to move a lot slower than usual.

“You okay Sammy”, Dean reached over to help his brother button his shirt up.

“Okay”, Sam said as he flashed a smile up at his brother.

“Move it”, John’s big hand reached down and pushed the boys out the door to the car.

Dean glared up at his Dad as he was nudged past him, his own hand reaching down to steady Sammy as he was stumbling to the car door.

The ride to the graveyard was slow. Dean looked over the front seat of the Impala to his little brother, he was slumped over on the back seat, sleeping, arms curled up against his body, legs curled up at the knees. Dean thought he looked a little flushed, as the moonlight shone in and across the backseat.

The car pulled into the graveyard, moon hanging high in the sky. John turned off the ignition and looked over at Dean.

“Come on, you two gotta come with me, can’t leave you in the car alone”.

“Yea you can, I’ll stay right here with Sammy”, Dean glanced from hiss sleeping brother, back to his Dad.

“Nope, Dean ain’t happening, you gotta watch my back”, John reached his hand to the back seat and gave Sam a nudge.

“Come on Sam”, he said. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his dad. Letting out a small sigh, he shuffled to set up on the seat. John Winchester opened the drivers door, making quick steps to the trunk to remove his gear.

Sam let out a little gasp as his stomach hitched up in a sharp pain. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Dean glanced around to see Sammy, and opened the car door. He grabbed Sammy’s door and yanked it open. John was banging around in the trunk, totally oblivious to what was going on in the car.

“Sammy”, Dean leaned in the door and grabbed hold of Sam’s arm.

“I’m okay”, Sammy said as he slid out of the back seat, feet sliding with a thud down to the ground.

“What was that?” Dean questioned his little brother, hands holding steady to both of Sam’s arms.

“I must have slept funny”, Sam looked up at his brother and then shimmed out of his grasp.

Quickly, Dean and Sam followed their Dad’s long legs through the grave markers, the flashlight John carried shinning eerily on the headstones.

“Ok, I found it. You two stand here, Dean, hold the salt gun, Sammy, hold the flashlight”.

John handed the flashlight to Sam and stuck the shovel in the hard ground. Dirt flew precariously around Sam and Dean as their Dad dug up the grave. Dean held the 12 gauge shotgun at the ready, loaded with salt rounds. He knew what to do, they had done this before, standing in a graveyard, holding a flashlight, protecting their Dad, as he dug up someone’ remain for salting and burning.

Sam leaned on the headstone, sweat building up on his brow. His stomach churning, he watched his Dad sink further and further into the hole he was digging. Dean looked at his brother, something was going on with him, he thought.

“Sam, you okay”, Dean asked as he tilted the flashlight Sam was holding up and over to his brother’s face.

“Damn it Sam, hold the light, I can’t see in the dark”, John yelled up from the grave.

“Sorry”, Dean yelped, steadying the flashlight in Sam’s hands back toward his father.

Sam’s stomach was really hurting, churning, his arms shaking, the flashlight jumping up and down as he held it with both hands.

“Dean”, he whispered, “I can’t hold the light steady”, his voice came out in a little whine.

“What’s the matter”, Dean asked as he reached his open hand over to steady the light in Sam’s hand.

“I feel sick”, Sam said as he leaned into his brother.

“Dad”, Dean yelled toward his father, “Sam’s sick”.

“What?” John Winchester said as he flung another shovel of dirt up and out of the grave. “Suck it up Sammy, I won’t be much longer”.

Sam looked up at his brother as tears welled up in his eyes. Suddenly, he leaned over and threw up.

“Gees, Sammy”, Dean grabbed hold of Sam’s arm as he expelled the contents of his stomach right there on the headstone.

“Dad, he’s really sick”, Dean yelled, the flashlight bouncing around as Dean attempted to take it from Sam’s hand.

“Hang on, I got to finish this, I need the damn light”, John felt his shovel bang up against the casket; he hammered it steadily on the wood, waiting for it to give way.

Sammy fell to his knees, wiping his small hand across his lips. He hated throwing up. Dean was attempting to hold the salt gun, the flashlight, and his little brother, he was not doing well at all three. Just as he heard his father banging through the top of the casket, the flashlight fell to the ground, Dean attempted to grab Sam as he swayed on his fee, curling his arms across his stomach.

“Dad, hurry up”, Dean yelped as he reached down to grab the flashlight from the ground, Sammy was now hunched over in pain, his forehead sweating, his arms pressing against his stomach.

“Hold on, I’m almost done”,John yelled, voice booming into the darkness around the graveyard.

John climbed out of the grave, grabbing the salt, he gingerly spread it into the grave opening. He then squirted the gasoline generously on the bones. Glancing over, he saw Dean hanging onto the flashlight with his teeth, one arm around his brother, the other hanging onto the shotgun.

Just then, the nasty ghost came screaming up from the darkness of the grave.

“Dean, shoot”, John yelled as he reached for the matches.

Dean had full intentions of shooting at the poltergeist, but he did not want to let go of his little brother. He was hanging onto Dean like a lifeline, and he seemed to be in a lot of pain. John looked over at the ghost, and back to Dean, realizing at that moment that his oldest was not letting go of his brother to shoot at the poltergeist. He grabbed the salt gun from Deans’ hands as he lit the match and threw it in the grave. The ghost hissed and came roaring at Dean, he pushed Sammy to the ground. The next moment was a fast blur, the ghost in Dean’s face, the gunshot, the screaming of the ghost into a graying mist as it disappeared into the night.

“Damn it Dean… I can’t believe you, standing there like that when the poltergeist was heading right toward you…..” John heaved out in a loud voice, “you trying to get us all killed”.

Dean did not listen to his father, nor did he hear the words he was yelling. He was turning Sam over in the grass, his little brother shivering in the night air, breath coming out in pain laden gasps.

“Sammy, Sammy, can you hear me”, Dean took his hand and brushed his brother’s damp bangs out of his eyes.

“Dad, Sammy’s sick…He’s SICK, are you listening to me”, Dean yelled loudly at his Dad causing John to stop his little ratting spell and look at Sam lying on the ground. He was to his youngest in three giant steps, pulling him up off the grass in his large arms.

“Sammy”, he said in a loud voice, but a comforting tone that Dean did not get to hear often.

“Jesus, Dean, he’s burning’ up”, John quickly grabbed up his son in his arms. “Dean, get the gear, hurry”, John said as he turned to make his way back to the car with his son. Dean hurriedly grabbed up the shovel, throwing the rifle, salt, gasoline, and matches, into the duffle bag, he ran quickly after his Dad to the car.

Dean held tightly onto Sam in the front seat the whole way to the hospital, his little brother looking up at him, eyes glazed over, forehead clinched up in pain, cheeks flushed, fever causing his chest to heave in air in gasps.

When they arrived, John brought the car to a screeching halt and bound around to the passenger door, grabbing Sammy quickly from Dean’s arms. Dean followed his Dad as he made a mad dash for the emergency room doors.

“Help”, he loudly said, as nurses and patients alike glanced up to look at him. Two doctors, or they looked like doctors to Dean, took Sammy away from his Dad and disappeared down the corridor. John attempted to follow with Dean, but was stopped by doors slamming shut.

“Sir, we need you to fill out some paperwork, is that your son?” The gray haired lady in green scrubs asked.

“Yes”, John said shakily, as his adrenaline began to wane. He lowered his head, and followed the nurse to the desk. Dean glared angrily at him.

They sat in the waiting room in silence, Dean angry at his Dad, John angry at himself. Finally, a young doctor appeared and advised them both that Sam had appendictus and would be okay after surgery.

“Told you he was sick”, Dean stammered out, anger brimming on every word. .

John glanced to his oldest, hand brushing hastily through his own dark hair and coming to rest on the back of his neck, twisting heavily on the knots. Letting out a sigh, he leaned his head back on the wall behind the chair and dropped his hand to his lap. Dean looked over at his Dad, realizing at that moment, that he was very angry with himself, he decided to give his Dad a break. He laid his hand on his Dad’s knee; John instinctively grabbed Dean’s hand up and held it tightly in his own. He looked over at his oldest, a smile pulling up on his lips.

Dean laughed to himself; he will never forget how surprised he felt when his Dad actually took hold of his hand in that emergency room. He was stunned; his Dad did little to show emotion since his Mom had died, and that one gesture had stood out in his minds eye for a long time.

He remembered how angry he was at his Dad that night, when he had felt the hunt was more important than Sammy, but he also realized that his Dad was an obsessed man, a man driven by loss, fear, anguish, and revenge. It took him along time to forgive his Dad for putting the hunt before his brother, but now, being grown, dealing daily with the supernatural, he understood how his Dad worked, how his Dad thought, and how his Dad loved his sons.

He stood up, stretching his body, popping and pulling, as he leaned down to wake up his little brother.

“Sammy, wake up, little brother”, he said softly.

“What”, Sam looked up at his brother, lazy eyes blinking slowly as he closed them and nuzzled back into his pillow. Dean brushed his bangs out of his eyes, patted up his blankets and let him sleep.

Dean watched as Sam tossed and turned under the covers. It was after 2:00 a.m., and Dean had been watching Sam, waking him every couple of hours. He raised his hand up and massaged his tight neck muscles; he shifted to sit up on the bed across from Sam, looking at his brother. He looked a little flushed in the dim light of the motel lamp. Dean rose and walked the three steps to his brother, laying his hand on his check. ‘Damn it’, Dean thought, he’s got a fever. He had held off taking Sam to the emergency room earlier, after the incident with the poltergeist, his brother arguing with him, insisting he was okay. Dean had to admit, he was coherent, and woke easily each time Dean needed him to, but now, he was worried he had acted hastily.

“Hey there, Sammy, wake up for me”, Dean tilted his head down and looked at Sam’s face. Sam’s eyelashes fluttered and then bleary eyes looked up at Dean.

“Dude, you okay there?” Dean sat down on the mattress next to Sam’s shoulder, reaching his hand up to rest on Sam’s forehead.

“I’m okay, I just got a headache”, Sammy whispered as he squinted his eyes close, reaching a hand up to touch his forehead.

“Leave it alone Sam, you got a nasty knot and bruise up there”, Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and moved it away from his face.

“I don’t feel so good”, Sammy said in a shaky voice. “I think I’m sick”. Sam pulled his hand from Dean’s grasp and put it up to his mouth as he felt the bile rise up in his throat. Dean, having been through this many times with his brother, recognized what was happening, and quickly grabbed the trash can from the floor. Dean held the trash can for Sam and watched helplessly as his brother dry heaved for several minutes, sweat building up on his face, hands shaking wearily.

“Ok”, Dean stood up, moving the trash can away from his brother. “I think we are going to take you to the hospital, you don’t seem to be getting better”. Dean frowned as he brushed his brother’s sweaty bangs off his face.

“I’m okay, I just got a headache”. Sam insisted.

“Nope, that line isn’t cutting it any more”, Dean quickly pulled the covers off his brother and moved to help him sit up on the bed, pulling his feet over the edge. Sam swayed conspicuously and Dean grabbed a hold of his shoulder. He held on to Sam for a second, making sure he was steady, then reached down to put his brothers shoe’s on him.

“Com’on Sammy, work with me here”, Dean said as he struggled to get the tennis shoes on his brother’s feet. Sam leered down at Dean’s hands, his own fingers curling tightly around the bedspread, hanging on, trying desperately not to topple over on top of his big brother.

Dean finally rose from his crouched position and reached his arm around his swaying brother, pulling Sam to a standing position. Sam’s eyes blinked slowly, he tried to steady himself against his brother, Dean’s white tee shirt fisted in both his hands, black dots dancing in his vision.

“Steady, lean on me, I gotcha”, Dean whispered into his brothers ear as Sam’s head dropped against Dean’s shoulder.

Taking most of Sam’s weight, Dean made a steady path to the Impala, and slid Sam into the passenger seat. Closing the door, Dean grabbed the keys from his jeans pocket, running to the driver’s door, he turned the ignition, the cars engine purring into the night air. .

“Dean..?” Sam leaned his forehead on the cool glass of the passenger window as the car careened down the highway.

“Right here Sammy”, Dean murmured as he sat his right hand on the back of Sam’s neck. He felt so warm to the touch, it scared Dean, and he gunned the Impala, racing to get his brother to the hospital. He glanced over as Sam, who seemed to be staring listlessly into the darkness.

“Dean…don’t let go, I’m gonna fall”, Sam slurred out in a low voice.

“I won’t let go Sammy. Stay with me here”. Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand and the back of Sam’s neck with the other.

The ride to the hospital was fast, a blur of streetlights whizzing by the Impala’s windows. Sam was so dizzy, he felt like he was twirling around as the car moved, Dean’s firm grip the only thing keeping him grounded, holding him steady.

“Okay, Sammy, we’re here, I gotta let go of you to get some help”. Sam slowly blinked and turned his face toward his brother.

“Mmmmm…kay”, Sam whispered.

Dean opened his door and ran full force in the emergency room doors.

“I need help…my brother”, Dean grabbed the first nurse that he came too, who yelled for assistance as they ran back to the car. The medical team pushed Dean out of the way as they loaded Sam on the gurney and moved toward the emergency room.

“We got a head trauma here”, Dean heard someone yell as he was bodily pushed toward the waiting room. Several minutes went by, just as Dean began to sink down into the plastic chair, a young man, Dean presumed a doctor, came out of the doors and walked toward him.

“What is your brother’s name? How did he hit his head? How long has he been running a fever?” Questions came barreling at Dean ninety miles an hour, he shuffled on his feet and gave the doctor his full attention, answering all the questions as best he could, considering he had to lie about what his brothers name was, how he hit his head, and he wasn’t sure how long he had been running the fever. As the doctor made his retreat, a nurse forced some forms on a clipboard in Dean’s hands. He glanced down at the paperwork, and back to the doors that hid Sam from his view.

Dean dozed in the plastic chair, sleep was something he really needed to get some of, but his mind was racing as he wondered how his brother was doing. He looked down at his watch, it was 3:45 a.m., would this day ever end, he thought. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, thoughts of his brother assaulting his tired mind.

“Dean, I don’t want to go to a new school”, eight year old Sam said in a whiny voice as his wide eyes looked up at his twelve year old big brother. “I just now made friends here, why do we have to go?” Sam bounced down on the old yellow couch, hands fisting up in his lap.

“I know Sam, but it will be fun, you will make new friends”. Dean tried to sound confident, but knew it was hard to make friends when they moved around all the time. Three new schools in the last six months, it was hard for him, and he wasn’t a nerd like his little brother, he snickered to himself and looked at Sam.

“Why do we always have to move, I don’t want to”. Sam slumped lower on the couch, shoulders hunched over, head hanging, chin to his chest.

“It’s just what we do, Sam”. Dean sat down on the couch next to his little brother, hand falling gently on his brother’s knee.

“Why can’t we be like everyone else, why do we have to always move around? Why can’t we have a house like everyone else?”

“Stop Sam, you know we have to do what Dad says, he says go, we have to go”. Dean reached down and grabbed Sam’s chin, pulling it up, he saw his brother’s tear rimmed eyes.

“I’m sorry Sammy”, Dean pulled Sam into a hug, arms rubbing small circles on his little brothers back.

“It’s not fair. I don’t like making friends all the time, it’s hard”, Sammy whispered into Dean’s shoulder.

“I’ll always be here for you, Sammy”, Dean ran his hand through his little brother’s hair as he hugged him close.

“Mr. Wilson”. Dean’s eyes popped open, disoriented for a moment from dozing in the chair, coming to rest on the same doctor he had talked with earlier.

“Yea…yea, how’s my brother?” Dean’s mind cleared immediately as he turned a quizzical head to the doctor who sat down in the chair next to him.

“He’s resting, we are admitting him. He has a concussion. Has he had previous concussions? The doctor leaned in toward Dean waiting on a response.

“Yes, he has”, Dean ran his hand through his hair looking intently at the doctor.

“Okay, well, we are doing a CT scan, just to see what’s going on. I will let you know as soon as we have the results”. The doctor stood, extending his hand to Dean.

Dean stood and shook the doctor’s hand, “Can I see him?”

“Sure, you can stay with him. We gave his something for the headache and dizziness, so he is a little out of it”, the doctor smiled at Dean.

“Thank you”, Dean whispered as he followed the doctor back through the swinging doors, back to his brother’s side.

He pushed the door open, his brother was resting. He grabbed the hard plastic chair from the corner, gee, why don’t they get better chairs, he thought, as he placed the chair next to Sam’s bed. He reached down and took his brothers limp hand in his own.

“…ean...” Sam stirred, eyes half mast looking up at Dean.

“Sh…It’s going to be okay. Rest now… I’ll be right here”, Dean squeezed his brothers hand as he watched Sam’s eyes flutter and then close shut. He shifted in the plastic chair, watching the golden haze of sunrise coming through the window, holding tightly to his little brother’s hand.

Dean could feel the exhaustion overtaking his body; he crossed his arms, and laid his weary head on his arms. He had been awake over 24 hours, give or take a cat nap or two, he was waiting for Sam to wake up, to smile at him, tell him he was okay; apparently that wasn’t happening just yet. The sun was high in the sky now, the hospital busy with the sounds of sick people all around him. Dean sighed as he leaned across on Sam’s mattress, his chin resting on his arms, tilting his head; he looked bloodshot eyes up as his brother.

Sam heard heavy breathing beside him, felt a warm, comforting presence next to him. The faint scent of his brother’s aftershave was strong around him. He wanted to open his eyes, to see his brother, but they seemed so heavy; the room was spinning, how could that be, he thought, how can the room spin when you are lying down. He struggled for a minute, forcing his eyelids slowly open, the bright light causing him to quickly close them again. He breathed deeply attempting to stop the pounding above his eyebrows. Squinting his eyes open to mere slits, he could foggily see Dean’s head leaning on the bed, eyes closed, sleeping with his arms crossed on the side of the mattress. Sam worked his dry mouth into one word.

“…Dean…” Sam moved his own hand until it touched against Dean’s blond hair. Dean stirred from sleep, bleary eyes peering up at Sam.

“Sammy….” Adrenaline pumping immediately to his brain, Dean lifted his head off the mattress and reached his hand up to grasp his brother’s wrist.

“How you feel’n little brother”, Dean’s voice was comforting, as his hand rubbed a small circle on the top of Sam’s hand.

“Woozy” Sam whispered as his head lolled to the side of the pillow.

“They took you for a CT scan, you remember?” Dean stretched his arms out above his head as his neck popped, looking intently at his brother.

“…No …where am I? How’d I get here?” Sam shuffled under the bright white sheet, his head pounding, stomach churning. He stared up at his brother, panic rising up in his wide unfocused eyes.

Dean thought he looked so young, scared, he reached a hand in and brushed Sam’s bangs out of his face. There it was, the look, the look Sam always gave him, the look that made him go into full big brother mode.

“It’s okay Sammy, its okay….I’m right here, you’re okay.” Dean murmured and patted his brother’s arm. He reached down and pressed the call button, eyes never leaving his brother’s face.

Sam nodded his head slightly, slowly blinking, closing his eyes; he felt Dean’s comforting motion on his arm, mind drifting toward nothingness. He heard Dean talking to some one; felt him shuffling next to him. Dean moved to the side ad the doctor moved up beside Sam’s bed.

“Sam, can you hear me? The doctor leaned in and looked at Sam, who moved restlessly on the bed and opened his fuzzy eyes, looking past the doctor to his brother.

“It’s okay Sammy”, Dean stepped up and laid his hand on Sam’s arm again, smiling down at him.

“You have a serious concussion” the doctor frowned as he shinned the pin light into Sam’s eyes. Sam groaned and moved his hand up to push the light away.

“I didn’t even cut my head”, Sam pulled his hand up brushing it on the large knot above his eyebrows.

The doctor moved the light away from Sam’s face, “A concussion can be serious without a cut or even swelling, but, according to your brother, you did loose consciousness and you were pretty out of it when you arrived early this morning. Your concussion has been complicated with a fever. The CT scan looked okay, but you’re still suffering from PSC, or post concussion syndrome”.

Dean sighed, as he ran his callused hand through his hair. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Normally PCS lasts no more than a week, but can last for months. The headache, nausea and vomiting, blurry vision, memory impairment, confusion and dizziness, these are all symptoms”.

“So, what do we do?” Dean leered at the doctor, still patting his brother lightly on the arm.

“There is no established treatment for PCS, a pain reliever for the headache, something for the nausea and dizziness. I would like for him to stay for the next 24 hours, we need to monitor him, keep him comfortable”.

Dean nodded his head in agreement with the doctor, both looking at Sam.

“I don’t wanna stay here”, Sam whined.

“Tuff”. Dean stated flatly, his lips quirking up in a solid grin at Sam.

The doctor smiled at Dean, patted Sam on the knee, and turned to leave the room. “I’ll send the nurse in with some medication, should help you to get some rest”.

Sam glared over at his brother, rubbing his tired eyes with his fore finger and thumb, twisting the hospital sheet in his other hand.

Dean shifted in the hard plastic chair, glancing over at his brother. He was still rubbing his eyes, brows scrunched up as if his head hurt; sweat beading up on his forehead.

“Hang on Sammy, the doctor said he was sending in someone with some pain medication”. Dean peered toward the door, growing impatient for someone to appear and give his brother some relief. He would give them a couple more minutes, and then he was going into big brother mode and go after someone.

A young, blond haired, blue eyed nurse appeared in the doorway, dressed in pale green scrubs, hair pulled back in a ponytail, carrying a tray with food. She was not as old as Dean, but definitely older than Sammy.

“Well, hello there”, Dean said with a smirk forming on his lips.

Sam glanced from Dean to the nurse, and then back to Dean. Gee, he thought, his brother was such a flirt.

Mr. Wilson, I have you some lunch, you need to eat something, and I can go ahead and give you the shot the doctor ordered; if you promise to eat, sitting the lunch on the tray and pushing it toward Sam. She glanced over at Dean and smiled, eyelashes batting over her flushed cheeks.

“Do you need something to eat...I can put it on the room tab” she stammered out at Dean.

“Dean, names Dean, his names Sam, and something to eat would be great.” Dean flashed his pearly whites and stepped closer to her side.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and let out a heavy sigh, pulling his shaky hand up to his hair. The nurse pulled a syringe with yellow medication in it out of her pants pocket, twirling it in her fingers as she blushed at Dean. Dean watched intently as the nurse gave Sam the shot in his arm, grimacing at the action; he did not like needles, no way, no how. She then nodded and smiled at Dean again, shuffling out of the room.

“I don’t think I can eat…..my head hurts too …Whoa…what did she give me”, Sammy lips curled up into a smile as he dropped his hand from his face, his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton, but the pain ebbing and then disappearing all together. He reached down and pulled the cup of chicken noodle soup closer to him, wobbly hand grabbing at the spoon and missing. Dean let out a chuckle and reached over placing the spoon in Sam’s hand.

“There you go bro” Dean patted Sam on the hand and smiled.

“Thanks”, Sam pushed the spoon in the soup and brought it trembling up to his mouth, gulping it down quickly”.

“Slow down Sammy, don’t eat so fast, it might make you sick”, Dean sighed as he sat back down in the chair.

Just then, the pretty little nurse reappeared with another tray, extending it out to Dean, who gratefully accepted.

“No soup for you thought you would like a sandwich, potato salad, and a coke”, she winked at Dean as he took the tray from her hands.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you… I am strav’n.” Dean sat the tray on his knees grinning at the nurse.

“I’ll see you later”, she smiled again at Dean as she turned to go, patting Sammy’s foot under the blanket as she went by.

“So glad my nurse can make you happy”, Sam said, tilting his head and glaring at his brother.

Dean just smiled and bit into his sandwich. He wasn’t sure if he was just starving to death, or the pretty little nurse that gave it to him made him forget all about how crappy hospital food was, he ate it like it was the best food ever. Finishing off his sandwich in four big gulps, Dean brought the coke up to his lips as he looked over at his brother. Sam was sound asleep, spoon still in his hand, head laying cockeyed on the pillow, soup dripping down his chin. Dean laughed, and sat his tray on the floor, grabbing the spoon from Sammy’s grasp; he pushed the tray away from his brother, wiped his chin with the napkin, and pulled the sheet up around his shoulders.

“Sleep good Sammy”, he said in a low whisper, assuming his seat by the bed, leaning back, closing his tired eyes.

“But I don’t want to go on the hunt”, Sam whined at his Dad, arms crossed defiantly.

“Well, you better just get over it”, John Winchester peered up over the papers he was reading, pencil sitting idly in his hand.

“But…but… the school pageant is Friday”. Twelve year old Sammy stammered out in one large breath.

“What?” John’s bushy eyebrows furrowed up in a knot as he looked sternly at Sam.

Boy, this is going to be good, Dean thought, as he scooted up higher on the couch, quickly flicking the TV remote down so he could hear his brother.

“The Christmas pageant, it’s this Friday at school, I can’t miss, they are all counting on me”. Sam shuffled on the balls of his feet, hands clinching and unclenching at his sides.

“This is the first I have heard of it, Dean did you know anything about this?” John glared at Dean on the couch. Dean’s lips curling up into a grin, he shrugged up his shoulders. John was trying desperately to keep the stern look on his face as he bit his lower lip, eyes gleaming at his oldest, trying to keep the laughter from coming out.

“What exactly is your roll in this…a… pageant”, John clipped out as he raised his papers to hide his grinning lips from Sam.

“We’re doing the play ‘Charlie Brown’s Christmas’, I’m Linus…some kids parents are coming…” Sam’s face beamed up at his Dad and Dean, then his voice trailed off as he saw the expressions on their faces.

That was it, Dean couldn’t take it anymore, he tried to stifle his laugh as it brimmed up and out of his throat uncontrollably, he twisted on the couch, his arms coming around his stomach, giggling and then laughing, as he looked across at his Dad, who had now dropped the papers to the table and was laughing loudly. Sam stomped his foot, arms flailing in the air. Dean laughed harder as he looked at his little brother, this could not get any better, laughter coming off of him in waves.

“Don’t laugh at me” Sam wailed.

“You are such a girl sometimes”, Dean stuttered out between intakes of air as his laughter grew harder, hands gripping his knees for support. John Winchester tried to squelch his own laughter. He held one hand up, palm facing toward Dean, the other hand he held tightly to his own lips, teeth biting his tongue.

Sam looked from his Dad to Dean, stomping out of the room, he hurriedly climbed the stairs to the room he shared with his brother, slamming the door behind him. Flinging himself to the bed, he could hear his father and brother both laughing uncontrollably downstairs.

Sam heard the door creak open to the bedroom, he had fallen asleep, his head burrowed deeply into the pillow. He felt someone sit down next to him on his bed, he refused to open his eyes and look, he was too mad at both of them, and he did not care what they had to say.

“Sam…Sammy…” Dean’s hand came up to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “Dad said I could stay home with you this weekend, you can go to school Friday for the pageant”.

“Really”, Sam turned over to face his brother, opening his sleep filled eyes.

“Yes, really…just you remember this; I am a really good big brother to give up a hunt for a poltergeist to stay home with you”. Dean jabbed is brother in the side with his elbow.

“Did you finish your homework?” Dean asked as he stood up to walk out of the room.

“Yea, I did”, Sam shifted to sit up on the bed looking up at his brother. “Th...Thanks Dean”.

“No problemo”, Dean quirked out, his back to Sam as he stepped through the doorway.

Dean woke to the sound of the nurse opening Sam’s door to check on him, he quickly sat upright in the chair, blinking his bleary eyes at her, she smiled at him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, just checking on your brother. How’s he doing? Need more meds?”

“No, I think he’s good right now”. Dean looked over at his brother, he was sleeping peacefully.

“Okay then, press the call button if you need anything”. She smiled again at Dean slipped quietly out of the room, the door swinging behind her.

Dean shifted down in the chair further, the memory of Sam’s pageant coming to his mind.

Dean pulled the Impala into the elementary school parking lot, noticing all the parents going into school with their children; too bad Dad was on a hunt, this was going to be funny. He pulled his right arm up and punched Sam in the arm.

“Com’on kiddo, lets get you in there for your big ole pageant”.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and hurriedly exited the car.

“You don’t have to come Dean”, he blurted out as he closed the door “I’m sure you got better things to do”.

Sam took off leaving Dean sitting in the car, staring after him.

Well, screw that, Dean thought to himself as he exited the car, slamming the door; I’m going to see this. He walked hastily toward the school auditorium, taking a seat near the back of the room. The lights dimmed and the children filed onto the stage, Sam among them, carrying a blue blanket, sucking his thumb. Damn, this was too good to be true, Dean brought his hand up to his mouth, fingers twisted in a fist, eyes watering as he held in his laughter at his brother.

After a few minutes, Dean had calmed himself, and could remove his hand, watching his brother intently, he was pretty darn good, he grinned. The play continued for the next twenty minutes. Dean smiling to himself, he remembered watching this cartoon on TV with his brother. He thought this would be stupid, but he was finding that he actually liked it, go figure. Dean felt a hand on his shoulder, turning in the dim light, he looked up to see his Dad standing behind him, he smiled at him and scooted over so he could sit down.

The room went dark, a bright spotlight blaring onto the stage. Suddenly, Sam stepped into the light, holding a little pitiful Christmas tree. He sat the tree on the stage, wrapping the blue blanket around the bottom and then he proceeded to speak.

“And so there was born in the City of David…”

The crowd was mesmerized, Dean included. His little brother never stammered, stuttered, his voice sure, confidence eluding from his body. When he had finished his little speech, the crowd applauded, and everyone stood up. All the children filed back out on the stage, the lights coming back on. John looked at Dean, Dean looked back at his father, tears glimmering in both their eyes.

“Wow”, Dean said in a low whisper.

John smiled at his oldest and nodded his head, he stood up and turned to go.

“What, you aren’t staying to congratulate him?” Dean asked as he stood by his father, watching the other parents beaming at their children.

“No, got to do this hunt, just wanted to see what the big deal was”, John nudged Dean, smiling widely and then walked out of the auditorium.

Dean smiled after his father and turned toward the stage and his little brother, Sam’s face lighting up when he saw his brother walking toward him.

“Hey”, Sam whispered as he stepped off the stage toward his brother.

“Hey yourself”, Dean wrapped his arm around his brother pulling him in and placing a nuggie on the top of his head.

“Great job”

Sam struggled to escape, and then began to laugh.

“Thanks”, Sam smiled at his brother, his eyes large, face innocent. Dean smiled at is brother, pulling him into a quick hug, then releasing him as they both headed toward the Impala.