Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

What Goes Around Comes Around

Chapter 2

Dean woke when Sam leaned to the side to vomit into the trashcan Dean had left beside the bed. "Sammy?" he croaked out groggily.

"I'm sick again, Dean," the little boy moaned.

"I thought you were feeling better," Dean told his brother softly as he rubbed the little boy's back in soothing circles.

"I was," Sam sniffled. "But now my tummy hurts."

Dean sighed. "Okay, I'll get you some water so you can rinse out your mouth. I'll be right back."

"I got it on my jammies, Dean." Sam looked down at his shirt in disgust. "I don't want it on my jammies." He sniffled and wiped at his teary eyes.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean frowned as he realized his own head was still pounding and now his stomach swirled sourly. "Let's get you into the tub."

Sam crawled out of bed and followed Dean into the bathroom. He squirmed his way out of his soiled pajamas as Dean started running water into the bathtub. Then he grabbed his toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste and brushed his teeth to get rid of the yucky taste in his mouth. "I don't like being sick," he announced as he placed his toothbrush back into the holder.

"Yeah, it sucks," Dean commiserated, swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat when he leaned over to check the temperature of the water. He turned off the faucet and gestured to the tub. "Climb in, Sammy. I'll go get you some clean pjs."

Dean shuffled into the bedroom and gazed longingly at his own bed. He tugged pajamas for Sam from the dresser drawer and carried them back into the bathroom. He knew he needed to clean Sam's bed, but the thought of tugging off all of the sheets and replacing them made his head spin. Instead, he tugged off the soiled blankets and sheets and put them in a garbage bag by the door. He'd wash them out tomorrow when he was feeling better. There was no reason he and his brother couldn't sleep in the other bed tonight.

"I'm ready to get out of the water, Dean," Sammy called from the bathroom.

Dean rubbed at his aching forehead and returned to the bathroom to hold out a towel and help his little brother out of the tub. As he leaned over to wrap the towel around Sammy, his stomach rolled and saliva pooled in his mouth. Dean knew he was going to throw up. Letting go of his brother, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited.

"Dean!" Sammy cried out in alarm as he tugged the towel tighter around his still-damp body.

Dean spat into the toilet and winced at the burning in the back of his throat. He reached up with a shaky hand to flush the contents of his stomach down the toilet so he didn't have to look at them anymore. "I'll be okay, Sammy," he rasped out as he rested his clammy forehead against his arm.

"I'll get you some water," his little brother informed him. "You need to get the gross taste out of your mouth." Sam dropped his towel, dressed quickly in his pajamas, and then filled a paper cup with water. "Here ya go, Dean," he announced as he knelt by his brother and handed him the cup.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean answered. He swished the water around in his mouth and spit out the remains of the foul taste the vomit had left behind.

Sam settled cross-legged on the floor beside his brother and regarded him with a worried frown.

Dean had just placed the paper cup on the edge of the bathroom counter when his stomach rolled again and he lurched over the toilet. He felt Sam's hand rubbing circles on his back as he vomited three times in rapid succession. His stomach muscles were already sore, and he knew this was just the beginning.

"I wish Daddy was back," Sam whimpered, his own stomach feeling sick once again at the stench of his brother's vomit.

"It will be okay, Sammy," Dean panted as he slumped weakly back against the wall.

"Do you want some ginger ale, Dean? I can go get you some," Sam offered worriedly.

Dean shook his head and groaned when the world spun around him. "No, Sammy. Maybe in a little while, okay?"

The four-year-old heaved a sigh. "All right, Dean." Sam fidgeted anxiously beside his brother.

"Go back to bed, kiddo. I'm gonna stay right here a bit." Dean leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball. He wished his dad would hurry home.

"Can I stay here with you?" Sam queried, his face scrunched up with worry.

Dean sighed. "The floor is too cold for you, buddy. Go to bed-my bed. Your bed will get clean sheets in the morning. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Sam stood, but hesitated. "I can get you more water first," he announced as he grasped the paper cup and filled it up. "I'll put it on the counter, Dean."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean panted as he leaned over the toilet for yet another round of vomiting.

When his brother started throwing up again, Sam froze. Dean hadn't left him alone when he was vomiting. Sam put his hands on his hips and faced his brother with a stubborn expression on his face once Dean finished heaving into the toilet. "I'm stayin' with you, Dean. You didn't leave me when I was sick. I'll get us a blanket."

Dean listened as Sam's feet thumped down the hallway to the living room. It was going to be a long night if the gurgling coming from his stomach was any indication. Dean flushed the toilet after rinsing his mouth and leaned back. He wrapped his arms around his stomach miserably.

"I got a blanket!" Sam announced in the doorway as he held up the tattered old blanket the boys usually used when they watched television on the couch.

"Great, Sammy. Thanks," Dean mumbled, closing his eyes as the pounding in his head worsened.

Sam knelt at his brother's side and placed a small, clammy palm to Dean's forehead. "Yup, you got a fever, Dean."

Dean brushed his little brother's hand away, but didn't have the heart to turn the four-year-old away when he curled up against his side.

"We can keep each other warm," Sam murmured sleepily.

Dean dozed off, but woke a short time later to vomit once again. He moaned miserably as his stomach cramped.

"It's okay, Dean," Sammy soothed quietly as his exhausted brother rested against the toilet seat. "It won't last too much longer and then you'll feel much better. I feel good now after I threw up that last time."

"Glad you feel better, Sam," Dean sighed without much enthusiasm. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt this sick in his entire life.

"I'll get you some ginger ale just like you did for me." Sam scrambled to his feet and wrapped the blanket as well as a four-year-old could around his brother's shoulders. "I'll be right back."

Dean yawned and sighed before he curled up in a ball on the floor under the blanket.

In the kitchen, Sam tugged open the refrigerator and hauled out the heavy two liter bottle of ginger ale. Setting it carefully on the floor, he grabbed a cup from the dish drainer and placed it next to the jug of ginger ale. Sam sat down on the floor with a grunt and managed to twist the cap off of the bottle. With concentration, he filled the cup nearly to the brim for his brother.

"There," he grinned as he screwed the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the refrigerator. Carefully, he picked up the cup and walked slowly to the bathroom. He entered the small room to find his big brother asleep in the floor. With a sigh, Sam placed the cup of ginger ale on the counter by the sink and curled up next to Dean where it didn't take him long to fall asleep.

Dean was the first one to wake up a few hours later when his stomach rebelled once again. Sam rubbed his back and talked him through the latest round of vomiting. When he was finished, Dean sagged weakly against his brother.

"Here, Dean," Sam offered. "Drink some ginger ale." The little boy retrieved the cup from the sink and held it out towards Dean.

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean only took the tiniest of sips. He was afraid it was going to come right back up. "Let's go to the couch and watch TV."

"Okay," the youngest Winchester beamed happily.

Dean had to lean on his younger brother to get to his feet, and the boys made their way slowly to the couch in the small living room. Dean took one more tiny sip of ginger ale and immediately curled up in one corner of the couch, shivering under the blanket Sam had brought with him while his little brother turned on the TV.

"Let's watch Voltron, Dean! I'm Keith! Do you wanna be Lance?"

"Okay, Sammy," Dean yawned miserably. His stomach felt sour and he knew he would be vomiting again shortly. "Can you get me the trashcan from the kitchen just in case I get sick?"

"Sure, Dean," Sam answered. He hurried into the kitchen, eager to be of help to his big brother.

Dean felt like crying in relief when Sam placed the plastic can next to the couch. He knew there was no way he would make it back to the bathroom in time.

Sam clambered back up onto the couch and curled up against his brother as Voltron started on the television. "From days of long ago…." Sammy parroted along with the narrator.

Any other day, Dean would have fussed at him for interrupting the show, but right now he felt too sick to do anything more than breathe. He took another sip of ginger ale, and that sent his stomach into painful spasms that ended in vomit.

Sam rubbed Dean's back and then hugged him once his brother fell back limply against the couch cushions. "I'm sorry I got you sick, Dean," Sam told the older boy tearfully. "I don't want you to be sick."

"It's all right, Sammy," Dean panted as he tried to reassure his brother. "You didn't mean to."

They watched the rest of Voltron and then Dean made his way shakily into the kitchen to fix his little brother some toast for breakfast. The smell of it set his stomach off once again and the thought of even attempting to drink ginger ale made him gag over the trash can.

Dean made himself as comfortable as he could on the couch while Sam ate and looked sleepily at his little brother. "If I fall asleep, don't answer the door, Sammy. Do you hear me?"

"I won't, Dean," the little boy answered solemnly. "I promise."

Dean must have dozed off. He woke to a clattering in the kitchen. "Sammy?" he called weakly. The room was spinning when he sat up, but he blinked a few times and the world righted itself once again.

"I'm hungry, Dean," the four-year-old informed him as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "You slept a long time."

Dean heaved a sigh and pushed to his feet. "I'm coming, Sammy. I'll warm up some soup." He took a step and then another before the world began to spin once again. He wavered on his feet.

"Dean?" Sammy asked, walking toward his brother in concern. "Are you okay?" Sammy watched in alarm as Dean slumped to the floor. "Dean!" the little boy screamed. He ran to his brother's side and dropped to his knees. He patted his brother's face with trembling hands; his heart pounded hard in his chest when his brother didn't stir. "Dean!" he cried out once again.

There was a rattling at the front door and Sam looked up in surprise. He shook his brother one more time before running to grab the baseball bat Dean kept in the corner in case someone tried to break in when their father wasn't home. It was heavy for him to swing, but he positioned himself in front of his big brother and adjusted his grip on the bat as the door swung open.

To be continued…