Thank you all for the favourites, reviews and follows! They mean to world, and I send you all internet hugs. (The good hugs, the Sam and Dean hugs. *Beams*) I was testing the water with this fanfiction, seeing what all I could do with it and how y'all would react; so there's not a whole lot of H/C in part two, but I still hope you enjoy it. Maybe sometime I'll write an honest-to-goodness, Limp!Sam fic, maybe something involving small spaces or water or hanging... If anyone has a prompt, let me know! I'll leave you with this.

"Your little brother never tells you but he loves you so...
Everything is blue,
Everything is blue."

Halsey, Colors.

Dean hated this. He hated the smell, he hated the look, he hated the reason, he hated… With a deep breath, he pushed some of the hateful thoughts to the back of his mind. Sam had been in and out of consciousness, the doctors dosing him up with antivenoms, trying to find the amount that would push away the symptoms. In fact, the older brother had just been brought release papers that he was supposed to sign – his brother could get out of the hospital now, apparently. But it had been days. What, five days now? That was six days too long, in his opinion. He hated snakes, he hated tennis shoes, he hated antiseptic and saline and he hated fevers and colds…

With a wet cough, he dropped his head into his hands. The plastic chair creaked beneath him, and the clipboard threatened to slip off of his lap. His throat ached, every time he tried to swallow more pain would lance through. Like swallowing acid – and he didn't have to imagine, damned witches. He hated witches, and hex bags, and…

He had called John after arriving at the hospital. That had been day one. John had said he needed to finish up the hunt, had told Dean to keep him posted. Dean had tried to convince the man to come, needless to say, it hadn't worked. Maybe it was just a really pressing case, Dean thought. Yeah, that was probably it.

Bobby had come though, at least. He had stayed vigil numerous times, telling the young man to catch up on some sleep. That had been much appreciated… Day two had been worse than day one, somehow. All of the waiting and the paperwork and the insurance and Sam had started throwing up, seemingly on the verge of rejecting the medication they were giving, until finally, things had calmed down. Day three, Sam's fever had broken. Day four he had become lucid, for a little while at least.

Day five, which was today, the brat had woken up for a good half-hour. Dean had tried to help him drink water, but the attempt had been shrugged and waved off with stubborn statements of "I don't want to catch your cold". Sure. This just sucked all around.

"…Dean?"

The voice made him raise his head, suddenly alert. Hazel eyes met his own, searching. "Dean, can we go back to Bobby's now?" The teen seemed to hold his breath, anxiously waiting for some kind of answer. Dean looked down at the clipboard resting on his legs and raised the pen, twirling it for Sam to see, and then signing 'on the dotted line'.

"C'est voila, bro."

"…'See walla'."

"Huh?" Dean frowned in confusion, feigning ignorance. The stupid façade was well worth it when a dimple smile lit up his little brother's face. He returned with a smirk, green eyes glinting.

"You're incorrigible," Sam huffed, but the grin still hadn't slid off.

"Nah I'm awesome," Dean countered, rocking forward and standing up. "I'm gonna take this to the front desk – hey, the receptionist gave me her number, your whole Band of the Hand act opened up vast opportunity for me after all…"

Sam scoffed, "I got bitten by a rattlesnake so you could get laid by the hospital's receptionist? The universe really is cruel." The fifteen-year-old swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then immediately groaned, turning five shades paler. He reached for his injured leg, grasping his ankle with quaking hands.

"Slow down there," Dean instantly moved to his side, his hands hovering over the teen's shoulders, "Easy."

"Uh…" Sam's face scrunched up in discomfort, "that hurts."

"I bet," Dean gripped the kid's bicep, grounding him.

"Can we just… Get out of here?"

"Yeah."

Minutes later they were leaving the hospital – and Sam, despite his best tries, was riding out in a wheelchair. It was protocol, after all. The drive back to Bobby's was relatively short, but it felt like ages. Dean's lungs rattled every time he took a breath, and he hoped that it wasn't nearly as loud as he thought it was. Because he could hear it. But that didn't mean Sam could. Even as they pulled into the junkyard, Dean didn't turn the music down – Fade to Black was playing. He always liked that song, and he knew for a fact that Sam did, too. He put the Impala in park and leaned back, his head resting on the back of the bench seat. Mucus slipped down his throat and he gagged, closing his eyes.

A hand prodded his shoulder. The music quieted. Wide hazel eyes were staring him down. "You alright?"

"It's a cold, it ain't pleasant but 's'not the end of the world."

"…But Dean…"

With a sudden frustration that he had buried for the past five days, he let out a yell, "You almost died! There were some close calls there, Sam, and you want to know if I'm okay? Because I have a stupid bug?"

"Dean, it's just…"

Dean wasn't about to let him finish. "…- While I was sitting on my thumbs, complaining about a sore throat, you were calling for how long? How long, Sam?"

"I don't know." Sam ducked his head, bangs falling in front of his eyes.

"Yeah. I only heard when they became gut-wrenching screams. You could have died, because of a rattler. And I wasn't paying enough attention. I should have been paying more attention, I…"

"What are you gonna do, Dean? Put me on a leash?" Sam shot back heatedly.

"Yes!" Dean roared, surprising the both of them, but he pressed on, "If I have to!"

A quiet noise made his blood freeze. For a moment, he thought sobs were coming from the passenger seat – and a whole boatload of emotions followed, ranging from shock to guilt. Mostly shock. But that was before he realized those sounds were laughs – the little brat was grinning, beaming brighter than the sun.

"What are you laughing about?!"

"…Nothing, just, nothing. Look, man, you didn't know. You were sick. I went outside. It's not a big deal, bad things can happen anywhere at anytime."

"That ain't reassuring."

"What I mean is, don't blame yourself. You found me. You always do." Sam's voice became soft, as did his expression as he stared at his brother with those big goopy eyes and the smile, oh, the smile…

….But Dean was glad to hear those words. He was glad to hear that he could do something right. He was glad to see sincerity, and appreciation. Glad to see it from his brother. Glad to see him alive, not pale and clammy and on a hospital bed… But he didn't say that. Instead he cuffed his brother on the back of the head and grinned, saying,

"Don't make it weird, Sama."

"It's Sam."

"Samantha."

"Sam."

"Sammy."

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, but he didn't hide the smile. "Can we have soup?"

"Why not," Dean turned off the car, kicked his legs out of the car and stood.

"…You sound terrible, Dean."

"…I hate colds…"

"And snakes."

"And hospitals."

Dean grinned and shook his head, moving around the Impala to help his injured brother to the house.

Hope you all liked it. God bless and I hope you have a bright week!