Sam pushed the door to the motel room open, using much more strength than he should have needed. He was grateful to get out of the cold winter air. It had been a long day. Heck, it had been a long week. He was exhausted.

Dean was already back from school, camped out on his dad's bed with various snacks from the vending machine surrounding him. He was watching reruns of The Three Stooges on the out-dated television set. "Hey kid," he acknowledged when Sam stepped in the room.

"Hey," Sam replied unenthusiastically as he dropped his book bag and shrugged off his winter coat. He collapsed face-down onto his own bed, kicking his shoes off to the floor.

"Long day?" Dean asked, snorting softly at his brother's dramatics.

Sam grunted in affirmation. "Think I need a nap," he said, muffling a yawn into the pillow.

"Aren't you a little old for naps, Sammy?"

"Never," Sam responded. "And it's Sam." He rolled over onto his side so he was facing his brother. "Where's Dad?"

Dean, who was suddenly very immersed in the TV, grabbed a piece of paper from the nightstand and tossed it over to Sam. He didn't turn his gaze away from the screen, understandably entertained by the antics of Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Sam blinked a couple of times to focus his eyes so he could read his father's messy scrawl.

Boys,

New lead on the Changeling. Back before dinner.

Dad

Sam tossed the note aside and yawned again. He really was exhausted. He'd had two major tests that week - one in math and the other in history - and considering they'd only been in Wisconsin for three weeks, he hadn't exactly been prepared for the material. That called for a lot of late-night studying… on top of all the training John had put the boys through.

But that was over now. Now it was winter break, and Sam was looking forward to the holidays. John had even promised that they were going to stay put for once, here in Madison, all the way through New Year's. Sam knew better than to hold his breath, though. Even at twelve, he was bright enough to know that John wasn't the best at keeping promises.

"You goin' out with Michelle tonight?" Sam asked his brother sleepily.

"Not tonight," Dean answered with a sigh. "It's her mom's birthday, so she's doing family stuff."

Michelle was the girl Dean had been spending the majority of his time with these days. Sam liked her enough. She was pretty - Dean would settle for nothing less - but most importantly, she made Dean happy.

Naturally, Sam would much rather Dean spend time with him, but he was glad that his brother had found someone outside of their screwed-to-hell family.

Now that Dean was old enough to hunt, he never seemed to have the time to do normal, teenage-boy things. He was always researching or loading weapons or recovering from a hunt… on top of all the other responsibilities that came with being Dean Winchester. Like keeping on top of school work and looking after his little brother.

Of course, Dean never complained. He was proud to be a Hunter, proud to be a big brother, and proud of his family. But even Dean Winchester deserved a break every once in a while. And Michelle provided that for him.

Even though Sam would have liked nothing better than to take nap, he also didn't want to pass up an increasingly rare opportunity to spend time with Dean. He saw very little of his brother these days.

So he flipped over onto his back, and he and Dean watched The Three Stooges together.

xxx

Sam woke later to the sound of the motel door being unlocked. He opened one eye sleepily, disoriented. It was dark now. 7:00 pm. He must've fallen asleep after all.

Sam sat up, rubbing a tired hand over his face, just as Dean stepped in the door. He was holding a pizza box in his hands.

"Well, look who's back from the dead," Dean quipped, a smirk on his face. He set the pizza down on the table of the kitchenette. "You hungry?"

Sam shrugged, realizing that he really didn't have much of an appetite. "Where's Dad?" he asked hoarsely.

"Not back yet," Dean answered simply. He opened the box to the pizza and started digging in. Sam cringed when the meat lovers' aroma reached his nostrils.

"Did he call?" Sam asked, kicking off the covers. He swung his legs over the bed.

Dean didn't seem to hear him. He was too busy making yummy noises to his slice of pizza as he chewed.

"Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes at his brother. "Did Dad call?"

"Hmmm?" Dean said distractedly, his mouth full. "Oh, no, he didn't."

"Do you think he's okay?" Sam wasn't quite able to hide the worry in his voice.

"Of course he's okay, Sam," Dean said confidently. "It's Dad." He nodded at the pizza. "Come eat."

Sam heaved a sigh and lifted his tired bones from the bed. He dragged himself across the room and sat heavily in a kitchen chair.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "You all right there, Samantha? You're movin' around like a little ol' granny."

"I'm fine," Sam said. "Just tired from training, I guess." His muscles were achy and sore - something he attributed to the five miles John had made him run yesterday. Not to mention all the pushups he'd done. He'd done so many that he'd lost count.

"You did work hard," Dean agreed. "I better watch out. Before I know it, you'll be keepin' up with me."

Sam smirked. "Keeping up? Pretty soon I'll be beating your ass."

Dean grinned. "Dream on, Sammy."

xxx

A few hours later, Sam was pulled from sleep again. But this time, it wasn't immediately evident what woke him. Dean was snoring softly next to him, and even though it was dark, Sam could tell that John's bed was still made up. He hadn't come back yet.

It was then that Sam realized he felt very hot under the covers. Overwhelmingly hot. His pajamas were drenched in sweat. He kicked the blankets off his body in an attempt to get cool. Then he pushed himself up into the sitting position, inwardly groaning when his stomach started doing somersaults. He suddenly regretted the two slices of pizza he'd forced himself to eat earlier.

No wonder he'd woken up. He was sick.

Really sick.

Sam swallowed hard. Panic was starting to come over him, the way it always did when his insides were threatening to turn themselves inside out. He threw an arm over his middle, trying to keep his nausea at bay.

"Dean," he gulped out. "Dean, wake up."

His brother stirred beside him, alert even when he was sleeping. "Sam?" He reached an arm out to turn on the nightstand lamp. "What's the matter?" He rubbed a tired hand over his face, blinking as he took in the sight of the sick boy beside him.

"Don't feel good…" Sam mumbled. He leaned back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut. The room had started to spin. "M'stomach…"

Dean was on his feet in a flash, hearing the urgency in his brother's voice.

Sam sensed Dean hurry around to his side of the bed and then he felt something heavy being placed in his lap. He opened his eyes to see the motel's metal trash bin in front of him, grateful that Dean could detect when he was about to blow chunks.

"It's all right, Sam," Dean soothed. He positioned himself next to his ailing brother, one arm behind his back, the other pressed against Sam's chest to keep him from pitching forward. Again, Sam was grateful. He felt impossibly weak, but he could always count on Dean to support him, in the most literal sense of the word.

Sam closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. He hated throwing up. Hated it so much that he always worked himself up, making it a hundred times worse than it needed to be. He could feel himself starting to shake in anticipation.

"Easy, kid." Dean's voice was gentle, knowing very well about his brother's minor emetophobia. "Just breathe. Breathe through it."

Sam tried to put it off as long as he could, he really did. But before long, he felt bile rising in his esophagus, and he moaned lowly. He hunched over the bin, feeling Dean's grip on him tighten. He vomited twice. Harsh, violent, gags that seemed to come all the way from his toe nails. Tears leaked from his eyes as a result of the exertion.

Beside him, Dean was the picture of calm, pushing Sam's sweaty hair out of his eyes and speaking in soft tones. "You finished?" he asked when Sam had managed to stop gagging. "For now, at least?"

Sam swallowed, considering. "I think so," he croaked, spitting one last time into the bin. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was crying. He felt utterly miserable; his mouth was coated with bile and a stale after-taste of meat lovers pizza lingered on his breath.

"All right, easy does it," Dean said lightly, taking the bin away from Sam's trembling hands. "You're okay." Dean pressed the back of his hand to Sam's forehead, cursing at the heat radiating off of his brother.

Even though Sam just wanted to stay in bed and hide under the covers from shame and embarrassment, Dean was able to convince him to move into the bathroom. There, they were able to get him cooled off a bit. Dean pulled the sweat-soaked shirt over Sam's head and knelt down in front of him. He wiped him down with a damp cloth.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Dean asked. He had that same smirk he always wore plastered to his face.

It felt like heaven. "Mmhmm," Sam agreed, eyes drooping and shoulders sagging. "Sorry for getting you up, Dean."

"Don't be stupid, Sam. I was hardly asleep anyway."

Sam bit down on his lip. "You worried about Dad?" he asked, his voice small. Because if Dean was worried, he should be too.

Dean let out a deep breath. "I'm gettin' there," he admitted. "But right now I'm only worried about you." He ruffled Sam's hair and stood up to fetch him a glass of water.

Sam only wished he could be half as good to Dean as Dean was to him.

xxx

"I thought I'd escaped this," Sam moaned into the bin after round two had run its course. It was no secret that a stomach bug had been going around - it was that time of year - and Sam had been very thorough with washing his hands to avoid this very situation. But sometimes even the biggest germaphobes can't hide from gastralgia.

He was sitting on the toilet, pants dropped around his ankles, bin on his lap. Because round two had come with a vengeance, this time adding diarrhea to the mix. And hadn't that been fun?

Dean had stayed with him through the entire ordeal, despite Sam's desperate pleas between gags. Go away, Dean. I don't want you to see. Please, just go.

"Humiliated" was an understatement.

Because vomiting in front of his big brother was one thing, but having distressed bowel movements in front of him was essentially the end of the world.

"Sam, you can barely hold yourself upright," Dean had reasoned. "So why don't you save your breath, because I ain't goin' anywhere."

And as it turned out, Sam was grateful Dean stayed. Because he felt sicker than he'd ever felt, and he needed his rock.

Dean took the bin from Sam's lap and promptly rinsed it out in the sink. "Well, good news, little bro. I think the worst of it is over, don't you?"

"God, I hope so." Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to survive another round of this torture.

Dean knelt down in front of him, and went through the same old routine: hand on his forehead, pushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks… He smiled sadly at his miserable brother. "How's a bath sound?"

Sam grinned. An authentic, genuine, toothy grin. Because sometimes he swore Dean could read his mind. "A bath sounds amazing."

xxx

After helping Sam get settled into the bath, Dean left the room, giving his brother some much needed privacy. Sam had practically no dignity to hold onto after tonight, and so-help-him he was going to bathe himself if it was the last thing he did.

That was, of course, after agreeing to holler to Dean if he needed anything.

Gosh, sitting in that tub felt good. The Winchesters rarely took baths. Showers were their go-to because they were quicker and easier. But Sam realized he'd been missing out, because this bath was glorious.

He sat there for what seemed like ages, letting the warm water soothe his aching body. He only got out when the temperature became tepid and his teeth started to chatter.

He pulled the plug in the drain and then lifted himself from the tub with shaky arms. He still felt weak and dizzy, but he was determined to make it back to bed on his own. He sat down on the lid of the toilet and dried himself off before pulling on the fresh sweats Dean had laid out for him on the counter.

Once dressed, he sat on the toilet a little while longer, trying to get a grip on how he felt. His stomach still ached and he had the beginnings of a headache - probably due to dehydration - but he concluded he felt better than when he'd woken up. And that was a step in the right direction.

When Sam finally emerged from the bathroom, it was nearing 3:00 am. He was looking forward to simply collapsing into his bed and going back to sleep. But something stopped him.

John had returned.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. Dean was standing in front of him, arms folded, posture tense and foreboding.

Sam could smell the whiskey on his dad all the way from across the room.

As if this night couldn't get any worse.

TBC…