A/N: Happy New Years! Well, it's a little early but I'm probably not going to be posting anything in the few hours left of 2015 so Happy Early New Years! This is a prompt I received from the awesome pinksugarrush, who has been a huge supporter of my stories. Thank you so much! The prompt was for Zach to take care of Gray when he's sick. Again, this is a short little vignette but I hope you'll like it. On a different note, this will likely be my last JW story, at least for a while. I've had some other plot bunnies that need to be chased so I'll be moving on to other fandoms. But who knows? I may be back for more in the future. I do love Zach, Gray, Claire, and Owen very much. In any event, hope you enjoy!

Zach knew there was a problem the moment he pulled his car into the driveway and spotted the dark blue minivan still parked under the basketball hoop. It was three in the afternoon. His mom should have been at work. Dread began creeping up his spine before he could even shut the engine off, his grip instinctively tightening on the steering wheel as a thousand possibilities swirled in his head. His mother hardly ever missed work unless something was seriously wrong. Was she not feeling well? Was it the divorce proceedings that inched ever closer to finalization? Was it worse? Oh god, please don't let it be worse.

The teen shut the car door a little harder than he meant to, the thump resonating in the driveway. He fiddled nervously with the key fob, pushing the lock button repeatedly, the reassuring beep of the Versa's horn echoing behind him to guarantee that the car was secure. Zach let his backpack drop to the ground as he inserted his house key, twisted it in the lock, and gently nudged the front door open. The home was quiet save for the sound of the heat kicking on as a rush of February air blew through the foyer. He paused, waiting for any indication as to why his mom was home so early.

"Zach?" her voice was gentle, calling him from somewhere upstairs.

"Mom?" the teen couldn't shake the worry from his voice. "Is everything okay?"

He heard footsteps creaking on the second floor and then his mother's blonde head was peeking down from the landing. "Oh, good! You're home!"

Zach relaxed a little upon seeing her. He turned and shut the door behind him and began prying off his sneakers. "Yeah, I'm home. Why are you?"

"Gray's not feeling well," his mom answered, coming the rest of the way down the stairs. Zach felt his heart jump involuntarily at the mention of his little brother. "He has a temperature," she elaborated. "Doctor thinks it's viral. If he's not better by tomorrow I'll take him in to see him. He's contagious so be careful. But now that your home, do you think you could watch him for a bit? We're out of Motrin and he needs his next dose in a few hours. I wanna pick up some groceries while I'm out, too."

"Yeah," the older brother replied willingly. "Yeah, I can watch him."

"Great," his mom smiled, grabbing her purse. "He's been napping on and off all day so I don't think he'll give you any trouble. I won't be gone too long." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, sweetie." And with that, she left, the door shutting behind him. A dry heat began to fill the home. Gray let out a series of muffled coughs above him. Zach shed his jacket and draped it over the back of the living room couch, then made his way up the stairs.

Gray's bedroom door was shut but he could hear the sound of coughing and the rustling of sheets within. He hesitated a moment, unsure if he should bother the boy. He was probably trying to sleep. Another round of coughing. Zach figured he should at least knock and make sure his brother was alright. "Gray?" he called out, coming to a halt outside the door.

"Yeah?" the boy hacked.

The older brother took the reply as an invitation to let himself in and twisted the doorknob. The curtains were drawn, casting a blue tint on the room and its furnishings. A mountain of blankets and pillows sat atop the bed, burying his little brother from view. The teen gingerly stepped over a pile of used tissues that had collected on the floor. Somehow, Gray had missed the garbage can every time.

"Hey," the elder Mitchell greeted quietly as he approached. Gray coughed from deep within the blankets and shifted until Zach spotted a mussed mop of hair peeking out from the tangle of linens. "Heard you're not feeling well."

"No," the boy croaked miserably, sitting up so that he could see his brother. "I have a fever."

Zach put the back of his hand to Gray's forehead and immediately pulled it away when he felt how hot his brother was. "Gray, you gotta get up," he urged, trying not to alarm the boy with his tone. "You're feeling pretty hot." He peeled away the first blanket, then the second, then the third, careful to stay out of the line of fire of his brother's coughs. Gray, for his part, cooperated by prying himself out of bed and wriggling free of the comforters. Zach noted how flushed he looked. His hair was matted with sweat. How long had he been lying beneath that many layers? It couldn't have been good for his temperature. "C'mon," he gestured for his brother to come with him.

"Where're we going?" Gray sniffled.

"Downstairs. A walk'll be good for you." Gray was unsteady and it occurred to Zach that he probably hadn't had a full meal in a while. "Did you eat anything?"

"I had some crackers," the younger brother followed the elder out of the bedroom, squinting in the afternoon sunlight filtering into the hall from the adjacent bedrooms. "So I could take my medicine."

"When was that?"

"This morning."

Zach rolled his eyes. Typical. Gray never had an appetite when he was sick and more often than not, their parents had to force the boy to eat. If it came to it, he was prepared to do the same. There was no way it was healthy for his brother to lack energy when he was this warm. "C'mon, you gotta eat."

"Okay."

It was so like Gray to be this miserable and yet go wherever he was told uncomplainingly. When Zach was sick, he tended to be whiny and needy. He lay in bed or parked himself on the couch and begged his mother to bring him water or soup or the remote or an extra blanket. But not Gray. Gray slept and if he wasn't asleep, he lay quietly and asked nothing of anyone. It was easy to forget he was even there, even ill.

Gray shivered, fumbling for the bannister, still partially blind from the intensity of the light. His bare feet contacted the first step shakily. Zach gripped his little brother's clammy hand and guided him down the stairs. "Cold?" The boy sniffed and then nodded. Zach hesitated, trying to think of the appropriate course of action. "I'll make you some soup. Just…just go sit on the couch, okay? Don't cover yourself up too much." The eleven-year-old nodded and found his way to the sofa, dropping down into it. His hair was mussed and damp with sweat. He looked pale. How long had he been lying beneath those sheets, essentially baking?

Of course, by making soup he'd really meant microwaving a can of Campbell's chicken noodle. He pulled the red-and-white can from the cabinet and pried it open with the can opener. Gray released a horrifying series of hacks and coughs from the living room that made Zach wince. He dumped the contents into a bowl and stuck it into the microwave, following the instructions on the can and setting the time to two and a half minutes.

"Gray? You okay?" he called out. The boy's coughing fit had died down.

"Yeah," the younger Mitchell replied and shifted on the couch, his cotton pajama pants swishing as they dragged over the upholstery.

"Mom's gonna be back soon with your medicine," Zach tried to reassure him, though Gray hadn't asked. What else am I supposed to do for a sick kid?

His mother always pushed vitamin C on them when they were sick. The older brother opened the fridge and rummaged around until he found the carton of orange juice. He poured out a glass for Gray and carried it out to the living room. "Here. Drink this," he encouraged. The boy didn't look as flushed anymore now that Zach had pried him from the mountain of sheets. With any luck, the fever would break.

The microwave chirped shrilly, alerting him that the soup was ready. Zach carefully removed the hot bowl and set it on the kitchen table to cool. "Okay, soup's done," he called, returning to the living room to help Gray off the couch. The younger brother followed willingly and seated himself at the table, inhaling the steam from the broth.

"Thank you," he said, picking up the spoon. "You're the best, Zach."

"I know," the older brother smirked, trying to mask his pride. He sat down across from Gray.

"You probably shouldn't sit so close," the younger brother told him. "Mom says I'm contagious."

Zach leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Well if I get sick 'cuz of you, you'll just have to take care of me."

Gray grinned. "Deal."

A/N: Fin. Thank you so much pinksugarrush for sending me this because it was a lot of fun to write! To everyone else, I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think. Like I said, this will likely be my last JW story for a while as I'll be moving on to other fandoms, but if the muse strikes, I will most definitely be back. I'm still very much in love with these characters, after all. However, I should also mention that I won't be accepting any more JW prompts at this time. That said, I'll still be lurking and I may write more down the line. I'd love to just talk with fellow fans, too, so don't be afraid to drop me a line. Unlike Indominus Rex, I don't bite!