Sam clung to his big brother as Dean carried him down the hall. The four-year old resting his chin on Dean's shoulder and offering a tiny smile to Bobby as the older hunter followed behind them.

Bobby winked at his youngest, then glanced at the nurse when she spoke.

"Here we are..." she announced, waving her hand around the small space of one of the treatment rooms to usher them inside. "As I'm sure the receptionist told you, we only have one doctor on call this morning. So you – "

" – might have to wait," Dean finished and scowled his annoyance. "We know."

The nurse arched an eyebrow. "Do you also know pink eye is highly contagious?" she countered, returning sass for sass. "And that you shouldn't be holding him like that?" she added, gesturing at the way Sam was now leaning his head against his big brother, his forehead pressed along Dean's jawline. "You're just asking for trouble," she pointed out about the proximity of Sam's infected eyes.

Dean's scowl deepened. "So are you."

Bobby twitched a smile as the nurse blinked her surprise at being spoken to so threateningly by an eight-year old. "We're aware of the dangers," he informed her, attempting to diffuse the tension caused by trying to tell a Mama Bear how to care for its cub. "But Dean has already been exposed, so there's no need to keep the boys separated."

As if keeping the boys separated was even possible.

Like Mr. T, Bobby would pity the fool who tried.

The nurse sighed her frustration about noncompliant patients. "Fine. But if you end up with two kids having pink eye, just remember...I told you so."

Bobby nodded with an amused smile, acknowledging her warning as she stomped out of the room and closed the door behind her with more force than necessary.

Dean snorted. "Geez. What's her problem?"

Bobby shrugged and shook his head, having learned long ago not to speculate about the reasons behind a woman's mood.

"Maybe she needs a nap."

Bobby chuckled at Sam's response. "Maybe," he agreed with the four-year old's logic; Sam knowing he often became cranky around naptime and assuming the nurse did as well.

"Well, whatever..." Dean dismissed about the woman's attitude and set Sam on the exam table before climbing up to sit beside him.

Bobby sighed and took a seat in one of the chairs near the door, watching his boys.

Dean stared back. "How much longer?" he demanded, wrapping his arm around his little brother and murmuring something to the four-year old as Sam shifted, attempting to rub his itchy, burning eyes.

Bobby shook his head. "Hard to say," he admitted and nodded toward the small pile of children's books stacked in the corner beside the magazines. "Wanna read a story while we wait?"

Sam perked up at the mention of a story but Dean pulled a face as he glanced at the books and recognized one of the covers.

Bobby arched an eyebrow at the big brother's reaction. "Problem?"

"I'm not reading that to Sam," Dean replied, his tone reflecting his immovable stance on the issue.

Bobby glanced again at the books, wondering what the hell he had missed.

But there was nothing offensive or inappropriate for children. Just the usual classics.

Dr. Seuss, Richard Scary, Eric Carle, Maurice Sendak...

Bobby glanced back at Dean and blinked, waiting for an explanation.

Dean sighed. "That one on top..." he began, wrinkling his nose as if he didn't even want to say the book's title.

So Bobby said it for him. "Where the Wild Things Are?"

Dean nodded. "Tell me there's one thing in that book you wouldn't gank."

Bobby chuckled at what Dean was implying. "I've never really thought about it," he commented, studying the book's cover more carefully and recalling the characters. "But I guess you're right."

Because the book was a bit scary for kids and featured monsters galore...which made it off-limits for Dean's little brother who was constantly protected from the reality of their hunter life.

Understanding now, Bobby grabbed the book and shuffled it a little deeper in the stack so it was no longer resting on top.

Dean nodded his thanks to the older hunter, then blocked Sam's arm as the four-year old once again reached for his face. "Sammy. Stop."

Sam grunted a whine. "But my eyes itch."

"I know," the big brother soothed and brushed Sam's bangs from his forehead, keeping a check on his kid's fever. "The doctor's coming soon, but how 'bout we play a game while we wait?"

Sam hesitated, not really in the mood to play but...

"What game?"

Dean smiled, an expert at distracting his little brother. "A trivia game."

Sam returned the smile, loving anything that tested his knowledge. "Okay," he agreed. "But me first!"

Bobby smiled at the four-year old's sudden enthusiasm and winked at Dean when the eight-year old looked at him, giving the big brother credit for always knowing how to keep Sam occupied.

Dean returned the wink, then refocused on his brother. "Alright, Sammy. Let's hear it. First question..."

Sam nodded at Dean's prompting to begin the game and then glanced at Bobby still sitting in the chair beside the door. "You wanna play, too?"

Bobby's smile widened at this sweet kid. "Sure thing, squirt. You get us started..."

Sam beamed but the grin faltered as a fresh jolt of itching, burning pain shot through his eyes, causing them to water with stinging tears.

"You're okay," Dean told him, pulling his brother a little closer and giving the four-year old a one-armed hug. "Go head. Ask us something..."

Sam inhaled a shaky breath and relaxed again into Dean's side as the brothers continued to sit on the exam table together with Bobby nearby.

"Okay. Um..." Sam sniffled and thought for a moment before smiling. "What year did The Joker first appear?"

Dean laughed. "Batman trivia, huh?" he commented and nodded his approval. "That's my boy," he praised his little brother and ruffled Sam's hair.

Twenty minutes later, the questions continued.

The game having been briefly interrupted when a different nurse than before had popped in to check on them and take Sam's vitals...but then had been quickly resumed since asking and guessing trivia seemed to be doing the proverbial trick of keeping Sam distracted.

And when you were waiting with a four-year old who was tired, in pain, and on the verge of becoming whiney, distraction was everything.

"Your turn, Sammy."

"Um..." Sam hummed, resting against his brother and glancing around the room as he tried to think of something to ask. "When did..."

But the four-year old's voice trailed off as the door suddenly opened, revealing a woman in a white coat with greying hair and a warm smile.

"I heard somebody's had a rough morning..." she commented as she entered the small treatment room, sorting through her patient's chart.

The woman already knowing the background and suspected diagnosis with this situation based on the receptionist's notes scribbled across the intake form completed when these three had checked in at the front desk.

Sam shrunk back against his brother, instantly shy as the stranger approached the exam table.

Dean tightened his hold around Sam, angling his body to further shield the four-year old from whoever this was invading their space.

The woman's smile softened. "It's okay," she assured the two kids staring up at her and turned her attention to Bobby as he stood. "Hello. You must be the uncle."

"And you must be the doctor," Bobby countered.

The woman nodded. "Yes. Dr. Mangum," she introduced, extending her hand. "Primary care physician and weekend volunteer."

Bobby returned the nod and the handshake but didn't tell her his name. "Nice to meet you," he told her instead. "Appreciate you volunteering your time to help out our little squirt."

Dr. Mangum smiled at the affectionate nickname and refocused on the kids still sitting on the table and staring at her – the little one scared while the bigger one was surprisingly threatening.

"I don't need to frisk him, do I?" the doctor teased, setting the chart on the counter and gesturing at Dean as though the eight-year old was armed and dangerous.

Bobby chuckled, because the woman was right – Dean's body language made it clear that he was protective of Sam and aggressive toward anyone who dared to touch the four-year old.

"He's fine," Bobby assured the doctor about Dean and held the eight-year old's gaze. "Aren't you?"

Dean's attention flickered between the older hunter and the doctor before he finally nodded, knowing the woman was there to help Sam but still wary of strangers.

"I'm not leaving him," Dean informed, tired of hearing how he and Sam should be separated and giving this newcomer fair warning.

The doctor nodded. "Understood," she replied. "Besides, separating you two wouldn't do much good now since you've already been exposed."

"Exactly," Dean agreed. "And I know you have to take a look at him, but don't hurt him," he further warned as the doctor gloved up and stepped forward, reaching for Sam.

"I'll try not to," Dr. Mangum promised, gently pressing around Sam's puffy eyes under the watchfulness of Sam's big brother.

Sam blinked at her, wrinkling his nose in pain.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

"He's Sam," Dean answered for his brother, rubbing his kid's back as the four-year old leaned against him. "And I'm Dean."

Dr. Mangum nodded. "Hi, Sam," she greeted, smiling at the child who continued to blink at her with those big, red, infected eyes. "And Dean," she added, glancing at the big brother.

Dean stared at her, watching her every move as she clicked on her penlight and shined it directly into Sam's right eye, then his left.

Sam whimpered and squirmed, trying to turn his face away. "It hurts!"

"I know," Dr. Mangum soothed, expertly continuing her examination while ignoring her wiggling patient and his glaring big brother. "Almost done..."

She paused, narrowing her eyes as she noticed a trace of the yellowy discharge still clinging to Sam's lower eyelashes.

The doctor nodded – because that was the kind of symptom she was looking for to determine exactly what they were dealing with here.

Bobby stood nearby. "Bacterial?"

Dr. Mangum glanced over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed with Bobby's knowledge since most people didn't know there were several types of conjunctivitis.

"I think so. The discharge is usually the tell-tale sign." She paused again, quirking a smile. "You're good. You want a job?" she offered, teasing about Bobby's medical knowledge being sufficient enough to work at the clinic.

Bobby snorted. "Thanks. But I already have a job."

Because for Bobby, the only job that mattered was looking after his boys.

The doctor held Bobby's gaze, understanding what he meant. "From what I can see, you're good at that, too," she told him and then directed her attention to the brothers. "I like your shirt," she complimented, trying to distract Sam as she completed the last part of her examination.

Sam inhaled a shaky breath, glancing down as if he had forgotten what shirt he was wearing but then smiling when he remembered. "Thank you," he returned, not forgetting his manners even as he winced in pain. "Uncle Bobby gave it to me."

Dr. Mangum nodded, completely smitten with this adorable little guy. "Ahhh..." she commented. "So I guess you're a Superman fan?"

"Uh-huh," Sam confirmed. "And Batman," he added, glancing at his brother still sitting beside him. "Dean likes Batman the best."

"Batman is pretty awesome," the doctor agreed, stepping back from the exam table and removing her gloves before washing her hands.

Dean sighed, appreciating this woman's attempt to interact with Sam...but they weren't here to discuss superheroes. They were here for only one reason.

"Are you gonna fix Sam's eyes now or what?"

Dr. Mangum smiled at the big brother's gruff question as she stood at the counter and made notes in her patient's chart. "Well..." she began, turning to face them. "This isn't something that can be fixed now. We can start treatment now. But Sam's eyes won't be better for at least a few days."

Dean scowled at the news and glanced at Bobby. "Is that true?"

The doctor arched an amused eyebrow at the eight-year old seeking a second opinion right in front of her.

"It's true," Bobby confirmed. "That's what I said back at the house, remember? That Sam would need drops for a few days..."

"Yeah," Dean replied, his tone and expression reflecting his frustration that his little brother couldn't be immediately healed. He glanced back at the doctor. "Do you have the drops here?"

"I do," Dr. Mangum responded, reaching in the drawer and pulling out several small bottles. "These are samples manufacturers supply to the clinic, but they should last throughout the duration of Sam's treatment. He'll need one drop in each eye twice a day...morning and before bedtime usually works best...and you can also apply warm or cool compresses to help with swelling as well as to provide general comfort measures. Of course, you'll need to wash your hands and also use separate compresses for each eye to help prevent the spread of infection."

Both Bobby and Dean nodded.

"What about his fever? Just keep using children's Tylenol?"

Dr. Mangum smiled at Dean, feeling like she was being questioned by a parent instead of a big brother who was just a few years older than her patient. "Yes. It's low-grade, so that should be fine. Just monitor his temperature and the overall condition of his eyes. If he seems to be getting worse or you have any concerns at all, definitely bring him back in. The infection should clear up in a few days but sometimes other complications develop that need different treatment."

Dean narrowed his eyes while Sam's widened, both boys processing the information.

"Relax, fellas. Complications are rare," Bobby assured, appreciating the doctor's honesty and thoroughness but not needing her upsetting his kids.

Dr. Mangum nodded as Bobby stared at her, receiving his message to shut the hell up. "But enough about that..." she dismissed, changing topics as she uncapped one of the eye drop bottles. "How about I administer the first dose of drops, so I can show you how best to do so with children..."

Dean scoffed at her comment. "I don't need you to show me anything about Sammy," he coolly told her and motioned for her to hand over the eye drops. "I'll do it."

The doctor hesitated, glancing at Bobby.

The older hunter chuckled at her expression.

Dean glared, annoyed at this woman double-checking his qualifications. "I've done it before."

Bobby chuckled again as the doctor continued to stare at him, seeking his input. "He has."

Dr. Mangum nodded at the confirmation, still uncertain about that...but giving the eye drops to Dean and hoping this wasn't a disaster. "Sometimes it helps if – "

" – I got it," Dean interrupted, ignoring the doctor and focusing on his brother as they continued to sit together on the exam table. "Sammy..." he began, brushing the four-year old's bangs away from his eyes. "You know what we gotta do, right?"

Sam looked close to tears, his swollen gaze flickering between Dean and the eye drop bottle.

Dean smiled at his nervous little brother. "It's okay. We'll do it quick."

"But not too quick," the doctor chimed in. "We recommend the child keeps his eye closed for at least a few seconds once the medicine is administered, usually having him count to ten or..."

Her voice trailed off as Dean cut his eyes at her.

Dr. Mangum cleared her throat, unaccustomed to this feeling – like the child staring at her was the expert and she was the chattering nuisance. "Or whatever you usually do is probably also fine."

Dean sighed, exchanging a glance with Bobby and then once again turning his attention to his brother. "Okay, Sammy. You know the drill. Head back..."

Sam swallowed and did as he was told, feeling Dean's hand smooth over his hair in a soothing gesture and then cup the back of his head to help hold him steady.

"Right one first," Dean announced and waited for his kid to close that eye. "Good, Sammy. Here comes one drop..." he warned, squeezing the bottle to administer the medicine at the inside corner of Sam's eye. "And now open," he instructed, watching the clear antibiotic liquid flow into his brother's eye.

Sam flinched at the cool sensation stinging his inflamed eye and made a sound between a gasp and a sob.

"You're okay," Dean murmured, rubbing his thumb back and forth through Sam's hair as he continued to cradle the four-year old's head.

Sam made the same sound again and reached for Dean with both hands, fisting his big brother's t-shirt as he rapidly blinked against the fresh irritation flaring in his infected eye.

"Hey. Stop," Dean lightly admonished, knowing if Sam kept blinking like that he would blink the medicine out. "Close your eye and relax. Plus, where's my word?"

Bobby twitched a smile at the question, their smart kid preferring to spell than count whenever he had to pass time.

Over the years, they had worked out a system – different words equaled a different amount of seconds – and Sam knew which word his brother expected him to spell to signal the passage of ten seconds.

Sam sniffled, both eyes now closed as he spoke with a trembling voice. "M – I...crooked letter – crooked letter...I...crooked letter – crooked letter...I...humpback – humpback...I."

Dr. Mangum smiled, realizing the four-year old was spelling Mississippi in that adorable, sing-song way that most kids learned...and that he was spelling it slow enough to roughly equal ten seconds.

"Smart kids," she commented to Bobby, receiving a nod from the older hunter.

"Good job, Sammy," Dean praised and ruffled his kid's hair. "Now let's do the left one, and then go home and eat pancakes."

Sam opened his eyes at the mention of one of his favorite foods and gave a watery smile.

"That's right...pancakes," Dean promised before getting back to business, giving his brother instructions one step at a time as they completed the same process for administering medicine to Sam's left eye.

Only this time, Sam spelled hippopotamus.

Dr. Mangum smiled once more, impressed with the four-year old's intelligence and with his big brother's expertise in handling the little guy. "I stand corrected," she told Dean, referring to her earlier concerns about whether or not he could handle the task he so skillfully just completed. "Looks like Sam is in excellent hands."

Dean nodded once, accepting her roundabout apology. "Can we go now?"

Bobby snorted at the bluntness of Dean's question, the eight-year old done with this woman and this place.

Dr. Mangum laughed as well, not taking it personally. "Absolutely," she replied, giving one last check to her patient before sliding the multiple samples into a small bag and passing it to Bobby. "It was nice to meet you, Sam," she told the four-year old as she turned back to face the kids sitting on the exam table. "I'm sorry you had a rough morning, but I'm sure you'll feel better in a few days."

Sam yawned, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder. "Thank you."

Dr. Mangum nodded at this polite little cutie. "My pleasure." She glanced at Dean. "You keep taking good care of your brother."

"I always do."

The doctor nodded again, having witnessed that for herself, and glanced at Bobby before she left the room.

Bobby sighed, watching her go and then refocusing on his boys. "Who's ready to go home?"

"Me!" both brothers answered in unison.

Bobby smiled. "Same here," he agreed and lifted Sam into his arms as Dean jumped down from the table.

"Can we really have pancakes for breakfast?" Sam asked as they left the clinic, crossing the parking lot and heading toward Bobby's truck as gray clouds crawled across the sky, threatening more rain.

"I think I can arrange that," Bobby replied, opening the driver's side door.

"And then after breakfast, it's gonna be naptime for Sammy..." Dean added, settling in the passenger seat before reaching for Sam and pulling the four-year old toward him.

Sam sighed, sliding across the bench seat and then leaning against his brother. "Okay," he agreed, his lack of resistance testifying to his exhaustion and how miserable he felt. "Will you nap with me?"

Dean pulled a face as Bobby cranked the truck. "Sam. Eight-year old's don't nap."

"Please?"

Bobby twitched a smile, knowing Dean would do whatever Sam wanted...and knowing Dean had already planned to stick close to the kid; the big brother always on high-alert whenever Sam didn't feel well.

Dean sighed. "Maybe."

Sam giggled – recognizing the "maybe" as a "yes" – and snuggled closer to his brother as they rode back to Singer Salvage.

An hour later, they were finishing breakfast. Sam managing to eat about half of his meal before somehow ending up in Bobby's lap while Dean cleaned his own plate and drained his glass.

Bobby chuckled at the eight-year old's appetite. "You want more?"

Dean shook his head, more focused on his brother than food as Sam's blinks became slower and longer.

Bobby followed Dean's gaze to the kid resting in his lap. "You want your Sammy back?"

Dean snorted at Bobby's question but nodded – because yeah...that was exactly what he wanted.

Dean wanted to hold his little brother; he wanted Sam to be falling asleep against him.

It was a protective, possessive big brother thing...and Dean wasn't sorry for it.

Bobby nodded his understanding as Dean stood and reached for his kid.

"Sammy..."

Sam blinked at his brother, squinty and drowsy.

Dean smiled. "C'mere..." he called and lifted the four-year old from Bobby's lap.

Sam wrapped himself around his big brother in response, sighing as he laid his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean patted Sam's back affectionately and carried his kid to the living room.

Bobby watched as the brothers disappeared around the corner and then stood, working out the kinks in his back before snapping his fingers at Rumsfeld sprawled beneath the table.

The dog instantly responded, clamoring to his feet and following behind his master.

Bobby crossed to sit beside his boys on the couch, easing himself down so as not to wake an already sleeping Sam. The four-year old curled up and snoozing in Dean's lap; his small chest against his big brother's as his head rested in the hollow of the eight-year old's neck and shoulder.

"Well, that was quick..." Bobby commented.

Dean snorted softly and smiled, glancing down at his little brother nestled safely in his arms.

Wordlessly, Bobby pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and handed it to his oldest.

Dean nodded his thanks, wrapping the blanket around Sam and glancing at Rumsfeld as the Rottweiler collapsed at his feet.

A comfortable silence settled as Dean and Bobby focused on the television murmuring across the room; the older hunter flipping the through channels until he landed on an old John Wayne movie.

"The Duke," Bobby announced with a smile and glanced at Dean. "What d'ya say, Pilgrim?"

Dean nodded in agreement, reluctantly admitting to himself that while Bobby had gotten Sam hooked on country music...the older hunter had gotten Dean hooked on Westerns.

Dean quirked a smile at his secret confession, hugging Sam a little closer when the four-year old shifted in his arms at the sound of the wind whistling outside as a fresh batch of spring storms approached.

Thunder grumbled, loud and startling as it shook the house.

Dean glanced at the ceiling, then glanced down at Sam as his brother suddenly fisted his shirt; the four-year old making a distressed sound and scrunching his face in his sleep.

"Shhh..." Dean whispered, briefly cupping the back of Sam's head and waiting, then smiling when Sam settled beneath his touch. "S'okay, Sammy," the big brother soothed as his kid relaxed against him, once again sleeping peacefully.

Bobby smiled as well, always fascinated to watch Dean take care of his little brother.

Dean's smile lingered, readjusting the blanket to more fully cover Sam and then briefly burying his face into the warm, cuddly four-year old snuggled against him, inhaling the familiar scent of his little brother.

Bobby continued to watch as Dean once again began rubbing Sam's back; the big brother's gesture reflecting just how much he loved the kid sleeping in his arms.

Bobby felt his heart swell, understanding that depth of love since he felt the same for both of these kids sitting beside him.

Half an hour later, Dean realized he was nodding off. The events of the morning finally catching up with him as the rhythmic rain and dimly lit living room lulled him to sleep.

The eight-year old sighed and leaned toward Bobby, still holding his sleeping Sammy but now resting his own head against Bobby's chest and allowing himself to relax in the solid presence of someone he trusted, someone he knew loved him and his little brother.

Warmth spread through Bobby's chest and he wrapped his arm around Dean as the eight-year old settled against his side.

Out in the hall, a slight movement caught his attention and Bobby glanced toward the doorway, seeing Karen standing there, staring at them with an affectionate smile.

END