Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Chapter 1

Dean shifted in his bed and tried to figure out what had caused him to wake up; he was instantly alert at the sound of rustling from his little brother's bed. "Sammy?" he called out to the four-year-old in the twin bed that fit snuggly against the opposite wall of the small bedroom they shared. Dean sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He could barely see his brother in the barest hint of moonlight that filtered in through the tightly shut blinds.

"Dean," Sam sniffled in a whimpering voice, "I don't feel good."

Dean longed to flop back on his pillows, but his dad was out on a hunt and he was in charge of his little brother. "What's wrong, kiddo?" he yawned as he scooted to the edge of the bed instead.

"My tummy hurts," Sam whined as he rubbed his belly gently.

Dean shuffled to his brother's bed and brushed Sam's too-long bangs back from his forehead. The little boy's skin felt clammy and Dean frowned. "Do you feel like you're gonna throw up?" he asked his younger brother.

Before Sam could form an answer, he vomited all over himself, the bedclothes, and Dean before he nearly choked on the harsh sob that erupted from his throat.

"Oh, gross!" Dean sputtered as he jumped backwards in surprise.

Sammy cried harder and then gagged once again. "I'm sorry, Dean," he moaned.

His older brother sighed. "It's okay, Sammy. Let's get you cleaned up." Dean held out his hand and the four-year-old took it. Dean helped Sam clamber off of the bed and led him to their apartment's tiny bathroom. Dean started running a bath and then turned to Sam. "Let's get you out of these dirty pajamas." The older boy frowned at the heat radiating off of his brother's body. He always hated it when Sammy got sick, but it was even worse when their dad wasn't home. What if Sam was really sick and needed a doctor? Dean tamped down his worry and focused on the skinny little body in front of him.

Both boys grimaced when Sam's soiled top was removed. Dean tossed the dirty clothes into the corner and handed Sam his toothbrush and toothpaste. "Brush your teeth and then get in the tub. I'll go change the sheets."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam murmured in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry I got sick when Daddy isn't here." He peered up sadly at his brother through sweaty strands of his shaggy bangs.

Dean sighed and ruffled the younger boy's already messy hair. "It's okay, Sammy. You can't help it."

"When's Daddy comin' back, Dean?" the little boy asked as he shoved his toothbrush into his mouth and began to brush away the foul taste of vomit.

"In a few days, Sammy, but don't worry. I'll take care of you," Dean assured him. He would; he would do whatever it took to make sure Sam was feeling better as soon as possible.

"I know," Sam answered back with confidence after spitting into the sink. He had toothpaste dribbling down his chin. "You always take care of me, Dean."

Dean's heart warmed and he gave his little brother a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back, Sammy. Get in the tub." He snatched up the dirty pajamas and then went into the bedroom and tugged the soiled sheets off of the bed. The dirty laundry could be washed out after he took care of Sammy. Dean secured new sheets on Sammy's mattress and then went back to the bathroom to check on his little brother.

Sam had washed, but now the chills were setting in. His teeth chattered and he hugged his arms around his body. "I'm cold, Dean," he chattered, his face pale although high spots of color on his cheeks indicated his fever.

"Okay, get out and get dried off. Then I'll tuck you in." Dean held out a faded blue towel and waited until his brother plucked it from his fingers.

Sammy was shivering so hard he could barely dry himself off once he stepped over the edge of the tub and onto the well-worn linoleum of the bathroom floor. Dean finally took the towel from him and finished the job. Then he helped him slip into a clean pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Sammy leaned his forehead against Dean's chest and heaved a shuddering sigh.

"Get back in bed, buddy. I'll put the bathroom trash can in there in case you feel sick again," Dean assured his brother unable to resist giving the four-year-old a quick hug.

Sam nodded and shuffled miserably back into the small bedroom across the hall. He climbed into bed and quickly tugged the blankets up to his chin. He was so cold, and he couldn't get his teeth to stop chattering.

Dean rinsed out the dirty laundry and the tub before he put the trashcan beside his brother's bed.

"Dean?" Sam called out hesitantly.

"What, Sammy?" his older brother yawned sleepily.

"Will you stay with me?" Sam asked in a small voice. "I don't like throwing up, Dean."

Dean bit back a sigh. All he really wanted to do was curl up in his own bed and go to sleep, but his kid brother really did hate throwing up. "Okay, Sammy, but you have to go to sleep."

"I will, Dean; I promise," the little boy answered around a yawn.

Dean slid beneath his brother's blankets and felt Sam's overly warm body curl up into his side. "Go to sleep, Sammy," he soothed as he ran his fingers through his brother's damp, messy hair. "You'll feel better in the morning."

It seemed as if he had just closed his eyes when Dean felt his little brother surge upward and lean over the side of the bed to vomit into the trashcan. Dean placed a reassuring hand between Sammy's bony shoulder blades. "It's okay, Sammy. You're all right."

Sam puked once again before he dissolved into shuddering sobs.

Dean snatched a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wiped his little brother's mouth.

"Dean," the little boy moaned, "I don't wanna be sick."

"I know, kiddo," Dean soothed. "It's no fun being sick. I'll be right back, Sammy. I'll get you some water so you can rinse your mouth." He tossed the tissue into the trashcan and hurried to the bathroom for a cup of water. When he returned to the bedroom, he supervised Sam as the small boy rinsed and spit.

"There you go, Sammy. Now lay down while I rinse out the trashcan. I'll be right back." Dean tucked Sam beneath the covers and brushed his sweaty bangs away from his face.

Sam moaned. "I don't feel good, Dean." He hiccupped around a sob.

"I know, and I'll get you some ginger ale at the store in the morning." Dean climbed back into the bed and gathered his little brother into his arms. "You'll be okay, Sammy. It's just a little virus."

"It doesn't feel little, Dean," Sammy protested as he settled against his big brother's shoulder.

Dean chuckled. "Go to sleep, dude."

"'Kay, Dean," the little boy sighed as he flung an arm over his brother's stomach and squeezed him snuggly.

Dean managed to stay awake until Sammy's breathing evened out in slumber. He woke at the crack of dawn the next morning when Sammy poked him in the ribs.

"Dean?" the little boy asked hesitantly.

"I'm awake," the older boy grumbled. His head was pounding and his eyes felt bleary from lack of sleep. "How do you feel?"

"I'm still cold, Dean," the little boy chattered, "and my tummy feels yucky."

Dean placed his hand on his brother's forehead and winced at the heat he felt there. "You still have a fever," he groaned. "I'm gonna get dressed and go get you some ginger ale."

Sammy's face grew pinched with worry. "I don't want you to leave me alone."

"You're sick, Sammy. I can't take you to the store with me. Stay in bed and I'll hurry. I promise." Dean ruffled his kid brother's hair before he slid out of bed and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He shrugged into his heavy coat. "I'll be right back, dude. Just stay under the covers."

Sam slid down and buried his face in the pillow. He pulled the blankets over his head and listened to every creaking sound the old apartment building made. His stomach rolled and he whimpered, not wanting to throw up until Dean got back from the store. "Hurry, Dean," he whispered into the stuffy air beneath the blankets.

Dean patted the pocket that held five dollars and headed to the drink aisle of the store. He picked up a two liter bottle of ginger ale and then found a box of saltine crackers. They would be good for Sammy's upset stomach. He paid for his purchases and hurried back across the street toward their rundown apartment building. He didn't want to leave Sam alone for long; anything could happen to the four-year-old.

Dean entered the apartment and went straight to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Sammy was leaning over the side of the bed dry heaving above the trashcan. Dean dropped his purchases to the floor and hurried to his brother's side.

"It's okay, Sammy," he soothed, placing a hand on his little brother's back. "I'm here now." Dean grimaced as he felt his younger brother's muscles tighten with yet another gag.

"Hurts," the youngest Winchester grimaced as his stomach muscles clenched painfully.

"I know," Dean commiserated. "I got you some ginger ale. That's good for upset stomachs."

Sammy sniffled and wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his pajama top. "Will it make me feel better?"

"You betcha," Dean grinned, hoping he spoke the truth. "I'll go pour some in a cup."

Sam settled back against the pillows and tugged the blanket up to his chin. He listened to the sound of Dean opening a cabinet door. He heard the soda bottle whish open and then listened as the liquid poured into the cup. Dean soon appeared in the doorway holding a blue plastic cup in one hand.

"Here, Sammy," he grinned. Dean shuffled carefully to the bed so he didn't spill the soda. He helped Sammy take a few small sips. "I'll give you more in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay, Dean," the little boy sighed with a frown.

The few swallows of soda Sammy had managed to drink came back up just a few minutes later. Worry twisted in Dean's stomach. "We'll try again in a few minutes, Sammy. You just weren't ready yet," he soothed his miserable little brother.

It was mid-afternoon before Sammy was able to keep anything down, but by bedtime he was able to eat two saltine crackers. Dean felt triumphant, if exhausted.

"Will you sleep with me again tonight?" Sam asked his brother hopefully as Dean tucked him into bed.

Dean was so exhausted that he just nodded. His head was pounding so badly that he could barely think and the room was beginning to spin around him just a bit. "Sure, Sammy. Make room for me."

Dean crawled into bed beside his little brother and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, Sammy burrowed into his side.

To be continued…