Dedicated to: 27jaredjensen -a kickass writer! Thank you so much for your review!

AN: Dean is 18 years old here, Sam is 14.

The Job of a Big Brother

Dean Winchester, big brother extrodinare, waltzed into the kitchen, ready to be greeted by the manliest meal of the day. Breakfast.

Since they had taken on two well-paid Wendigo jobs in Missouri, John had allowed a slight indulgence into Sam's whims for once. A week staying over at one of the mid-town apartments while John had a hunt in the next town. It wasn't a four-star hotel or anything, but the water came out hot everytime and the AC's didn't sound like dying Gremlins when you switched it on. Yes, they had watched Gremlins, and yes, they had unanimously agreed they were only a slight degree creepier than posessed dolls. Except old porcelian dolls, they still topped the chart.

Back to Breakfast... or, at least, lack of said breakfast... Dean's good morning was suddenly downscaled from 'super awesome' to just 'peachy' in record time. No wafting of the buttery sugary goodness of pancakes... no clanking of pans or scrapings of spatula's.

It was Sam's turn to cook this week and Dean sure as hell was not about to let his brother shirk out of his responsibilities. Not that Sam was a shirk...er... but, damnit, growing men need to eat!

"Sam?" Dean called, swinging open his brother's door with an unnessecary amount of force, allowing a hardy 'bang' to ring through the room. Instead of the usual follow-up of Sam-bitching, all he was replied with was a whimper.

Not a second later and Dean was next to his brother's bed, wrestling the covers back so he could get a good look at his younger brother, "Stop that, dude, what's wrong?" Dean asked.

Sam relented and pushed himself up to a sitting position, "I'm not feeling too good," he muttered, running his hand through his damp hair caused by his fever. His glossy eyes weren't the best sign for a healthy Winchester; neither was the fact that Sam had just shot out of bed and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean sighed heavily as he heard the sound of his little brother in the bathroom tossing his cookies. Oh yes, the technicolour yawn that comes with every flu bout his brother has ever had. He had even evolved several code-words for the one phase of being sick, and yes, it did happen that often.

'At least it's Saturday...' Dean though morbidly. The last time he had to excuse the pair of them from school because Sam got sick, the school board contacted John. They told him in their usual condescending tone, just how irresponsible he was for leaving his boys 'home' alone.

So, he didn't even bother to call his dad in, he had handled his brother being sick before, he can do it again. Dean gathered some aspirin, choc-chip cookies and a glass of water. By the time he got back, Sam had flushed and was now running the faucet.

"You okay in there, man?" Dean asked, heading to the bathroom, leaning against the wall.

"I'm fine," Sam snapped darkly, definitely not in the mood for Dean's snarky comments.

"You need some help?" Dean asked, his concerned voice hadn't changed yet. It just went to prove everyone wrong, Dean did have patience...when it came to Sam.

Sam yanked open the door, holding his stomach and stepped out before shutting the door behind him. "Don't go in there," he muttered, not meeting Dean's eyes. He slowly trudged back to his bed, Dean following at a 'discreet distance', and crawled back in. By the time he was sitting again, his arms were shaking from the exertion. "I think I caught the bug going around the school."

"No shit, Sherlock," Dean laughed, fluffing up the pillows and stacking them against the headboard. He softly pushed Sam back by the shoulders until the younger Winchester was resting against them. He pulled the duvet and comforter up and tucked Sam in.

"I'm not four, Dean," Sam snapped, wriggling his arms out of the confines of the comforter.

Dean smiled and held out the cookies towards his brother, "Tell that to the cookies, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam grabbed the cookie bag from Dean's grasp and stuck his head in the bag, "I'm not four!" he snapped at the contents.

'This is not a good sign... he's really talking to cookies...' Dean thought, popping two aspirins from the bottle. A glance from his brother suddenly had him wondering if he shouldn't be popping out four.

The hunter-side of Dean wanted to tell Sam to 'suck it up, Soldier' and have him take care of himself... the big brother-side of Dean wanted to bundle his little baby brother up and get him a whiddle bit of chicky whicky soup... he shook his head. Those thoughts should be banned...

Sam sighed contently, muching away on the bag of cookies, eternally grateful to be rid of the horrid acid taste in his mouth. By the fourth one though, he was tired out. His lids started drooping, "I'm tired," he muttered, a yawn coming as an afterthought.

"Hey, you can't go to sleep yet, bro..." Dean nudged his brother, dropping two aspirin in his hand, "Take these."

The younger Winchester didn't even bother to ask what it was. He knows his brother well enough to know that everything Dean does for him is for the best. "Thanks, Dean," Sam said, downing them with the glass of water his brother handed him.

"Get some rest, kay?" Dean said, taking the bag of cookies and glass from him, helping his brother lay down. He jokingly dropped the comforter right over Sam's head, earning a giggle from his little brother, "Oh, sorry, didn't see you there..."

"Very funny... " Sam grinned, smoothing down the covers before coughing into his pillow. He cleared his throat, wincing as he does.

"You're not going to george again, are you?" Dean quipped, instinctively drawing the trashcan nearer.

Sam's face contorted in disgust, "It's not my fault I get... sick... when I get sick," he countered, although the reply was punctuated with a yawn right at the end.

Dean held his hand to Sam's forehead, comparing it to his own. 'At least his fever doesn't look too bad yet... I'll take it later...' he mentally noted, knowing for a fact that Sam always had recurring fevers.

"Thanks..." Sam murmured, snuggling deeper into the covers.

The older Winchester smiled sheepishly before leaving his brother's room, careful to leave the door ever so slightly open, so he could easily keep an eye on his baby brother.

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