Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters and/or settings

Author's Note: Hey guys! This is my first story, so any and all feedback and constructive criticism would be extremely helpful! I hope to update once a week (but with Thanksgiving coming up there might be a delay) Thank you so much and hope you enjoy!

Sam bit his lip as he carefully tried to stick the thermostat into Dean's mouth and under his tongue while his older brother slept.

He'd noticed how Dean had started sniffling a week ago (which he had claimed were "just allergies"). Which had then progressed into a painful few days of coughing ("just a small cold"), which had all climaxed into Dean throwing up last night ("must've been something I ate").

Dean usually never got sick and when he was, well…it was never pretty. The last couple of times it had happened, their dad had been there to help take care of him, some of the few times that Sam was genuinely happy to have their dad around.

Dean's eyebrows scrunched together as he spat the instrument out, blinking up at Sam.

"What're you doing, kiddo?" he asked, sounding congested.

Okay, Sam was willing to admit that getting Dean's temperature without his brother waking up had been a bit of a long shot. But he needed to know the number now, that way he could gauge the fever and keep an eye on things. Besides, Dean usually refused Sam's help unless he had no other choice, and would simply insist that he was fine.

"I need to get your temperature," Sam replied, feeling like he was six instead of twelve.

"I'm alrigh', Sammy," Dean's eyes were drooping to a close.

"You're sick," Sam argued, "Please Dean, just let me get your temperature and then you can sleep, I promise."

Dean grudgingly opened his eyes and nodded.

He obediently lifted his tongue and held the thermometer while Sam hovered around anxiously. When it beeped, he handed the small instrument over to his little brother.

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" he asked, when Sam frowned at the tiny screen.

"It says 99.8," Sam replied, "You're sick."

Dean rolled his eyes and turned over in bed, "It ain't a fever till it's 100.4, Sherlock."

Sam huffed and tapped the tip of the thermometer against his hand as he thought. He looked around for Dean's duffle and yanked it out from under the bed.

Dean peered at him over his shoulder, "Aren't you supposed to be at school right now?"

Sam shook his head as he searched through his brother's clothes, looking for their small stash of medicine.

"Snow day," he explained, as he pulled out the Ziploc and started examining the different bottles.

He knew Dean wouldn't accept any medicine right now, but it made him feel slightly calmer knowing what supplies they had on hand.

Dean nodded and started dozing off again as Sam placed the medicine bag on the nightstand between the two beds and walked over to the fridge. He bit back a curse when he saw how low they were on food and drinks. Particularly any food and drink that wasn't soda or leftover pizza that was a couple of days old.

Sam shook his head and glanced at Dean, who was sound asleep once again.

He grabbed a piece of stationary and quickly scribbled, 'Went to get supplies, be back in a few'. Sam shoved the medicine bag over and tucked the note under a glass of water that he filled from the sink next to a pack of crackers.

It wasn't much, and Sam didn't like the thought of leaving for even a minute, but he knew that now was the time to stalk up before Dean got any worse.

He threw on his shabby winter coat and snagged a room key and some cash. Sam hesitated at the door, glancing back at Dean worriedly before he stepped outside into the snow and shut the door behind him.

It took Sam a couple of moments to adjust, not only was it freezing cold and wet, he could already feel his socks getting soggy despite his tennis shoes, but the light reflecting off of the snow's surface made it seem unnaturally bright out. Especially after being in their room with the shades drawn and the lights off.

Sam trudged through the foot of snow, grateful that the convenience store was only a ten-minute walk and not halfway across town.

Even so, by the time Sam made it there, he was shivering uncontrollably and his fingers and toes were beyond numb.

He brushed the snow out of his hair as the little bell over the door announced his presence. Sam nodded to the skinny old woman behind the counter and started scanning the aisles for supplies.

He filled his arms with soup cans, crackers, Gatorade, ginger ale, wash cloths, a little bit more medicine, and a few other odds and ends.

"Someone sick?" the lady commented as she scanned the items.

Sam nodded, unable to help but feel slightly impatient. Every fiber of his being wanted to be back at their motel room already, making sure that Dean was alright.

He handed over the necessary amount of money when she (finally) finished scanning everything.

"Well, make sure you take care of yourself too, honey," the lady told him as she handed him the plastic bags and change.

"Thank you," Sam replied, and ducked out of the store and back into the snow.

He couldn't believe that the stuff was still coming down, and wondered if he should have gotten more in the event that they get snowed in.

He shook his head, 'I'll worry about that later, right now I need to check on Dean,' he told himself.

It took him a few moments to juggle everything and be able to unlock the door and stumble inside. When he did, he heard the unmistakable sounds of Dean being sick in the bathroom.

"Dean?" Sam called, shutting the door and momentarily dumping the bags on the floor. He swiped the thermometer off of the counter and ran to the bathroom.

Dean had left the door propped open slightly, so Sam let himself in. He wanted to do or say something to help, like Dean always did for him when he was sick, but the only thing he could think of doing that Dean wouldn't shrug away was dampen a towel.

When Dean was done he stumbled back against the wall and sank down to the floor, closing his eyes again. In the pale light of the bathroom, his cheeks looked flushed and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

Sam flushed the toilet and handed Dean the towel, which his brother took gratefully.

"Thanks," Dean murmured, placing the cloth on the back of his neck with a small sigh of relief.

"Dean," Sam kneeled down in front of his older brother, "I think I need to take your temperature again."

He could tell Dean wanted to refuse, but instead he leaned his head back against the wall and nodded, "Okay, Sammy."

Sam handed him the tiny instrument once again and when it beeped Dean gave it back.

"What's the diagnosis?"

"101.5."

"Damn, guess I'm sick after all," Dean sighed and gave Sam a weak smile.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you have the time, any and all feedback would be extremely helpful! Thanks again! :)