Supernatural Oneshots/Imagines/Sickfics REQUESTS OPEN

Be The Big Brother You Are (Sickfic - Request)

A/N:
Hey, this is a request by haliadelatorre! Enjoy!
I'm sorry this took so long, I had a lot of stuff going on.
Ages:
Sam - 4 y/o
Dean - 8 y/o
John - unknown

"Daddy," Sam whined as he flopped onto the couch next to John. The TV glowed in the dark room, putting little light on them. John had kept the volume down so he wouldn't wake up the boys, but that seemed to backfire.

"What's wrong, Sport?" John asked as he rubbed his son's back with one hand with a half empty beer in the other.

"My throat feels all scratchy and nose is stuffed," Sam whined.

"You know it's allergy season? You're probably allergic to all of this pollen. Lemme get you some Benadryl," John sighed, at least the TV wasn't the problem. He stood up and trudged into the bathroom and to the medicine cabinet with Sam on his tail. He opened the cabinet and shuffled through bottle after bottle until he found the Benadryl. He filled a Dixie Cup with water from the sink. "Here you go, Buddy," John whispered as he passed a little tablet and the cup to Sam.

Sam scrunched up his tiny face as he chewed the small pill and washed it down with the water. He let out a tiny yawn as John ushered him out of the bathroom and back to bed. Sam clumsily crawled in between his sheets. "Night-night, Daddy," Sam yawned as curled deep into his covers.

"Night-night, Sammy," John whispered as he closed Sam's bedroom door. John trudged into th living room and laid down on the couch. He stared at the blank ceiling as he dozed off to sleep.

"Dad! Dad! Wake up, will you?" Dean shook his dad awake.

"What's going going on? I'm up!" John asked as he shot up and grabbed his gun.

"It's not that. It's Sammy," Dean exlpained. John slowly put the gun back on the coffee table. John slowly got up and drowsily rubbed at his face. He cautiously followed Dean into Sam's room to see Sam curled up in a tight ball. He was shaking and sweating profusely.

"Oh, buddy," John cooed. He sat down on the bed next to Sam and combed through Sam's sweaty hair with his fingers.

"What do we do?" Dean asked, yearning to help his father take care of his little brother.

"You're going back to bed. It's late. I'll take care of Sammy," John whispered. Dean walked back into his room and closed the door.

John picked Sam up and carried him to the couch. Sam stirred, but he didn't wake up. He put his wrist over Sam's forehead. You could fry an egg on his forehead.

John got up and walked into the kitchen. He got a clean rag out from under the sink and got it wet with cold water. He brought it back to Sam and put the rag over his forehead. John sat down on the wooden floor by Sam's feet. He stared blankly and sleepily into the dimly lit room. He finally dozed off after what felt like hours of struggling to stay awake to protect Sammy.

Not too long passed before John woke up to someone crying. This wasn't "I want attention and I'm upset" crying this was "I'm in pain help me" crying. John shot up and drowsy looked around, trying to find the issue. "What the hell is going on?" John gasped as he tried to figure out what happened.

Sammy was on the floor crying hysterically. Dean ran out of his room to see a curled up, hot mess on the floor. He wasn't too sure which person was the hot mess, they both looked awful. John quickly got up and lifted Sam back onto the couch, and put the rag back on his forehead. John ran his hand through his son's sweaty hair and sighed. John's eyes drooped from the lack of sleep he's been getting recently.

"Is he okay?" Dean asked, startling his dad. Dean knelt down beside his brother.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," John whispered. Sam slowly stopped crying and dozed off to sleep once more.

"I'll watch him. Dad, you need sleep. You're eyes have bags so big they look like they've packed up to move across the country," Dean offered.

"No, De-"

"Please," Dean interrupted giving his father the most serious face he could muster. John let out a deep sigh.

"Okay. I'm staying out here to make sure nobody breaks in," John compromised. Dean sat down on the floor in front of his brother so he would roll off of the couch again. John slowly allowed his heavy eyes close.

"Dad? When are we going to tell Sammy about the-"

"When he's probably twelve. You probably shouldn't have known. Not at eight," John interrupted Dean without opening his heavy eyes before Dean could say the word "monsters," in case Sam was still awake and was listening. The last thing they needed was Sam crying hysterically again.

Dean patiently watched John fall asleep. He watched his father's quick breathing fade into a slow, steady rhythm. Dean turned around and looked at Sam. His face was completely drained of color, except for his feverish cheeks that resembled the cheeks of a girl who had just been forced to tell her crush she like him.

Dean touched the rag on Sam's forehead, only to be greeted with a warm and wet feeling on the tips of his fingers. He picked up the cloth and took it into the cramped kitchen. He ran it under some cold water and wrung it out into the sink. He brought it back to Sam and put it over his forehead.

"Deanie," Sam mumble in his sleep.

"I love you, too," Dean whispered as a small smile appeared on his face. Dean sat back down where he was before. It was going to be a long night.