There was silence as they walked down the hallway, all the other patients and most of the clinic's staff having already left the facility for the evening.

"Sorry to keep you so late." There was an uncertain pause as their footsteps echoed down the empty corridor, bouncing from tiled floor to shadowed walls. "And sorry about earlier..."

Dean arched an eyebrow at the apologies Patricia offered over her shoulder as he and Sam continued to follow behind her.

The nurse waited for a verbal response and then frowned, misinterpreting her patient's silence for a kept grudge. She sighed, preparing to further explain. "I just – "

" – save it," Dean interrupted, rescuing Patricia from more awkward rambling. "It's fine," he dismissed with a shrug, not having time to hold grudges.

Not when he was distracted by a sick little brother...and stitches in his neck...and looming biopsy results...and unexpected imaging tests...and the possibility of fucking cancer.

Dean sighed, his thumb rubbing back and forth under the fringe of hair at the base of Sam's neck.

"Sammy..."

"M'okay," Sam answered as if he wasn't slightly weaving as he walked.

Dean pulled a face at the slurred, quiet response but said nothing to dispute his dizzy little brother, instead keeping his hand lightly but securely on Sam's neck and steering the 12-year old down the hall.

"Here we are..." Patricia announced as they entered a doorway to the left. She smiled at the woman behind the counter. "Just a minute, Anna."

Anna nodded, her gaze flickering to Dean, then Sam, then back to her computer.

Patricia set Dean's chart on the counter, pulling a sheet of paper from within and handing it to Dean. "You'll need this tomorrow when you go to the hospital for your imaging tests," she told him. "Your appointment is at 9:00. And as Dr. Stanley mentioned, he'll see you over there at some point during your visit. Until then, the technicians and other staff will take good care of you. The hospital is one of our sister facilities. Right across town, easy to find."

Dean nodded, scanning the paper before releasing his hold on Sam long enough to fold it and tuck it inside his jacket. "I'll read it later."

"Sounds good," Patricia agreed. "If you have any questions about anything, just call the clinic and ask for me. Otherwise, I'll be calling you once results are in. Usually takes two to ten days."

"That's too long."

Patricia smiled at Dean's little brother as he spoke. "I know," she sympathized, indeed knowing those two to ten days felt like years when you were waiting for a possible diagnosis.

Those days would pass slowly for her, too, because she wanted Dean to be okay – she needed that. She needed him to be okay, to be healthy and with his little brother.

Patricia sighed. "Anna..." she called, attracting the woman's attention and passing Dean's chart to her before refocusing on the brothers. "Take care of those stitches," she told Dean and then glanced at Sam. "And you feel better, sweetheart."

Sam only swallowed and sighed, once again leaning his head against his brother's arm.

Patricia smiled and then glanced at the woman behind the counter. "They're all yours."

Anna nodded, focusing on the boys staring back at her. "Hi, there."

"Yeah, hi," Dean returned, not in the mood for pleasantries. "Listen – "

" – I know," Anna interrupted. "You're tired. Your brother's sick. And you really just want to go home."

Dean twitched a smile.

"Guess what?" Anna continued. "Me, too," she confided and winked at Dean. "So let's make this short and sweet, shall we?"

"Hell yes," Dean agreed.

Anna smiled and nodded before launching into the condensed version of her well-rehearsed speech repeated several times throughout the day in the billing department, both face-to-face and over the phone.

"Here at Mercy Medical Center we operate on the basis of six values."

She gestured to the wall behind the brothers, each value listed and defined in scripted font – dignity, hospitality, justice, excellence, stewardship, prayer.

"And while all six of those are important, we especially stand committed to those persons who are poor and vulnerable," Anna explained, quoting the last part of justice.

Dean arched an eyebrow, not sure if he should be offended or grateful that it seemed he and Sam were being defined as poor and vulnerable.

But what the hell...if this meant Dean paid less money for services rendered, then he was listening.

After all, he had a kid to take care of and money was tight. He would take all the financial assistance he could get, especially if he ended up needing treatment or...whatever.

Dean sighed.

One thing at a time.

"Go on," he encouraged.

Anna nodded. "You don't have health insurance, correct?"

Dean hesitated, that question always being a tricky one to navigate.

But the woman on the opposite side of the counter seemed to already know the answer. So...

"Correct," Dean confirmed about not having valid insurance – but he had several different fraudulent cards, if she would like to see them.

He quirked a tired smile.

Anna smiled in return. "That's fine," she assured him. "Because in talking with Patricia, it seems you qualify for coverage under one of our foundations, which is funded through community donations and provides monetary support for those less fortunate."

"Okay," Dean replied, almost choking over the word as he swallowed his pride on this issue and continued to plunge ahead. "So..."

"So..." Anna echoed, glancing back at her computer monitor. "I've taken the liberty of completing an application for you to participate in the program I mentioned. The majority of your medical expenses will be paid through the foundation for as long as you're a patient here. We only ask that you pay a minimum of $10 per visit as a show of good faith in our partnership to meet your medical needs."

Dean nodded, feeling a proverbial weight lift from his shoulders – because he could definitely afford $10 per visit...though he hoped visiting the clinic wasn't going to become an everyday routine.

"Does that include the x-ray and CT scan at the hospital?"

"Yes," Anna replied. "As Patricia said, the hospital is one of our sister facilities, so the foundation covers those expenses, too." She paused. "I know it's hard for some patients to accept this kind of help, but this really is a good program. I think you'll benefit from it."

Whatever that meant.

Dean stared at the woman, wondering if she was privy to information that confirmed he would be back to the clinic multiple times...or if she was simply implying she knew he was a kid with no money trying to raise another kid.

Either way...

Dean sighed. "Thank you."

And although he knew there was probably more he could say, Dean couldn't find the energy or the words.

Anna didn't seem to mind. "You're welcome," she returned and smiled. "Now...how about that ten bucks?"

Dean chuckled, being careful not to jar Sam as he reached behind himself, pulling his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. "How about I go ahead and pay 20 to cover today and tomorrow?"

Anna shrugged. "That's up to you," she replied and accepted the money Dean slid over the counter. "Hang on a sec, and I'll write you a receipt."

Dean nodded and glanced down at Sam still leaning against his arm, the kid drowsy and quiet but awake and listening.

"Hey."

Sam blinked up him.

"You still hangin' in there?"

Sam nodded and tolerated his big brother once again palming his forehead.

"Oh, no. Fever?"

Dean glanced at Anna as she reappeared at the counter, the woman frowning as her gaze flickered between him and Sam.

"I'm okay. My head just hurts," Sam told her, the 12-year old's pinched expression and quiet voice telling the rest of that story – that his head didn't just hurt...it hurt.

The kind of headache that made a kid pale and lethargic.

Anna's frown deepened with concern.

Dean fanned his fingers through Sam's floppy bangs as he lifted his hand from the kid's warm forehead and reached for the receipt.

Anna handed it over, still staring at Sam.

"He'll be fine," Dean assured her and then glanced down at his brother. "You ready, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and eased himself away from the support of Dean's arm, standing straighter and feeling his big brother's hand settle on the back of his neck. Its weight warm and familiar and soothing.

"Thanks again," Dean told Anna over his shoulder as he led his brother away from the counter.

Anna smiled. "Absolutely. My pleasure. You two take care of yourselves."

"We always do," Dean replied as he focused on his kid. "Take it slow, Sammy," he cautioned, knowing sudden movements could sometimes set off a series of unpleasant events when Sam was nauseous.

And since they had made it this long without a puking incident, it would suck if the kid threw up now when they were almost out of the clinic.

"Just take it slow..." Dean repeated, keeping his hand on the back of Sam's neck as they walked toward the clinic's double doors and exited the building. "We're gonna stop at the diner on the way back, okay?"

"No."

Dean sighed at the expected response as they crossed the street, thankful the crowds from earlier had gone the fuck home since his patience was nearing zero. "Sam. C'mon, man. There's gotta be something you can eat. I'm not talking about a lot. Just something to help keep the meds down."

"No, Dean. Please."

Dean sighed again, those three words practically his kryptonite whenever his little brother said them in that pitiful tone. But...

"Sorry, Sammy. I gotta get some food in you, dude."

Sam said nothing, staring at the sidewalk through squinted eyes as Dean steered him toward the diner one block over.

The bell over the door jingled the way it did every night they had eaten dinner there, but tonight it was especially loud and grating.

Sam cringed.

Dean squeezed the back of his neck. "You're okay," he whispered. "This won't take long." He smiled as the waitress approached, preparing to charm. "Hi there."

"Hey, hon..." the waitress greeted, accustomed to seeing the pair of brothers each evening around this time, and then gasped as she noticed the large bandage covering the left side of Dean's neck. "Good gracious! What happened to you?"

"Bar fight," Dean answered, quick and smooth without a trace he was joking...or deflecting. "It was crazy."

The waitress pressed her hand to her chest. "Oh my god!"

"Yeah, tell me about it..." Dean agreed. "I was getting my ass handed to me until this guy showed up." He pulled his little brother closer, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders. "He looks scrawny, but he's a total badass with the end of a busted bottle."

The waitress scoffed, realizing Dean was spinning quite a tale, and slapped him in the chest with her notepad. "You oughta be ashamed of yourself, tellin' lies to an old woman." She smiled, still curious as to what happened to the teen's neck but decided to let it go since he clearly didn't want to talk about it. "Just for that, I'm not gonna give you your favorite booth."

Dean smiled back, thankful for the light moment but then sobering at the reminder of why he and Sam were there. "Well, actually we need our order to-go tonight."

"Oh." The waitress glanced at Sam standing as close as he could to Dean's side. He was never much of a talker, but he seemed quieter than usual...and pale. She glanced back at Dean. "Everything okay?"

"Been kind of a rough afternoon," Dean admitted, his smile feeling tighter and more forced than before. "So, if you could maybe put a rush on our order..."

"Of course," the waitress assured and flipped her notepad. "What do you two feel like eating tonight?"

"Nothing."

The waitress frowned at Sam's quiet response, then smiled her sympathy. "Not feeling that great, huh?" She glanced again at Dean, sensing the big brother wasn't feeling that great, either...but for different reasons. "Well..." She sighed, thinking. "We've got some chicken and rice soup. It'll be nice and warm but not too heavy. How does that sound?"

"I'm sold," Dean told her and smiled his thanks. "We'll take two."

"Comin' right up," the waitress replied and gestured toward the small waiting area near the cash register. "You boys have a seat, if you want, and I'll be right back."

Dean nodded as she disappeared behind the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

"If I throw up, I'm blaming you."

Dean chuckled at Sam's comment as he maneuvered his little brother over to the chairs positioned along the far wall. "You don't have to eat all of it. Just some of it."

"Easy for you to say..." Sam grumbled as they both sat down, sighing in unison.

Dean wrapped his arm around his kid, his mind buzzing too much to focus on a single thought. There was so much to sort out – who to call, what to do.

Sam leaned against Dean and stared at nothing.

Several minutes passed as the diner carried on around them like any other night, like everything was fine.

But everything wasn't fine.

Not for them.

Sam sighed again, his gaze wandering.

Over by the window, a family was preparing to leave. The dad wiping his young son's hands and face with a napkin before ruffling the kid's hair.

It was so simple and yet Sam felt a pang of jealousy followed by a sharper twist of sadness.

"Are we gonna tell him?"

Dean blinked his surprise at Sam's question. The kid rarely talked about their dad these days but when he did, Sam always referred to John as "him"– and he always used "we" because they were in this together.

Always together.

"Dean. Are we?"

Dean shook his head, not ready to discuss that...especially not in the waiting area of a diner.

But it was something he needed to decide.

Part of him wanted to tell John, knowing he probably should. But the other part wanted to tell their dad to go fuck himself and stay the hell out of their lives, away from Sam.

"Dean. Are we?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean snapped, irritated and so fucking pissed at the entire situation – the uncertainty and fear, the confusion and worry, the vulnerability and doubt. He didn't even know if he had cancer yet, but it was already disrupting their lives and driving him fucking crazy. "I don't know if I'm gonna tell him, okay? I don't know if I'm gonna tell anybody. So, shut up and stop asking me. Jesus..."

Dean jerked away from his brother and stood, restless and agitated.

Sam gasped as he was jarred by the sudden movement, looking every bit like a kicked puppy – a sick kicked puppy – as he sat there blinking up at Dean with huge, misty eyes.

Dean's guilt was instant. "Fuck," he hissed, rubbing one hand over his face as he paced a small circle, trying to pull himself back together – because it wasn't fair to lose his shit on Sam.

They were in this together, and the kid had been amazing over the past several hours, had been as brave and supportive as a terrified, anxious 12-year old could be. But Sam was tired now and didn't feel well, and his need for reassurance was overwhelming as his resolve faded.

And Dean knew that. He knew his little brother was just scared, was just trying to sort through everything in his own way...and for Sam, that meant questions.

Lots of questions.

Sometimes the same questions...over and over...just like at the clinic.

Dean sighed, loud and harsh, and turned back to see his kid staring at the floor, holding on to the edges of the chair and swallowing hard.

And if Sam had held it together all afternoon but threw up now because Dean had snatched away from him, Dean was going to feel like the biggest fucking asshole in the whole fucking world.

He sighed again and reached for his brother, desperate to reverse his fuck-up.

"Sammy. I'm sorry."

But Sam shied away from his touch, refusing to even look at him.

And that was fine.

Dean deserved it.

But damn it stung.

Dean clenched his jaw, wishing he could kick his own ass for making a bad situation even worse, for making Sam feel even worse – and not just physically. The kid was closer to tears now than he had been all afternoon, and that was Dean's fault.

Dean sighed once more, hating it when he hurt his kid's feelings.

"Alrighty, fellas..." the waitress chirped as she rounded the corner with a large paper bag, oblivious to the strained silence between the brothers. "Two chicken and rice soups, ready to go. And I put a whole sleeve of saltines in there, too. On the house..." she added with a wink, then paused. "You know what? I can do even better than that. Tonight, everything's on the house."

Dean's eyes widened at the announcement as he shook his head. "No, we can't – "

" – you can. And you will," the waitress interrupted, shoving the bag at Dean.

"But – "

The waitress held up her hand, silencing him. "Don't argue with me, hon. I'm older, and I have more practice."

Dean snorted at that reasoning, though he still felt like he should resist. First the clinic, now this – it was too much charity for a Winchester to accept in one day.

But then again...his money was dwindling. And Dean had a kid to feed. And a motel bill coming at the end of the week...and more clinic visits...and...

"Go on now," the waitress urged, shooing Dean toward his brother. "You two get home before it gets any colder out there." She glanced at Sam. "And before he gets any paler."

Dean reached for Sam's arm, prepared for rejection but counting it a small victory when the kid allowed Dean to pull him to his feet. "Thank you," he told the waitress, keeping a steadying hand on a swaying Sam.

"It's my pleasure," she assured, smiling. "Now go home and take care of each other. I expect to see both of you in here tomorrow, looking and feeling better."

Dean nodded but said nothing as he held their take-out in one hand and guided his brother toward the door with the other, knowing it would take a hell of a lot more than chicken and rice soup to make them feel better.

But...it was a start.

Once outside, Sam's condition deteriorated – everything too bright, too loud, and too much the instant they stepped on the sidewalk. He gasped and gagged at the same time, making a choked sound as he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent what had been building all afternoon.

"Hey. Easy," Dean soothed, pausing long enough to turn Sam before he pulled the kid toward him.

Sam buried his face in Dean's t-shirt, desperate to block the sights and smells causing his head to throb and his stomach to churn.

"Deep breaths, Sammy. You're okay. Just try to relax."

Sam focused on his brother's voice, on the thumb sweeping back and forth over his neck as Dean held him close and steady.

On the sidewalk and in the diner behind them, life moved on. No one noticing, or probably even caring, about Dean and his kid – about the afternoon they had endured, about the future they faced.

It wasn't surprising. But it was reaffirming.

It's just you and me, Dean thought as his little brother continued to cling to him, feeling strangely proud and satisfied – because there was no one else he would rather have beside him.

Dean sighed. "Sammy..." he called, sensing his brother had settled enough to start walking. "You ready?"

Sam nodded once, slow and careful, but didn't move.

Dean smiled, pulling the hood of the kid's sweatshirt over his head before turning him around to face the world.

Sam gasped at the overstimulating blur and felt Dean reel him back.

"Eyes closed. I've got you."

Sam hummed a response and did as he was told.

They made the trip back to the motel in silence. Sam curled against Dean's side as he focused on placing one foot in front of the other but otherwise switched to autopilot, keeping his eyes closed and his face turned into the comforting leather of Dean's jacket. The familiar scent and texture distracting him from the noise and light while the weight of his big brother's arm around his shoulder kept him grounded, reminded him that Dean would protect him – from anything, from everything.

The thought made Sam's throat tight, the urge to cry rushing to the surface...because who would protect him if something happened to Dean? If Dean got really sick, if Dean died...then what? Who would take care of Sam? Who would love him?

The answer was as simple as it was devastating – nobody.

Bobby would try...of course he would. Maybe even Pastor Jim, too, with Caleb and a few others pitching in when and where they could.

It would take a proverbial village to finish raising Dean's kid.

And Sam would be grateful for their efforts.

But they weren't Dean.

Nobody was Sam's big brother. Nobody could take care of him like Dean. Nobody could love him like Dean.

But now Dean was possibly sick – possibly sick and dying – and his 12-year old little brother was terrified of losing him.

Sam took a shuddering breath and tightened his grip on the hem of Dean's jacket, on the amulet still clutched in his other hand – dangerously close to sobbing in the street...or throwing up. The rawness of his emotions doing nothing to ease the throbbing in his head or the swell of nausea rising in his throat.

"Almost there," Dean whispered more than once, and it took Sam a few seconds longer than it should have to realize when they actually were there, back inside their motel room.

No lamps were left on – because they had no idea they would be at the clinic for as long as they were – but Sam still squinted until Dean stepped in front of him, blocking the light filtering in from the street better than the thin curtain already drawn across the window.

"Sammy..." Dean began, pulling the hood off his brother's head and helping the kid out of his coat before easing him into one of the chairs at the table. "I know you don't want to, but I need you to eat at least some of this," he told his brother, unlidding the Styrofoam bowl.

Sam swallowed and wrinkled his nose at the soup placed in front of him.

"I know," Dean agreed. He didn't have an appetite, either, and the incision in his neck was beginning to sting like a bitch as the anesthetic wore off. "But I need you to try, okay?" he encouraged, exchanging a plastic spoon from the take-out bag for the amulet his brother still held.

Sam sat there, holding the spoon and staring at the steam rising from the bowl.

Dean slipped the amulet over his head and gave Sam a few minutes to psych himself up, positioning the trashcan a little closer – just in case – and digging three pills from the stash of prescription-strength Tylenol in his jacket pocket.

"One for you, two for me..." Dean commented, placing the medication on the table and then crossing to the mini fridge in the corner.

Sam continued to sit there as Dean returned with two bottles of water, shrugged out of his jacket, and sat across from him.

Dean sighed, reaching into the bag for the saltines the waitress had mentioned. "Here. Try this first," he suggested, offering his brother a cracker and wondering if anyone else had the patience for this.

If Dean got sick and was unable to take care of Sam – if Dean died – would anyone else be patient enough to reason and bargain and persist? Would anyone else be able to get his kid to eat?

The thought was startling, was just one more thing to worry about.

Dean sighed again and rubbed his forehead. "Sammy. Please eat this fucking cracker."

Sam snorted a soft laugh but reached across the table.

Dean watched his brother nibble on the saltine with his eyes closed, like the kid expected to puke at any second and had turned all of his attention inward as he fought that battle.

A few seconds later, the cracker was gone and they were back to just sitting there, waiting for something to happen.

But nothing did.

Dean smiled as Sam held out his hand. "Okay. One more," he allowed, placing another cracker in the kid's palm. "But then we try some soup."

Sam nodded, keeping his eyes closed as he ate the second cracker.

And so it went – the brothers eating in the dark as Dean supplied Sam with cracker chasers for every spoonful of soup the kid managed to swallow.

But after he had eaten barely half of the amount in the bowl, Sam pushed away from the table, turning to fully face the trashcan.

Dean felt his own stomach twist with dread as Sam leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he breathed through his mouth and cast a frantic glance at Dean like he expected his big brother to somehow stop what was coming.

Dean was already out of his chair, squatting beside his kid. "It's okay. I'm right here," he soothed, rubbing Sam's back and wondering who would do this if he couldn't.

Who would comfort his little brother? Who wouldn't flinch if Sam threw up on them? Who would clean up after him if Sam was sick and then put him to bed and lay beside him until he drifted to sleep? Who would rub his back and tell him he would feel better in the morning?

Who?

Who could Dean trust with the one thing he loved the most?

Dean sighed, feeling crushed by the weight of such a heavy decision even though he knew Bobby was the obvious choice. The older hunter was already more of a father to them than John and had taken care of Sam multiple times. He loved the kid and could be trusted to put Sam first...and to keep John away from him.

Sam gasped a shaky breath, scattering Dean's thoughts, then coughed and gagged; his whole body moving with the force.

But still nothing happened.

Sam moaned and reached for Dean's hand.

"Shhh, I know..." Dean murmured and squeezed the small hand grasping his, indeed knowing how miserable it was to be caught in this limbo. "Just try to breathe through it," he urged, wanting Sam's food to stay exactly where it was...along with the pain and fever medication he took.

Sam closed his eyes, once again turning inward.

After several minutes of tense silence, he turned to look at Dean with a hesitant smile.

Dean arched an eyebrow and smiled back. "Really?"

Sam answered with a cautious nod and swallowed.

Dean's smiled widened, thankful another wave of nausea had passed without incident and his kid was still fed and medicated. "Well, that was close..."

Sam nodded again.

Dean patted Sam's knee before he stood and took the trashcan with him, relocating it between the two beds. "Alright. Go brush your teeth while I clean up."

Sam heard his brother but didn't move, watching as Dean rubbed at the bandage on his neck and winced.

Dean turned to hide the painful expression from Sam but could still feel the kid tracking him as he crossed to the other side of the table.

"I'm fine. Go."

Sam hummed his doubt but retreated to the bathroom, taking care of business before brushing his teeth as he listened to Dean move around behind him – turning on the single lamp in the far corner, clearing the table, opening and closing drawers...and then joining him in the small space, already changed for bed.

"I couldn't find your My Little Pony shirt, so..." Dean shrugged and smiled, teasing his little brother as he handed over the kid's sleep clothes.

Sam pulled a face.

Dean chuckled around the toothbrush in his mouth, one hand on the handle while the other hovered over an unsteady little brother still dizzy from a massive migraine. A garbled version of be careful was said more than once as Sam finished changing clothes and Dean finished brushing his teeth.

"Okay, Sammy. Bedtime for you, dude. I'm just gonna take a look at this." Dean peeled back the edges of the tape, removing the blood-stained gauze from his neck and dropping it in the trash. "Maybe clean it up a little, put another bandage over it...then I'll be right behind you."

But instead of leaving the bathroom, Sam mirrored Dean's movements, crouching beside his brother and grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink before Dean could reach it.

Dean snorted. "Nice reflexes," he praised and stood, recognizing the stubborn expression on Sam's face.

"I'll do it," Sam told him, speaking for the first time since the diner.

Something warm spread through Dean's chest.

"I appreciate that, Sammy. But I need to turn on the lights in here so I can check the incision and clean it. And I know you and lights aren't friends right now."

Sam quirked a smile. "No...but it's okay. I can take it."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam..."

"You take care of me even when you don't feel good," Sam pointed out, that stubborn expression returning. "Like tonight...I know your neck hurts but you're still taking care of me...especially when I thought I was gonna...you know..."

Dean chuckled, always amused that Sam refused to say anything about throwing up as if saying any of the associated words would make it happen.

"So, now it's your turn?"

Sam nodded. "We take care of each other."

That warm feeling spread deeper and wider in Dean's chest.

"Damn right we do," he agreed and held his hand over Sam's eyes, shielding them from the lights he flicked on.

Sam blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness flooding the bathroom before settling into a pinched squint.

Dean sighed, not liking his brother's obvious discomfort but understanding the kid's determination to tend to him...and appreciating it more than Sam would ever know.

"You good?"

Sam nodded.

Dean did the same, lowering his hand from Sam's eyes and sitting on the closed toilet so his little brother could reach him.

Sam balanced the first aid kit on the edge of the counter and opened it, scanning the contents and grabbing an alcohol wipe. "This is gonna sting."

Dean smiled, wondering how many times he had said that to Sam over the years. "It already stings," he admitted about the pain tingling to life without the mask of anesthetics.

Sam frowned. "Bad?"

"Nah," Dean dismissed, because he had certainly endured worse. "It's normal. Go ahead."

Sam nodded, biting his lip in concentration and squinting at the incision as he dabbed away the dried blood peeking through the stitches.

"How does it look?" Dean asked, curious for the kid's opinion while also judging Sam's skills with wound assessment.

"It's red but clean. I think the doctor did a good job."

"I think you're right," Dean replied, standing to check his reflection in the mirror before sitting back on the closed toilet. "Now what?"

Sam tossed the used wipe in the trash and grabbed the gauze.

Dean nodded, watching as Sam stacked the squares and cut the tape just like Dean had shown him. "Why do you cut the tape before you cover the wound?"

"It's just good to have all of your supplies ready before you start."

Dean nodded again, proud of his little brother...even if the kid could barely see with how hard he was squinting beneath the bathroom lights. "Sammy. How's your head?"

"Still hurts," Sam admitted, smoothing the last strip of tape over the fresh bandage on Dean's neck. "And my stomach still feels kinda..." His voice trailed off but his expression told the rest.

"Well, the meds should kick in soon," Dean said, examining Sam's work in the mirror before sitting again and giving the kid an approving smile. "Good job, dude."

"I had a good teacher."

And it was those kinds of sappy but genuine comments that clenched Dean's heart every single time.

He gave an affectionate, careful ruffle to Sam's hair and sighed. "I know it's still a little early for two party animals like us...but what'd ya say we go to bed?"

Sam nodded like it was the best idea he had heard all day.

Dean had to agree it sounded pretty damn good. "Okay, just remember I put the trashcan beside the bed in case you need it. And you know if you need me, I'm right there, so just…" He paused as tears started welling in Sam's eyes. "Whoa. Hey. What's wrong?"

The night had finally evened out to some semblance of normalcy...but now Sam was on the verge of crying again.

"Sammy..."

Sam's inhalation was sharp and broken, and suddenly Dean had a sobbing 12-year old reaching for him.

Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother as Sam climbed in his lap, clinging to him and finally releasing the tears that had threatened all afternoon.

For the first few minutes, Dean just sat there and held him, rubbing Sam's back as the kid cried out his fear and anxiety. The familiar, soothing motion eventually calming him enough to speak through his tears.

"What if..." Sam inhaled a hiccupping breath. "What if one day you're not right there?" he asked, breaking his big brother's heart. "What if one day I'm...I'm alone?"

And wasn't that their biggest fear – one brother being without the other?

Dean couldn't imagine anything more terrifying.

"You're not gonna be alone," he assured, still rubbing his kid's trembling back.

"But...but..."

"Sam. Listen. I'm not gonna tell him," Dean continued, finally answering Sam's question about John. "But I am calling Bobby in the morning. And he'll come out here. You know he will."

"But he's n-not you."

Dean smiled, hoping his little brother always thought he was irreplaceable. "No, Bobby's not me. But he can stay with you and take care of you if I get sick or need treatment."

Sam only seemed to cry harder.

Dean sighed. "Sammy..."

"I don't want you to die."

And there it was – the elephant in the room.

"Anyone else can die," Sam sobbed, fisting the back his brother's shirt as if he could keep Dean with him if he just held on tight enough. "But not you. You can't die because...because I love you. And I don't want you to leave me."

Sam's emotion was raw, and his words sliced deep.

Dean felt his throat tighten as his own eyes began to mist. "I love you too, Sammy," he whispered, Winchesters rarely saying those words aloud – or to each other – but fuck it.

Sam needed to know.

"Hey. Look at me." Dean eased his brother back, thumbing away the kid's tears. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to be with you...to protect you and take care of you. Nothing I wouldn't go up against. Nothing I wouldn't fight..." He paused, making sure Sam was listening. "...and that includes cancer."

Sam sniffled and swallowed.

"If that's what this turns out to be, I promise I'm gonna fight, Sammy. I'm gonna fight with everything I've got." Dean paused again, twitching a smile. "And what happens when your big brother fights?"

Sam sniffled once more. "You win."

"Hell yes," Dean agreed and winked at the kid sitting in his lap, wiping away a few lingering tears rolling down Sam's cheeks. "I win. I kick cancer's ass, and I stay right where I belong, beside my little brother."

Sam was still an emotional mess, but he smiled and nodded. "I like that plan."

Dean smiled back. "So do I," he replied, pulling Sam into a tight hug and kissing his brother's temple – Winchesters rarely giving out hugs and kisses...but fuck that, too.

Dean loved his kid.

And cancer or no cancer, he had no intention of leaving him.

END

A/N: This story was always meant to end here. But it was also meant to lay the groundwork for a 'verse, so...stay tuned. There will likely be more of this journey at some point through other stories.