Sam felt the latent grip of panic tighten his chest. He sat beside Dean's bed. The tubes and drips connected into his brother's body in an obscene assault. Sam swallowed. He closed his eyes. Dean was okay. Dean was okay. He kept repeating that to himself. His brother was stable. It was true. That didn't keep his stomach from churning.

Sam startled, opening his eyes, when a warm hand patted his shoulder. He looked up to see their dad standing beside him.

"He's okay, Sam."

Sam eyes itched with tears. "They had to restart his heart." He took in a shaky breath. "Twice."

John paled at that statement. He pulled a chair next to Sam and sat down. John rearranged Dean's blankets, peering down at him with an intensity he reserved for the most serious of circumstances.

"Good news." John turned to Sam. "Doctor Swanson's discontinuing the chemotherapy. Says he appears to be in remission. Thinks the last two treatments aren't really necessary given..." John paused turning back to stare at Dean. "the extent of the side effects."

"He almost died, Dad." Sam heard his voice crack. He was tired. Emotionally spent. Angry at his Dad for not coming sooner and still feeling the ridiculous urge to sob in his arms.

John shuffled closer to Sam. "I know." He chuckled, tucking his arm around Sam's shoulder and pulling him close. "That doctor you found scolded me for a good twenty minutes. I haven't had a shakedown like that since the corps." His father's face became serious. "You did a good job, Sam. It's not your fault he's a stubborn little bastard."

Sam snorted at that. "His heart stopped. Because he didn't sleep or eat." He said again. "He's lost close to forty pounds. I've been with him. I did a shitty job. Admit it." Sam pulled away. "If I'd been the one sick; he wouldn't have let this happen."

"Sam he hasn't kept anything down. He hasn't slept. He didn't tell you he was sick until he passed out a few weeks ago." John leaned back in his chair. He offered him a small smile. "He left me a message eight weeks ago after he started treatment. Promised me he had it under control…"

"Don't do that. Don't blame him."

"Sammy…" John sounded gentle. "It's not him I'm blaming. And it's not you. None of this is your fault." He said again.

Sam didn't comment.

John cleared his throat. "They don't think there's any permanent damage – just the effects of acute exhaustion coupled with dehydration. But with the extent of the weight loss, the doctor thinks his heart should be checked. So far everything's come back normal." John shifted in his seat. "We can take him home tomorrow. Here's a list of foods that should go down easier." John shuffled in his pocket and pulled out a paper. He handed it to Sam. Saltines, low sodium soups, breads, lean proteins like fish…

"Yeah. He'll love these."

John turned towards Dean. "He'll damn well eat whatever we give him." He put his hands over his face and inhaled deeply. "He's okay, Sam." John repeated. This time Sam wasn't sure if he said it for Sam's benefit or his own.

**

They drove Dean back to the motel the next morning. Sam's head pounded. His eyelids were leaden weights. He sat in the backseat beside his brother. Embarrassment seeped into Dean's features during the car ride back to the motel. That warmed Sam's soul a little bit. If Dean was ashamed; he was feeling better.

John pulled the car up to Room 110. Dean jangled the door handle. Sam jumped out his side and ran around the to the other one. John lumbered out of the front seat. He walked to the room, unlocked the door, and returned to stand beside Sam. They watched as Dean fumbled to move his legs out of the car. His feet sprawled out onto the rough pavement. He grinned up at them like he'd accomplished something great.

"You guys gonna move or what?" Dean's voice came out strong but breathy.

John shook his head. He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him up.

"Get his other arm, Sam." John said.

Dean fidgeted away when Sam tried pulled his brother's arm around his shoulder. Sam was tempted to force him, but his gut churned. The image of his brother still and pale in the hospital gentled his hand. Sam huffed and turned to their dad.

"Dean…" John warned.

Dean stopped his weak protests and let them walk him into the room, shaking with each step. They deposited him on the bed. Sam rested against the wall. John pulled up a chair up to the bed fixing Dean with a hard glare.

"You're going to rest and then you're going to eat." He said. John turned to Sam. "Sam, go to the store. Get whatever food we need. Your brother and I are going to have a talk."

Sam bristled a little at the tone. He wasn't a damn grunt and John was his father, not his CO. But he bit that down for now. He agreed with the plan, make Dean eat and sleep, even if he didn't like how his father carried it out.

Dean glanced at him from the bed with a miserable twitch in his expression. Sam softened. Suddenly he felt like he had when they were kids. John always sent Sam to his room before he had a talk with Dean about whatever foolhardy thing he'd done. He shot his brother a sympathetic wince. This is for your own good - he thought at him before turning to go out for groceries.

Sam returned to a quiet room. John sat beside Dean on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. His brother was slumped against him. His eyes fluttered as Sam walked inside. Dean blinked a few times and shifted so his back was leaning against the headboard.

John grinned and got up from the bed. He patted the spot where he'd been sitting in a simple command. Sam handed him the bags and sank down beside his brother. Dean elbowed him.

"Sit on your own damn bed, you giant freak." His voice sounder stronger than earlier but the statement lacked conviction.

"Fuck you." Sam said. He felt his eyes falling shut. Shit, he was tired. "Dad needs a bed." He mumbled. Dean said something else, but Sam missed it. He heard John rummaging through the bags. Then, despite his best efforts, he felt his head loll against the hard backboard. Deep sleep claimed him.

Sam awoke hours later leaning against his brother. Long sun rays indicative of evening crept through the break in the curtains. Beside him, Dean was curled into Sam's shoulder; his breath soft and even against Sam's arm. John was sitting at the small table watching them, an amused grin plastered on his face.

Sam yawned. "Dad…"

"Feeling better, son?"

Sam squinted at him confused. "Not the sick one, Dad." He glanced down at his brother. Dean's face was pale. His eyes were shut tight like they were fighting for as much rest as possible. He didn't stir as Sam extricated Dean from where he'd been snuggled beside him and settled him down on the pillow.

"Why don't you eat, then we'll wake your brother."

Sam stretched as he got up. "Shouldn't we let him rest."

"He needs to eat, Sam." John held out instant mac n' cheese made from the groceries Sam bought. Sam eyed it with suspicion. John shook his head. "Even I can cook that, son. Besides, you're going to need your strength to help me force some food into your brother."

Maybe Sam hadn't eaten much lately either. This instant food crap was hands down the best thing he'd ever tasted. "Gooood…Dad." Sam cocked his head as John's words found meaning. "Wait." He said between bites of cheese and noodles. "You think he's still not gonna eat? After the hospital? After you talked with him this afternoon?"

"I told him he'd eat." John inhaled and peered at Dean. "But I think it's going to be a battle."

"Huh." Sam finished his food contemplating that. "Why?"

His father opened a can of soup. "Doctor said it might be that way. Some sort of psychological crap." He dumped the contents in a bowl and heated it in the small microwave. "I'll get him eating. You'll need to keep an eye on him after I'm gone so he doesn't stop again."

"You're leaving?" The food turned greasy in his mouth.

"Not yet, Sammy…" John took the soup out of the microwave. "But soon. I've been here too long already. It's not safe."

Sam didn't comment, but he finished his noodles. He watched as John shook Dean awake. Dean groaned as he sat up.

"Not hungry yet, Dad." Dean turned over, hiding his head in the pillow.

"Too bad." John pulled off the blanket. "Chow time. Up. Now, Dean."

Dean sat up. He scrunched his face at the soup in John handed him. "This is what you want me to eat." He sniffed it. "Ugh."

John crossed his arms. He loomed over Dean. "Eat it. All of it. That's an order." His voice was loud and left no room for argument. Dean grimaced, but drank a little of the soup.

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't know why the hell their dad thought this would be a problem. John says jump. Dean says 'Yes sir, right away'. Sam huffed and sank into the chair beside the bed. He sniffed more mac and cheese. It was tottering on top of the microwave. Sam reached over to grab it.

"Dammit, Dean!"

"Dad. Sorry." Dean's face fell. "I dropped it."

"Sam. Make him more. Then sit over here and watch him eat it." John glared at Dean. "All of it."

"C'mon, Dad. It was an accident…"

"Accident my ass."

"And I already ate some of it…" Now Dean sounded annoyed.

John leaned down. He grabbed Dean's shoulders. "And now you're going to eat a whole bowl of it. Drop it again and I'll have you're brother feed it to you. Do you understand?"

Dean shrugged. "But, dude, I'm not hungry and…" He started, but he clamped his mouth shut when John glowered down at him.

"Sam." John motioned towards the soup. "Heat him up another bowl. And make sure he eats all of it."

Sam did as he was told. Dean glowered at him over the food.

"Bitch." His brother mumbled.

Sam watched him struggle to get the soup down. He leaned in. "Look, man. Please eat. You're not sick anymore."

Sam felt his face drop in concern. Dean's stubborn glare flitted off his face. He didn't say anything else, but he finished the soup.

It took another two days of constant harassing before his brother's eating habits weren't forced. After that, he seemed to enjoy the food a little bit more. On the third day, Sam went out and got Dean some real food. The unhealthy kind his brother liked so much. Dean managed to keep down half a cheeseburger. And a plate of fries. Plus some pie. He slept for two hours. He awoke and stared at the cold cheeseburger with a mix of surprise and want. He ate the remaining half and two more pieces of pie. Sam grabbed the pan before he could cram the rest in his mouth.

"Dude, the idea is to eat so you don't starve. Not have so much you make yourself sick."

Dean grinned at him and John. He patted his belly. "I owe her six weeks of food."

"Her? Are you talking about your stomach?" Sam couldn't stop the grin for spreading over his face. "Your stomach is a she?"

Dean snorted. "All the best things in life are she's, Sam."

John shook his head and sank into the chair. He packed to leave that night. Sam and Dean watched him drive away the next morning.

"He should have stayed longer." Sam heard the anger in his voice.

Dean grinned. "That's what you always say. Since you were old enough to talk."

"It's still true."

Dean shrugged. "He came." He said. And Sam vowed never to tell him the trick he pulled to get John to come. His brother turned back towards the motel room.

"Hey, Dean." Sam stopped him. "What did Dad say to you, you know, when you two were alone."

"You mean when I got home from the hospital?"

Sam nodded.

Dean's chest expanded and he took in a breath of air. "Not much. Dad's not much of a talker." He turned his head and sighed. "He said he wasn't mad. But that I had to eat. And sleep. That you were worried sick. Then he put me to bed like a damn kid."

"We both were worried." Sam caught his eyes. "You're still going to have to eat. You get that right?"

Dean eyebrows went up. "Seriously?" Dean snorted. "Sam, it's not a problem. I'm not puking my guts out now. And…" He waved out his arms. "I'm in remission. Besides, like I said, I have to make it up to her with dinner and candy."

"Your stomach?

"That's right, princess." Dean moved towards the door to the room.

"Wait." Sam reached out and stopped him. He bit his lip. "Just…wait. I need to say something." Sam caught his brother's gaze again. "If this ever…" He paused, collecting his words. "If this ever happens again. Or something like it…if you're hurt or sick. You gotta tell me, Dean. I don't care if I'm two feet away or two states away. You let me know and I'll come. You gotta promise me that."

Dean looked away.

"Dean?" Sam prodded.

"Fine." Dean turned back. "Okay. "

"You promise?" Sam stepped towards him. "You have to mean it."

"Alright." Dean held out his arms. "I'll let you know, okay. You done with the hallmark moment?"

Sam relaxed. "Screw you, man."

"Good." Dean threw open the door to the room, color in his cheeks for the first time in weeks. "You're treating to breakfast."

THE END

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