ohsam | A Father's Love Is Maybe All It Takes.... 1/1 (Reply)

Title: A Father's Love is Maybe All It Takes
Author:

jennytork
Rating: PG
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, background John
Genre: Gen
Length: 2275
Disclaimer: They ain't mine -- and the way I treat them, perhaps that's a good thing!

SUMMARY: 13 year old Sam is very sick and the filter between brain and mouth breaks down. Turns out he doesn't see Dean as just a brother..... Written for romantiscue's prompt at ohsam. Gen. Title taken from the Monkees' song "If I Ever Get To Saginaw Again".

July, 1995

Dean sighed and hung up the motel room's phone, shaking his head. Dad had finally gotten word to Bobby that he was safe, and Bobby had called to relay it to the boys and ask if they needed anything.

Normally, Dean would have said they were fine (even though the money was low) and they could hold out till Dad finished up and came home (And please, let it be soon....).

Normally. But things weren't normal in the Winchester family at the moment.

Sammy was sick. And, like always, he had gotten very sick, very fast. Sammy rarely got sick, but when he did it was like it was trying to make up for lost time.

Normally, Dean could handle a very sick Sammy. After all, it wasn't like he didn't know how. Normally, he wouldn't admit to feeling helpless.

But the money and the medicine were both too low and Sammy was still very, very sick.

So sick that he had called Dean 'Dad'. That had rattled Dean so badly that when Bobby had called, Dean had admitted that – this time – he needed some help.

Bobby had been caling from one of those new pocket phones, and Dean hadn't known that. So when Bobby had asked where he was, Dean had told him. "Just outside of Saginaw, Michigan." And Bobby had asked the town name, Dean hadn't thought anything of telling him.

But Dean's eyebrows had shot way up when Bobby had told him an arrival time that was too short even for a flight. "From Sioux Falls?"

"From Flint," Bobby had replied, and Dean had heard a truck start. He had given Bobby the motel information and had hung up the motel room phone, shaking his head.

He made his way over to Sam's bed and sat down. "Bobby's comin'," he told Sam. "He's gonna help us out." Sam nodded, and Dean asked, "Hey – you thirsty?"

"Yeah." Dean helped him sit up and sip a bit of water, then eased Sam back to the pillows. Sam graced him with a tired smile and a soft, "Thanks, Dad."

As it had most of the day, Dean felt his heart clench tight in his chest. "Sammy," he said as gently as he could. "Dad isn't here, remember? Dad's on a hunting trip, and he won't be home for a few more days."

"I know," Sammy breathed.

Dean licked his lips. "Okay, Sammy, tell me this. Who am I? My name, Sammy."

Sam took a deep breath and blew it slowly out of his mouth. "Dean."

Dan nodded. "Okay – at least you know who I am."

The look Sam shot him could have frozen a raging fire. It was only marginally less chilling with Sam's overall pallor and fever bright spots on his cheeks and nose. "Of course I know who you are!"

Chuckling, Dean patted his shoulder as he stood up. "Just makin' sure, Sammy." He drew the covers up to Sammy's chin and ran a hand over his damp forehead. "Just makin' sure."

Sammy snuggled into the covers like a much younger child and sleepily sighed out, "I'll alwaysknow who you are, Dad...."

Dean watched him drift into sleep as alarm detonated anew inside his chest. While sleep truly was the best thing Sammy needed to get well, his final words before sliding off had Dean more worried than ever.

He just hoped Bobby would hurry up and get there, already!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean had just slid into a fretful, fitful doze when the motel room's phone rang. After the first ring, there was a pause and then it rang in earnest.

He scooped it up eagerly. "Dad?"

"Nah, it's me," Bobby replied. "I see John's truck, but not the Impala."

"He took the Impala – and ran off with his keys, too. I'm pretty sure that was accidental. I haven't been able to get out there to figure out how to hotwire his truck – not with Sammy so sick!"

"Dammit, John," Bobby growled. "Okay, Dean – I'm pullin' in."

"I'll unlock the door." He hung up and bolted to do just that.

Bobby's familiar battered Chevelle rolled to a stop beside John's truck. At that instant, Bobby's stocky frame unfolding from the front seat was the sweetest sight Dean had ever seen.

He was so relieved that he didn't even think. He just pulled Bobby into a hug.

"Good to see you, too, boy," Bobby said as he patted Dean's shoulder a bit awkwardly. Then he frowned, wrapping his arms around Dean.

Sure enough – Dean was trembling in his embrace, shaking as if he might quake himself to pieces right then and there.

"Damn – Dean, when did you eat or sleep last?"

Dean's head lolled on his shoulder. "Sammy's been too sick."

"Okay." He broke the hug. "Okay. You show me and then you rest. I'm here, now. I'll help you."

Nodding, Dean tiredly wove to the farthest bed. Bobby closed the door behind them and reset the salt lines before he followed Dean to the bed and breathed, "....oh."

"Yeah," Dean sighed, collapsing heavily onto the other bed in the room. "Oh."

Bobby lay a hand on Sam's forehead, wincing at the heat that met it. "How long has it been this high?"

"Too damn long," Dean groaned. "Ran out of Tylenol yesterday."

"Okay – I brought my first aid kit. It's got more Tylenol. You stay there and rest. I'll be right back."

"I'll be here," Dean said tiredly.

The dull voice was so thick with exhaustion that Bobby fully expected to find Dean passed out asleep upon his return.

Finding him on his side, sleep-glazed eyes locked onto Sam's ill form, was only a shock to Bobby for a few moments. But then he smiled fondly, and made certain to make noise as he closed the door.

Dean smiled slightly and closed his eyes, relaxing at last.

Of course,Bobby reminded himself. The little soldier can finally stand down now that help is here.

Setting down the first aid kit, Bobby found some Tylenol. He shook out the correct dose and crushed the pills into some water.

"Come on, son," Bobby said as he gently raised Sam up and slowly tipped the doctored water down his throat. When it was gone, he sat there for a moment, holding Sam upright and letting it settle.

"There you go," Bobby said softly as he lay Sam back down against the pillows.

He checked the salt lines and wards before pouring cool water into the ice bucket and wetting a washcloth.

Sitting down beside Sam, but turned so he could see Dean as well, Bobby began to gently bathe Sam's hot face.

Bobby sat there for nearly an hour, bathing the ill teenager's hot face. He watched the fever spots fade slightly and suddenly became aware that glazed hazel eyes were looking back at him. "Well, hello there," he grinned.

Sam blinked slowly. "Uncle....Bobby? Where...."

"Next bed over, gettin' some sleep." He watched Sam's head roll on his neck and saw how Sam visibly relaxed when he saw Dean resting on the bed, just as Bobby had said. "How are you doing?"

"Feel....pretty rough." Sam shuddered. "But Dad's been takin' good care of me."

Bobby blinked in astonishment. He only avoided a violent double-take by sheer force of will. "Your daddy's been here?" At Sam's lolling nod, he frowned. "Thought John was workin' a job – he just called me a few hours ago."

Sam frowned. "No....no, he's gone. He's been gone. Dad has been takin' care of me, Uncle Bobby. Not John."

Bobby's frown deepened. "I don't understand, Sam. Who's been takin' care of you?"

Sam gave a sigh that seemed to come from his toes and rolled his eyes so hard that Bobby was honestly surprised for a moment that they didn't fly out of their sockets and go rolling across the floor! With a visible effort – that clearly caused the boy some pain – Sam raised a trembling hand and pointed---

At the sleeping form of his older brother on the bed across the room. His soft voice was firm, and filled with that peculiar blend of whine and 'I told you so' that teenagers could seem to pull off effortlessly when the adults around them appeared to be acting particularly stupid. "He has."

"That's Dean."

"Yeah. That's Dad."

"Sam," Bobby said gently, but firmly. "I'm startin' to wonder if your brain's slipped a gear or five. That's --" As he talked, Bobby leaned forward just a bit – and broke off when he got a good look at the sick boy's eyes.

Sam's eyes always seemed to change colour with his mood, with different clothing or just when the light conditions changed, sliding through all shades of brown and green and even a couple of blue. John, Bobby and Dean used to try to guess how Sam was feeling just by his eye colour. Dean and Bobby still played that game behind John's back – man had gotten too damned serious for anybody's good, lately.

But right now those chameleon eyes were narrowed in annoyance and shaded the brittle brown-green of exhaustion. They were also glazed with the fever Bobby could almost literally see trying to reassert itself over the medication he'd given Sam.

Bobby sighed and smiled slightly, raising a hand to rest on Sam's slender shoulder. "Tell you what, kiddo. You get some more rest and we'll talk about it later."

It was a mark of how bad Sam was feeling that he just nodded and quietly rolled over, leaving Bobby alone with his whirling thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It wasn't Sam who opened his eyes three hours later. Dean groaned softly and rolled onto his back. A hand scrubbed over his face and his eyes blinked open, searching even as he sat up and turned back to Sam's bed.

When he found Sammy curled onto his side – facing Dean – and his eyes still closed in restful sleep, Dean lifted his eyes to the chair beside Sam's bed. "How's he doin'?"

Bobby sighed and stood, walking around Sam's bed to sit beside Dean. "Fever's lowering. The meds are finally kickin' in. There's somethin' a bit – off – though."

"'Off' how?" Dean asked, frowning slightly, his eyes never leaving his sleeping brother.

"Dean, how long has he been callin' you 'Dad'?"

Dean drew in his breath with a startled hiss. "He's still doing that? I tried to get him to stop...."

Bobby shook his head. "But why does he think you're his daddy? He seems to realise that you're Dean, but...."

"But he won't stop calling me 'Dad'." Dean sighed deeply, a hand scrubbing across his forehead. "I don't understand, Uncle Bobby!"

And with that, Bobby knew exactly how rattled Dean was. He had never asked either boy to call him 'Uncle', but both boys did – especially when sick or very, very shaken. Bobby curled a hand over the back of Dean's neck. "I don't get it either, son. We'll get to the bottom of it once he's awake and more coherent, okay?"

Dean nodded in his grasp, and Bobby gently lay him back down and drew the covers over him, carding a paternal hand through Dean's ungelled hair until the green eyes closed of their own accord.

Then Bobby called the local diner to see if they delivered. Both boys would need food once they woke up.

Especially if Sam's fever – hopefully – broke in his sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once more, Dean woke first. Bobby fed him and hustled him into the shower.

As soon as Dean was out and dressed, Sam sat up and blinked his eyes open. "....Dean?"

"Right here, kiddo." He sat on the bed. "How you feeling?"

Sam considered, taking inventory. "Tired. ... Very tired." His nose wrinkled. "And I think I might stink a little."

Dean chuckled. "Go shower and then we'll eat."

When Sam returned – cleaner and freshly dressed – he had good colour and though he had bags under his eyes, he was smiling. "That smells really good, Dean."

"Thanks." Dean sat down, and Bobby sat beside him. Together, they watched Sam eat, then Bobby nudged Dean, who cleared his throat. "Uh, Sammy?"

Sam looked up at him, eyebrows raised as he swallowed the mouthful he was working on.

Dean licked his lips. "Do you remember calling me 'Dad'??

Sam's eyes widened. "I what? I called you 'Dad'?" He cringed slightly. "Please tell me that Dad didn't hear that!"

"No," Dean was quick to reassure him. "Bobby did, but he won't say anything."

"Damn straight," Bobby put in.

Sam visibly relaxed. "No, sorry – I don't remember it."

Dean nodded and clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder as he sat up, pulling the dirty dishes from the table and taking them to the small kitchenette.

Sam looked after him, and Bobby suddenly smiled fondly as he caught Sam's expression.

Oh, yeah – the boy remembered. He hadn't been delirious at all. The fever had merely loosened his tongue and allowed a bit of truth to slip out.

In many ways? Dean had been – and continued to be – the only real father Sam had ever known.

END