Turnabout

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: G

Year/Length: 2008/~5484 words

Pairing: Weechesters

Disclaimer: No profit was made off this. The characters belong to the originators of Supernatural. Was all in pure fun.

Summary: Wee Sammy takes care of a sick wee Dean.

Beta: by the amazing marys_scribbles. She pounded and pummeled at this until it started to look like a story and not a train wreck. Many thanks go to her.

Sam charged up the front path of the house that they were renting for the summer, banged in through the door and dropped his bag on the floor as he yelled for his brother.

"Dean?" He was late, and he knew it. He'd spent the half hour after school was out helping his geography teacher set up a display of African flora and fauna, and he knew just what his brother was likely to say to him.

His Dad had left them again, explaining that he had a job and would be back in three or four nights. Ordinarily his brother would have been waiting for him as school finished, but Sam knew that Dean had an appointment to get a tooth filled right after school and he'd taken full advantage of it. Now, completely without any remorse, he was ready to take whatever lumps Dean handed out.

"Dean?" he called again. "I made a map of Africa. It's really cool. It was 3D, and I made Mount Kilimanjaro and the River Nile."

Dean had been to KFC, and now he was in the kitchen, putting the chicken on the table along with sides of mashed potatoes and corn on the cob, knowing his brother was always hungry. Dean really didn't feel like eating. He'd felt horrible all day. His head hurt. He felt hot, and he'd been coughing. The dentist had told him he was getting a mean sore throat, and he should go to the doctor, but Dean couldn't, not without his father.

He was coughing when Sam came in, his skin pale and sweaty. "I told you to come straight... cough cough... home right after school. You know what Dad would say. You come straight home, no excuses."

"Yeah, but I did. I was just..." Sam was all ready to start arguing that he had come straight home, but the sight of Dean stopped him in his tracks. "Dean? You look yucky. What did you do? I bet you feel pretty gross, don't you? Can I have some chicken?" He went to the sink as he was talking and washed his hands quickly, sitting down with them still wet. "I'm starving. Can I?"

Blinking at Sam, Dean just wandered around to sit down opposite his brother. "Just eat," he mumbled to Sam, picking up his glass of juice to sip it. He coughed, turning his head away from his brother. "Be sure you save some for tomorrow."

"Are you gonna have the drumsticks?" Sam had seized a piece of chicken, and now he bit into it with strong, white teeth. "That's not good, you know. You're supposed to cough into a handkerchief or something. You'll get germs on the chicken." He reached for the potatoes and spooned a portion onto his plate. "This is good, man. Don't wanna get germs all over it, cos then we have to throw it away."

He was still eating happily when Dean coughed again, and he looked up, frowning as he realized that his brother was really sick. "You need to go lie down, while I make you a nice hot drink an' stuff."

"No, I'm okay," Dean just looked at the food, and his stomach turned. His dad was gonna kill him for getting sick while he was away. He'd given his jacket to Sam that day when it rained to keep him dry and stop him from getting sick, and now he was the one paying for it. He pushed away from the table to get up and begin cleaning up the dishes he hadn't done earlier that day before school. He moved in slow motion, washing, rinsing and placing them on the rack to dry.

"Dean?" Sam looked less concerned now and resumed eating the meal that his brother had brought home, but he was not letting it go. "Dad'll get mad if you die. He'll say you didn't take care of me, an' I'll be pretty sad, ya know." He picked a piece of meat from between his teeth and gazed soulfully at Dean. "Did you get any medicine? You have to take some pills or something. An' there's that cough mixture that tastes like dead bodies. You gotta have some of that."

"Eat, then go get washed up and do your homework," Dean ordered his little brother. He finished the dishes and went into the main bathroom beside the room where his dad slept. He opened the cabinet, thinking that there must be something in there that would help him. Fumbling through the bottles and packs of medicine, he found cough syrup and some aspirins for his fever. Taking them back downstairs, he sat down in the living room. "Be sure you wash your plate," he shouted back to Sam. "Don't make a mess, or Dad will be upset."

Sam hurriedly finished eating and got up from the table, putting a cover over what was left of the chicken and potatoes. He cleared the table and went to find his brother, who was sitting on the couch looking dreadfully pale. "I don't like you being sick," he whispered, sitting down and putting his arms around Dean. "Please don't be sick."

Dean made a face but he didn't push Sam away. "I'll be okay once I take these," he murmured, wrapping his arm around Sam to give him the comfort he himself was far from feeling. He felt a tickle in his nose, and pulled away quickly before he sneezed, suddenly congested. "Get me some tissues," he asked and pushed Sam away quickly. He started sneezing again which ended up with him coughing even harder.

Rising to his feet, Sammy stood, flapping his hands a little before running off to look for tissues. He eventually came back with the spare toilet roll, holding it out to his brother with a face that showed anxiety beyond his years. Dean never got sick, and Sam felt like his world was rocking. His mainstay, Dean, was crumbling, and he wasn't quite sure if he could deal with it. He studied Dean, watery-eyed and red nosed, and thought of something else he could do. Racing off again, he came back with his Spiderman comforter and began to tuck it around his brother. "This'll make you better," he said, smiling again.

Dean sniffled, realizing that the medicine before him wasn't going to be much help for his clogged up nose. He took it anyway — at least it might help with the coughing — but he still felt like shit. He was surprised when Sam had jumped up and gone running off. When he came back and covered him up with the comforter, Dean blinked his watery eyes at his brother and totally forgot about homework or helping to clean up. He gave Sam a weak smile. "Thanks, Sammy." He coughed, throat hurting and chest rattling. "Don't get too close, Sammy, I don't want you to get sick too."

"But I have to take care of you, because I don't want you to go to the hospital or anything an'... an'... leave me all alone." Sam's nose turned pink too and he was obviously fighting back tears. "I promise I'll do my homework an' stuff, but you have to stop being sick. It's..." He sought for a word that would express his inner anxiety. "It's important," he said, finally.

"I'm not gonna die, Sammy," Dean tried to assure him. "I'm not gonna ever leave you, ever. I promise. It's just a cold or the flu or something... I'll be okay. I just need to rest. We'll stay home from school tomorrow. It's Friday anyway. We can stay up and watch old movies. Dad will be home Sunday." Dean petted his brother's unruly mop of hair. "Go get your pillow and blanket and bring it out here. We'll have like a camping party. I'll go lock the doors." Dean gave his brother a push, wincing as his head ached from his rapidly developing fever. Stumbling his way to the front door he began to lock up.

Sam galloped off to do Dean's bidding, hurrying back with the extra bedding and a pillow for his brother too. He watched Dean stumbling from door to door and dropped his blanket so he could run and get the salt. "I can do it," he called, deftly pouring a line of it the way he'd been taught. "You need to go lie down. What movies will we get to see?"

Dean was proud as Sam laid the line down just as he'd shown him. No matter how many times John tried, Sam never could get it right for him, but when Dean showed him, Sam got it first time, every time. Dean crept back into the living room and found a tape with old movies on it to drop into the VCR. He hit play to set the first movie going. It was Them!, a movie about giant ants. He laid out Sam's bedding ready on one end of the couch and settled his own at the other, climbing in. Lying down with his back against the cushions and his head on the pillow, he breathed a thank you that his father had found them a big couch. Both boys could stretch out on it. "C'mon, Sammy."

Happy again for the moment, Sam hurtled back into the living room to dive into the blankets, giggling. He gave Dean a happy smile and wriggled until he was comfortable. "Ants?" he giggled. "I bet they're were-ants, and when the full moon comes you have to chop off their feelers or they will bite you with their big mandibles." He settled back to watch, one eye on his brother and one on the TV. "Dean?" he murmured. "Do you want me to get you something?"

Dean wrapped his arm around Sam, who had, of course, wormed in next to Dean, his head upon Dean's pillow. "No, Sam, I'm good." He blinked, his eyes glassy, and his body warm. "I'm good," he repeated, "Just watch the movie, okay?" He brushed his hand through Sam's hair. "Sam, You will have to take my temp later, okay."

"Oh, cool. Can I do it now?" Sam sat up, his eyes sparkling. "I want to take your temp." He paused. "Will that make you feel better?" he asked, wide eyed. Scrambling out of the blankets and off the couch once more, he pattered off into the kitchen and returned with the thermometer and a glass of juice. "There," he said. "You have to have juice when you feel poorly."

Sipping at the juice with an unwilling smile at Sam's enthusiastic adoption of the caregiver's role. He gave the glass back to Sam so he could place it on the coffee table. Taking the thermometer from his brother, he placed it in his mouth, waiting for it to beep before pulling it out and handing it back to Sam without seeing what it said.

"It's a hundred and one," said Sam, gleeful as he studied it. "Is that good?" He set the thermometer down and turned back to the TV, where the screams of a lone woman with a justifiable fear of giant insects temporarily diverted him. "You suppose that there really are giant ants? You think that Dad knows how to kill them?"

"No, Sam, it’s not good. Hopefully the aspirins I took will lower it." Dean sighed, his head aching from his brother's chattering. "No, there are no giant ants. We would have heard of them by now. And anyway it looks like fire can kill them, so we wouldn't need any special mumbo jumbo if they suddenly knocked on the door." He ran his hand over Sam's hair, "Now watch the movie. See if they save the kids." He snuggled down, and, halfway through the movie, fell asleep.

Sammy slept too, lulled for a while by the flickering of the screen and the cozy proximity of his adored older brother. It was only when Dean suddenly began to move restlessly that Sam - usually a deep sleeper, woke and sat up with a start. He stared at his brother, who appeared to be asleep, but who was tossing and turning, and who seemed to be twice as hot as he had been.

Dean kept moving restlessly, his body sweaty, his fever still high. He kept kicking at the covers, wanting to get cool, and Sam being so close to him was making it even worse, because his little brother's body heat was contributing to his discomfort. Dean began to cough, and he woke up, red-eyed and hoarse, clammy and sweaty and aching deep in his bones. "Sammy? You...you okay?" he whispered.

"More medicine," whispered Sam, looking scared. "Dean, you have to have some more stuff." He grabbed the aspirin bottle and shook a couple of pills loose, holding them out to his brother. "You look all... purple."

Swallowing down the aspirin, Dean drank the juice Sam had brought him earlier, then grabbed the cough medicine and chugged. He flopped back, eyes half closed. "I'm okay, Sammy, I just need some sleep." He looked at Sam then gave a little smile. "What did dad say? Feed a fever; starve a cold? I just need to keep warm to sweat it out."

"But you've got a fever, Dean. You need to feed it. You want me to get you some chicken?" Sam bolted up, prepared to bring his brother anything he could think of. He was already on his way into the kitchen before Dean could respond, and dean could hear the fridge open and close again. "No more orange juice; you'll have to have apple."

"Sammy," Dean glanced at his brother over his shoulder, then when that hurt his neck, turned to peer at him over the back of the couch. He watched his brother lovingly. "I'll take some," he called, just to make Sam feel happy. It was kind of funny seeing Sammy making up a plate for him. Usually things were the other way around, but not today. It was even funnier watching Sam try to carry everything back in one trip.

The care with which Sam carried refreshments back to his big brother was total. Normally a kid who rushed around tripping over his own big feet, Sammy was taking so much care that it was amusing. His tongue was between his teeth, and his scowl was ferocious, but even so he almost managed to trip over the edge of the rag rug that brightened up the room. His sharp mutter of a word that he wasn't supposed to even know, followed by a guilty look, was even funnier. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the coffee table and set his burden down. "Okay, Dean, you need to eat stuff and drink your juice. You want me to get you a face-cloth or anything? I will, you know. You did for me that time when I got sick."

Dean chuckled at Sam's bad language, knowing full well his father would never find out about the word or, hopefully, where he'd learned it. He knew that there had been occasions when John muttered it, but he was well aware that Sam had most likely picked it up from Dean himself. He wrestled himself around to face the table and reached for the chicken. He smiled at Sammy as he took a bite, "Dude, that was because you were hurling in the trash can. But I'll take one anyway." Dean really didn't feel like eating, but his brother wanted him to, so eat he would.

Nodding, Sammy pelted off again, bare feet slapping the linoleum as he headed for the stairs and the bathroom. Swiftly soaking and then wringing out the face cloth, he grabbed a towel and headed back down the stairs to join his brother. Dean was chewing manfully at the chicken, and Sam could see him wincing with every swallow. "You need some ice cream," he announced. "Don't think we've got any. I could go get some?"

"NO!" Dean croaked. "No, it's okay, Sammy. Just don't leave me." Those were words Dean didn't usually speak. He patted the space beside him, "Sit with me, Sammy." he begged, hoping Sam wouldn't go charging off into the night in search of ice cream for him. He began to take bites that were smaller than his usual enormous ones, getting those down easier. "Want some?" Dean offered.

Eagerly, shining with pride at Dean showing him that he needed him, Sam took his place on the couch next to his brother, snuggling up to him. He nodded happily at Dean and took a big bite out of the chicken his brother had been nibbling. "I like looking after you, but I'd rather do it when you're not sick."

Dean smiled as he pulled off another chunk of chicken. "Then you should," he said, playfully nudging his little brother. "Hey we have some jello; we can have that instead of ice cream." Wiping his hands, he ruffled Sam's hair. "But later." He wrapped his arm around Sam, tossed the bone onto the little plate and snuggled down with his brother as another movie started. Even as sick as he was, he liked the times he could spend with Sam, especially like this.

"Oh, wow!" Sam flapped his hands out of sheer joy. "Godzilla versus Mothra. I bet ol' lizard-breath wins. He always wins." He nestled in against his brother and pulled his quilt over them both. A moment later he remembered that Dean was sick and sat up straight, looking at him with a worried expression. "Do you think that Dad will come back very soon?" he asked Dean. "I could call him."

Dean was all set to be cozy, but he was jolted by his little brother sitting up. He looked at him, "Stop, will you?" He frowned at Sam, "I told you, Dad will be home Sunday, and you know how he gets mad when he is bothered on a hunt. I'll be okay. I just have the flu. I'm not gonna die. Besides, I have you to take care of me, and you won't let me die." He pulled Sam to him and ruffled his hair again.

"But..." Sam nodded. He was going to look after his brother. Dean had just said so. "Okay. Just, if you die, I will be really, really mad at you, all right?" He put his arm around Dean and buried his face in his brother's sweatshirt. "You have to stop being really, really hot. I don't like it."

Dean smiled to his brother, "Okay, I don't want you to be really, really mad at me." He lay back, pulling Sam with him. He knew the aspirins were working, because his head had stopped hurting quite so much.

Dean's soothing words soon had the little boy relaxing back against him, and the warmth of Dean, the knowledge that his big brother seemed to be getting a little better was enough to let him relax. He was asleep once more before ever seeing whether Godzilla would beat Mothra.

Dean drifted off to sleep halfway through the movie too. He had been watching Sam sleep for a while before he suddenly couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and went out like a light. His sleep was more peaceful this time than before. He slept through most of the night, although from time to time a coughing fit would rouse him momentarily. As morning arrived, Dean blinked awake. The sun wasn't even up yet, and the tv was glowing blue since the tape had stopped playing. He looked down at sleeping Sam and snuggled back down. His fever had returned, but he was happy to just be with his brother.

When the sun woke Sam, it was pouring bright and cheerful through the window since they had forgotten to draw the drapes. He started awake, feeling Dean burning hot against him and worrying that he was getting sicker. He could see Dean's eyes were open, and that they were hazy as they gazed at him. He scrambled out of the blankets and stumbled off to find Dean something to drink. Coming back with juice for Dean, he held it out. "You need to do more pills," he said. "I'ma get your breakfast for you, but you have to take some pills first, so you can feel better."

Dean sat up, taking the juice and reaching for the bottle of aspirins. He drank the juice, downed the pills then dropped back, "Thanks, Sammy," he whispered, looking at his brother and moaning as he took the cloth to lay it upon his forehead. He watched as Sam went off to find him some breakfast.

In the kitchen again, Sam pushed a chair over to the cupboard where the Lucky Charms were kept. Climbing up to grab the box, he peered inside. There was enough for a bowlful, so he got down very carefully and put the box on the counter. Dumping the contents of the box into a soup-bowl, he went to the fridge and retrieved the milk so he could pour it over the cereal. Carrying the bowl in to set it on the coffee table, he pattered back to find a spoon.

"Lucky Charms will make you better, you know."

Dean sat up and crossed his legs, waiting for Sam to bring the spoon. "They made you feel better that one time, didn't they?" He took a few spoonfuls and then offered the spoon. "Want some?" he asked, holding the spoon out for Sam to take a bite. Dean thought it was sweet that Sam was doing this for him, after all the times Dean had taken care of him.

Sam was about to devour the spoonful that Dean was offering to him, when he suddenly stopped and shook his head. "No, they're for you. They're to make you better. It won't work if I eat half of them." He was shifting from foot to foot as he spoke, and it was obvious that he really liked Lucky Charms from the way his eyes fixed on every bite that Dean took. "I could make coffee, if you want some?" he said, frowning. He hadn't exactly made coffee before, but he'd seen Dean do it many times, and he didn't think it would be so difficult. "Let me make coffee."

Dean placed the spoon down, looking at his little brother. How he rocked on his heels and kept looking at the bowl. He smiled softly, "I want to share the Lucky Charms with you, Sammy." Dean knew he wouldn't possibly be able to eat them all. "There's some instant coffee in the cupboard. You can heat the water in the microwave then put a spoonful in the cup."

Away went whirlwind Sammy, clattering mugs as he found the one that Dean used, washed it carefully and spooned the powder into it. Filling it with water, he put it into the microwave and stood watching through the glass as the mug went around and around behind the glass. He sniffed at it dubiously when it was done, stirred it around until the coffee mixed in and turned deep brown, then carefully carried it over to where Dean was sitting, gazing at his cereals. "I did it," he beamed. "You want some sugar in it?"

Dean shook his head, "Nah," and smiled muzzily up at Sam, "Here, will you finish this for me?" He held out his bowl of cereal, having eaten all he could.

It was too much for Sam. Nobility only went so far, and then Lucky Charms got in the way. Nodding eagerly, he grabbed the bowl and spoon and began eating, smacking his lips as a particularly good bit was discovered. "They're my favorites," he confided to Dean as if his brother didn't already know and beamed up at him, his smile almost splitting his face in half.

Dean nodded as he laid back down, watching his little brother eat happily. He grabbed a tissue to blow his nose then had a coughing fit that necessitated Sam finding the cough medicine for him. Once he was dosed up, he lay back down, sleepy again.

Finishing up every last trace of cereal from the bowl, Sam pattered away to wash and dry the dish, then returned, lugging his school bag with him. Settling down on the floor he began to do his homework, carefully watching his brother for signs of life. It was about an hour later that he set aside his books and leaned back against the couch, looking at his brother. "Dean?" he asked. "Are you feeling better yet?"

The TV was on some morning show while Sam did his homework, and Dean had fallen asleep. Staying asleep was proving difficult though, because he was so stuffed up. He started when he heard his name, then blinked his tired, watery eyes and rubbed them. "Uh?" He asked, looking at his brother.

"You're not better yet, are you?" said Sam, sadly. "I need you to be better." He grabbed Dean's hand and rubbed his cheek against it as he tried to think of things that might help his brother. A thought occurred to him. "You want to have a bath? When I was sick, you made me feel better with a bath. I can make a bath for you."

Dean nodded, loving how eager Sam was in trying to make him feel better. "I'd like that," he whispered then another coughing fit took him as he pushed himself up to his feet and followed Sam into the bathroom. Sitting down on the toilet lid, he sighed.

Climbing into the tub, Sam turned on the taps and pushed the plug in to stop the water from escaping. Once the bath was filling, he got out and went charging back to the kitchen, returning with the dish soap and dumping some in, so that bubbles began to build under the violence of the tap water. "You get bubbles. They'll make you clean and help you feel better," he murmured. "Now we have to take off your clothes, and I'll go find your jammies. Do you want to borrow my Spiderman ones? They're really cool."

Dean wasn't in the mood to fight his brother or tell him not to use the dish soap. Instead, he just watched, smiling. "No, it's okay, Sammy but thanks." He climbed into the tub and just sat there for a moment, letting the heat break up the congestion in his head.

When Sam returned with Dean's pajamas, he placed them neatly on top of the toilet tank and then stood looking at his brother, who was lying back in the warm water, looking pale. He dropped to his knees by the tub and reached for Dean, wielding the soap and the face cloth as he tried to make his brother more comfortable. "Dean," he whispered. "Dean, I want you to be better now. I love you." Leaning forward he planted a huge wet kiss on Dean's cheekbone.

Dean looked to his brother. He was so cute and worried about him. Dean reached up with a wet hand and cupped the side of Sam's head, "I love you too, Sammy," he wanted to kiss him but didn't want his little brother to get sick. As Sam snuggled into his hand, it suddenly dawned on him that they’d eaten Lucky Charms from the same spoon. Shrugging, he dropped a swift, grateful kiss onto Sam’s forehead.

The caress was enough for his little brother. Sammy nuzzled at Dean's fingers for a minute then scampered away to find something else to 'make Dean better' with. It was evident that he was really enjoying himself in his new role as carer rather than caree, and he returned shortly with a clean towel that he set down on top of the toilet tank, looking very pleased with himself.

Dean sat in the hot water a little while longer, enjoying the warmth that made him feel so much better. As it started to cool, he climbed out and wrapped himself in the towel Sam had got him. "I'm tired," he whispered to Sam.

Nodding, the little guy left the bathroom again, and could be heard crashing around in the room next door.

Returning to the bathroom to find his brother sitting on the toilet lid huddled in his towel, he wordlessly put paste onto Dean's toothbrush and extended it to him. "Gotta brush the teeth," he said, showing his own pearly molars in a wide grin. "Don't want green teeth."

Dean took the toothbrush and began the task of brushing his teeth. When he finally looked in the mirror the sight was horrible. The reflection there almost didn't seem to be him. The dark circles under his eyes revealed exactly how tired he was as he finally rinsed and turned to his brother, ready for whatever scheme Sam decided to have him do.

Sam didn't return for a few minutes, but when he did he looked up at his brother, obviously shocked by the way Dean looked. "I made you clean sheets," he murmured, taking Dean by the hand and leading him into the bedroom they shared. "Now you can get into bed and have a nice sleep."

Dean followed, scuffing his feet and then climbed into bed. "Thanks, Sammy." He reached over and pulled him in bed with him. "Stay with me."

Rolling to snuggle into Dean, Sam lost no time in doing what his brother had asked. He had slept poorly the night before, and he was tired, anxious and still scared that his big brother would die and leave him all alone. He grabbed Dean's arm and wrapped it around himself. "Did I do good to make you feel better?" he asked. "I want you to be better."

"Yeah, you did, Sammy," Dean mumbled into the back of that dark moppy-haired head. He spooned his body against Sam, arm around him and holding him close. Even with the fever, Dean basked in Sam's warmth, cozy under the mass of blankets and his little brother. He felt good. He felt safe. More importantly, he felt loved, and that made him feel better.

He fell asleep, breathing through his mouth. He didn't feel as bad as the night before, but he was still shivering at times, mostly when Sam moved away. Several hours passed before Dean's eyes fluttered open. Seeing that it was about mid afternoon, he turned to look at Sam, who was sleeping like a little angel. Dean reached up, brushing Sam's hair back before crawling out of bed. He went to the bathroom then padded down the stairs and took some more meds. He made some soup and sandwiches, gathered cookies and then padded back up with cups of soup, a tray of sandwiches and two sodas under his arm. He came back in, setting the tray down, then the sodas. Crawling back into his bed, he leaned in and whispered in Sam's ear, "Wake up, squirt butt."

A tousled head appeared from under the sheets, and Sammy sat up, knuckling his eyes as he fought his way out of sleep. "You're s'posed to stay in bed an' let me get your food an' stuff," he protested around a wide yawn. Scooting over to let his brother back into the bed, he smiled widely. "You made chicken soup?" he asked. "That's my favorite. An' I'd have made it for you, honest."

"I know, but it's here now. Hungry?" Dean asked, sitting down beside Sammy and handing him a cup and a spoon. "I'm feeling a bit better though.... you did a good job in taking care of me, Sammy." He smiled, his freckled face bright with cheer.

Grinning widely, Sam reached for his food, slurping up the soup and chasing it with huge bites of sandwich. "You aren't gonna die," he said after a few minutes. "I thought that you might die, Dean, an' I didn't want you to." A slightly sticky hand found Dean's and clutched at it. "But you have to get back into the bed, cos you're still hot as anything, and you need to rest."

Dean wiggled his body back into the bed, "Not gonna die. I was just sick. And I'm not gonna die on you ever, Sammy. Not ever. Promise." He went back to eating, enjoying his meal along with Sam before setting his empty cup down and snuggling up with a cookie.

"You promise?" Sam looked up at his big brother and gave him a look of utter love and trust. "You'd better not, Deano. I need you. I'll always need you." He paused. "An' I'm never gonna die on you, either," he said, sneaking a bite from the side of Dean's cookie. "Not ever."

---

| Back to My Stories –|– Email Dr. Ruthless |