Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

In what I'm pretty sure is record time, here's another chapter for you wonderful people :) *Make sure you've read Chapter 6, as I think the notifications were down when I posted it*

"That's perfect," said Sam.

He told the doctor what room they had at the motel, quickly paid, and left. Once back in the motel room, Sam hid any evidence of what they had been up to so as not to raise suspicions. Doctor Shepherd seemed pretty trusting of them – to the point that he didn't question Sam claiming to be a doctor working with the CDC at the tender age of twenty-two – but a bag of shot-guns and machetes might send the wrong impression.

While he was shoving their bag of weapons under the bed, Dean woke up.

"Sammy?" he mumbled and Sam glanced up from the floor, smiling at his brother.

"Hey," he said, quickly getting up and brushing his hands on his jeans. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a truck," Dean groaned. "Everything hurts."

Dean coughed roughly, ducking his face into the crook of his elbow. He pulled away after a minute and saw bloody saliva on his forearm.

"Great," he muttered, reaching for a tissue.

"Yeah, about that," Sam said uncomfortably. Dean immediately looked up at Sam.

"What?"

"I ran into Doctor Shepherd in the grocery story," Sam said. "And the good news is that Thomas Lyons started responding to treatment this morning which means I think we burned the right bones and everything's taken care of."

"What's the bad news?"

"It's not bad news exactly …"

"Sam."

"Doctor Shepherd sort of offered to check up on you."

"You told him I was sick?!"

"Well …"

"Sam!"

Luckily for Sam, Dean's raised voice had triggered a coughing fit that consumed his brother for a solid five minutes.

"Why, man?" Dean managed to croak out once the coughing had stopped.

"Because you're really sick, Dean, and I'm not a doctor. I want to make sure you're going to be okay."

"Of course I'll be okay."

"You know, one of these times you won't be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that in our line of work, things eventually catch up with us and maybe one day I won't be there to make sure you're okay and you won't be."

"Don't be so dramatic, you sound like a soap opera."

"I do not," Sam retorted. "I'm being a realist but either way, the doctor is coming so you're just going to have to deal with it."

Dean glared at Sam but once again was well aware that he had no recourse.

"I bought pie," Sam said to change the subject.

"No thanks," Dean muttered and Sam sighed. He couldn't tell if Dean's refusal was out of principal – a way to reinforce how annoyed he was at his brother – or if he felt so terrible as to refuse his favourite food.

"What about some fruit? Or some toast?"

"No."

"How about Gatorade? You need to keep hydrated."

Dean knew Sam was right and agreed. He was sipping at it when there was a knock on the door.

"That'll be Doctor Shepherd," Sam said, crossing the room. With his hand on the knob, he glanced at Dean. "Behave," he added.

Sam opened the door and let Doctor Shepherd in.

"Thanks again for coming," Sam said, closing the door.

"It's the least I can do," Doctor Shepherd said. "It's always a comfort to know our country is in such capable hands and I'm happy to give back when I can."

Sam smiled and motioned towards Dean.

"Well, as I said, my partner's been hit pretty hard by this."

"I can see that," Doctor Shepherd went over to Dean, setting his leather bag on the end of the bed.

"How long has he been sick?"

"Since yesterday afternoon," Sam answered. Doctor Shepherd pulled out his stethoscope.

"How do you feel?" he asked Dean, taking a few steps towards the head of the bed. Sam gave Dean a pointed look before Dean sighed.

"Like crap, doc."

"Let's see what we can do about that. Can you take your shirt off please?"

Sam stood across the room, arms folded, as he watched Doctor Shepherd listen to Dean's chest and back, palpate his abdomen, take his temperature and blood pressure, feel his glands, and look in his eyes and mouth.

"If I didn't know any better," Doctor Shepherd said. "This looks almost identical to what the kids were suffering from."

He put his instruments back in his bag.

"But the good news is that you're young and healthy. It may take a few days but you'll be fine. But your partner was right to ask me to come and check on you," he said to Dean. "You've got a nasty chest infection brewing that won't go away without some serious antibiotics."

He pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled something on it. Sam joined him at Dean's bedside and took the piece of paper.

"Anything else we should be doing?" Sam asked.

"Bed rest and fluids," answered Doctor Shepherd. "Lots of fluids," he added, glancing at Dean. "You've got quite the fever and the fluids will also help break up some of the congestion."

"Got it, doc," Dean said in a much more respectful tone than he'd been using with Sam.

"Keep an eye on the fever," Doctor Shepherd said to Sam. "If it doesn't break or go lower than one hundred in the next three days, call me again or bring him to the hospital. Same goes it if spikes over one hundred and four at any point."

Sam nodded.

"Thank you so much again, Doctor Shepherd," he said. "We really appreciate it."

"My pleasure. Take care of yourself," he said to Dean. "And don't hesitate to call me again."

Sam saw him out of the hotel room and then sat on his bed, facing Dean.

"Don't say it," Dean muttered, reaching for his Gatorade again.

"Say what?"

"You were right, okay?" Dean continued. "Something is wrong and you saved my ass on this one."

"You'd have done the same for me." Sam said. "You have done the same for me. You took care of me all the time growing up."

Sam glanced at the prescription he was holding.

"I'm going to get this filled," he said. "Can I get you anything else? I know you don't want to eat but is there anything that sounds at all appealing?"

"Tomato rice soup," Dean said and Sam smiled, recognizing the food his brother had always made for him when he was sick.

"You got it," he said. "I'll be back soon."

True to his word, Sam got the medicine and convinced Doris at the family restaurant to ask the chef to make the soup – as soon as she'd heard it was for the man "who'd been a few days earlier looking poorly", she was more than accommodating. Dean was sleeping fitfully when Sam returned to the motel room.

"Dean?" Sam asked, taking off his coat. "You okay?"

He took the soup and medication to Dean's bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Dean, wake up," said Sam, shaking his leg. Dean's eyes flew open.

"Don't do that!" he exclaimed, breathing heavy.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. "I have medicine for you."

Dean took the medication without complaint.

"Ready to try some soup?"

Again, Dean nodded and Sam found a relatively clean bowl in the kitchenette. He rinsed it out and poured about a third of the soup into it.

"Here," he said, handing Dean the bowl. He watched his brother eat as much as he could. After about a minute, Sam realized Dean was literally forcing every swallow so he wasn't at all surprised when ten minutes later, Dean was camped out on the bathroom floor.

Sam hovered in the doorway. He was about to say he was sorry for making Dean eat the soup but Dean, without even looking at Sam, held up a hand.

"Don't apologize," Dean said. "It's not your fault."

Sam sighed.

"Can I do anything?"

Dean hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Help me up," he said. Sam hurried over and helped his brother stand and hobble back to his bed.

"You know something, Sammy?" Dean said, his eyes half-way closed as he leaned against his mountain of pillows. Sam pulled up the covers, noticing that he'd never done anything about the vomit stain from earlier that morning.

"What?"

"This isn't the first time you've taken care of me."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "You never let me anywhere near you when you got sick growing up."

"Not that you can remember," agreed Dean. A faint smile appeared on his lips and he opened his eyes tiredly to look at Sam. Sam sat down in the chair, leaning forward to listen.

"You were about three, I think, and we were at Bobby's. I got the flu really bad and Bobby was trying to keep you away from me so you wouldn't catch it but you were not happy about that arrangement. Bobby was staying up all night with me and had been for a few nights in a row. He put you down for a nap one afternoon and he fell asleep, too. You woke up and by the time Bobby found you an hour later, you had planted yourself next to me. You insisted that you were taking care of me."

"What was I doing?"

"Not much," Dean answered. "You had made a facecloth wet and had put it on my forehead. No one was allowed to take it off – not me, not Bobby – and so it stayed there all afternoon. And so did you."

"Did I get sick?"

"Sure did," Dean smiled. "I read you so many books that week."

Sam smiled.

"I guess some things never change," he said and Dean looked earnestly at his brother.

"No, they don't," he agreed. "I was glad you were there then and I'm glad you're here now, Sammy."

"I'll always be here. You're my brother."

The sentimental moment lingered until Dean coughed.

"Well," he said roughly. "I'm going to get some shut eye. You should do the same; you look like you've been up for days on end. And after a nap, I'll try the soup again."

Sam laughed.

"Deal," he said. "Sleep well, Dean."

"You too, Sammy."

Thus concludes Cat's in the Cradle. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And now that I'm on holidays, I really want to get to work on some of the other stories I have ideas for so stay tuned!

Happy reading and writing,

StoryLover18