Little Deanie & big brother Sammy

A wish for a white Christmas P1


Disclaimer: Not mine, but I wouldn't mind keeping Dean.

Usually these are one-shots, but it just keeps getting longer, so I've split it into 2 parts instead.

Written for a prompt in the Winter/Holiday themed Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme.PROMPT- Dean's been de-aged a few weeks before Christmas & a couple of days before the big day he gets sick, and there's still no snow. Dean's really upset so Sam does whatever it takes to give his little brother a white Christmas.

Chapter one

A few days before Christmas, Sam awoke to someone crying and sniffling. Opening his eyes, he turned around and saw his tiny three year old brother sitting on the chair by the windowsill, hugging his teddy bear and crying.

"Hey," said a worried Sam, immediately jumping out of bed, and rushing over to the window to kneel in-front of his little brother. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Dean wiped his freckled cheeks, and looked up at Sam with huge watery green eyes. The look on his face broke Sam's heart. "I-I sad, S-S-Sammy."

"Why?" whispered Sam, trying to wipe the tears away, but more filled his eyes, and spilled down his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"S-Santa not maked it snow," he whispered, lowering his head, and sniffling.

Sam frowned, and wrapped his arms around the little boy, and held him to his chest. "It's alright. There's no need to cry, come here."

As Dean cried, he snuggled against Sam's chest, and wiped his red nose on his shirt. He sniffled and coughed as he tried to hide in Sam's arms, wanting his big brother to make him feel better again.

"Shh. Sammy's got you," Sam whispered, stroking his hair. The hand drifted down to Dean's forehead, and he felt that he was burning up. "Hey, why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" Without waiting for an answer, he scooped him up into his arms and carried him back to bed.

Dean pouted miserably up at Sam as he covered him up with the quilt, and tucked him in, making him warm and comfortable.

"You're staying in bed today, you hear me?" Sam told him in a gentle voice, stroking the flushed cheek. "If you want anything, tell me and I'll get it for you straight away."

"Snow," was Dean's answer, making Sam roll his eyes. For some reason, Dean was completely obsessed about it snowing for Christmas, and every morning as soon as he woke up, he ran to the window, and climbed onto the chair Sam had placed there so he could look outside. But so far, there hadn't been a single snowflake to fall from the sky and turn the ground to a glistening white, the yard was just as grey and boring as the night before.

"I bet Santa will make it all snowy in time for Christmas," said Sam, leaning down to kiss the freckled nose, and make Dean giggle. "Tell me the next thing you want, and this time I'll get you it, no matter what it is."

"Hug," he demanded, holding his little arms up.

Sam smiled lovingly down at him, and said, "Now that I can do," before reaching down to wrap his arms around him, to give him the biggest hug he could. He enjoyed holding the sick little boy in his arms for as long as he could since Dean wasn't normally the hugging type, and lowered his head to kiss the messy blond hair.

"ATCHOOOOOO!" the little boy sneezed all over Sam's t-shirt, and sniffled miserably. "Oops. Deanie atchoo'd."

"Shh. It's alright, baby," soothed Sam, laying him back down, and carefully wiping the little red nose. "There we go, Rudolph."

Dean giggled, but the laughter didn't last long, and he started coughing, making his little body shake under the covers.

Sam frowned worriedly, and turned him slightly to rub his back gently. He just hoped Dean would recover soon, and wouldn't be sick on the one day he was really excited about. "I'm right here, I'll look after you. Shh, Sammy's got you."

When Dean finally finished coughing, he looked up at Sam with a sad expression. "Deanie cough coughed," he croaked.

"I know," whispered Sam, reaching over to grab his phone to text Bobby to ask him to go to the pharmacy to get some things to treat a cold and something for Dean's breakfast.

After sending the text, Sam dressed Dean in more layers of clothes, and sat with him in the bed. He wasn't going anywhere today, he was going to look after his sick brother.

Dean moaned, and snuggled up against his big brother's side. He looked up, blinking sleepily, and sniffling miserably, his bottom lip pouted.

Sam smiled, and wrapped the trembling little form up in his arms, and held him, making sure he stayed under the covers.

Later, Bobby came into the room with the things Sam had asked for. "Is he alright?" he whispered when he saw the sick little boy was fast asleep in Sam's arms, making little snuffly noises as he tried to breathe through his congested little nose.

"I think he's got a cold or something," Sam told him quietly, watching Dean sleep as he ran his fingers soothingly down the flushed freckled cheeks. "Has it started snowing yet?"

"No. It's raining, but still no snow."

Sam sighed, and looked down at Dean. "Snow is the only thing he's asked for on Christmas. He's gonna be devastated if it doesn't."

Bobby smiled and watched the brothers. "There's still a couple of days left, I'm sure it'll start soon."

"I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right."

*The Next Day*

That morning started the same as every morning of the past week; Dean woke up and hurried over to the window to check outside. He pouted and sighed in disappointment when he saw no snow had fallen during the night.

He moaned when he started coughing, and he raised his hands to cover his mouth, and coughed into his palms. He doubled over with the force, almost falling to the floor.

Sam frowned when he heard a little boy coughing, and woke up once again to Dean at the window. "Hey Tigger," he whispered, climbing out of bed, and kneeling beside the bent over form, rubbing Dean's back. "Any snow yet?"

Dean shook his head, still shaking with the cough that was wracking his body. His knees buckled, and he fell into Sam's arms.

Sam caught him, and held him through the harsh coughs. "Hey hey, I've got you," he whispered, trying to soothe him.

After the coughing fit was finally over, Sam lifted him up to carry him back to bed to wrap him up in the blankets from both his and Dean's beds. It looked like today was going to be another pajama day, since Dean was still so sick.

Making sure Dean was warm and comfortable, Sam reached over and picked up the cough syrup. "Hey, it's time to take some more of this," he whispered, pouring some of the pink liquid into the little medicine cup.

"Het-ktchsh! Huh-hitchshooo!" The little boy sniffled and wiped his nose, before leaning forward, and opening his mouth.

"There we go," said Sam, pouring the syrup into his mouth.

Dean swallowed, and grimaced, rubbing his face with his sleeve. "Yucky."

"I know. Come here," he said, seeing that his nose needed wiping. Reaching over for a tissue, he wiped his little red nose gently.

"Why do dat for?"

"Your nose is running," Sam told him, smiling when Dean gasped in horror, his hands flying up to his face.

Dean sighed in relief when he felt that his nose was still attached to his face. "No not wunned away."

"It means it's all snotty, my little snotty monster."

Dean giggled, and hid his face shyly. "Deanie sick."

"Well, I'm gonna make you all better soon, I promise." Sam tucked him in properly, before standing from the bed. "I'm gonna make you some breakfast, okay? Do you want pancakes shaped like cars?"

"Yes pees Sammy," the little boy croaked miserably, hugging the covers to his chin.

"Alrighty then. I'll be right back."

When Sam came back with the breakfast tray, he got back under the covers and placed the tray on his knee. "Here we are," he said, picking up the plastic SpongeBob cup, and holding it out for Dean.

"Fank you," whispered the three year old, taking the cup and having a sip of the cold juice. "Mmmm."

"Are you ready?" asked Sam, taking the cup back, and stabbing a small piece of pancake on the fork, before holding it up, and waving it around. "NEEEEEEEOOOOOW! Open up, the Winchester express is due for landing."

Dean giggled, and opened his mouth to have a bite of his breakfast. "F-Funny Sammy."

Sam grinned, and kissed his nose, before getting another piece ready. As he helped his sick little brother eat his breakfast, he had to keep wiping his little nose when it kept dripping.

When he ate as much as he could, Dean rubbed his eyes, and settled back against the pillows. "Cartoons?"

"You want to watch your cartoons? Okay, I'll ask Bobby to bring the TV upstairs for you," he said, grabbing his phone. "You're staying in bed until you're better."

Dean sniffled and moaned in misery. "Why not Santa maked it snow?"

Sam sent the text and laid beside his brother. "He might be busy right now getting his Reindeers ready to fly, but I bet he'll make it snow right before he goes to deliver all the presents. Okay?"

"Kay." Dean nodded, and threw his arms around Sam for a hug.

Sam wrapped him in his arms, and fussed with the blankets with his free hand. "How's my little Tigger doing? Do you feel better or worse?"

"Sick," was Dean's answer, big green eyes filling with tears.

"Shh. It's alright." Sam ran his fingers down the hot flushed cheek, before leaning forward and kissing the tears away. He pulled away when Bobby came into the room armed with the TV.

"Here we go," said the older man, placing it on the drawers at the other side of the room, and plugging it in. "Hey, little man. Are ya okay?" he asked, turning it on, and grabbing the remote to change the channel to Dean's shows.

Dean whimpered, and shook his head, trying to bury himself in Sam's arms.

Sam stroked the messy hair, and looked up at Bobby with a worried expression. "If he's not better after Christmas, or if he gets worse, I'm taking him to the doctors," he told him, looking down at Dean whose eyes were glued to the screen, watching SpongeBob. He frowned when he heard the snuffles as Dean tried to breathe through his nose. He reached over for some more tissue, and held it to the little nose. "Blow your nose, baby."

Dean put his tiny hands over Sam's, and with a little encouragement, blew his nose. When he finished, he snuggled against his big brother again, his head resting against Sam's chest.

A soft smile crossed Sam's face as he adjusted the covers, and made sure Dean was comfortable, before settling back to watch cartoons all day with his sick brother.

Early that afternoon, Dean started making choking noises, which made Sam panic. "What's wrong?" he asked, sitting Dean up against him.

Dean had both hands over his mouth, and sick was dripping through his fingers, his little body heaving as it tried to expel more.

"Oh crap," said Sam, diving over the side of the bed to grab the bin, and hold it in-front of Dean. "Come on baby, let it out," he soothed, removing the little hands, and rubbing Dean's back gently, his other hand cupped his hot and sweaty forehead.

As soon as his hands were removed, sick began to pour out of Dean's mouth, and into the bin Sam was holding for him.

All Sam could do was watch helplessly as his brother began to cry as his body heaved uncontrollably, and threw up everything he had eaten for the past few days. "Shh. Sammy's got you. Come on," he whispered, tears filling his own eyes as he watched Dean suffer.

"S-S-Sammy," he cried through his retching as he continued throwing up even when his stomach was empty. "H-Hurts."

Taking his hand away from Dean's back, Sam started rubbing his stomach instead to see if it would help. He knew through experience that dry heaving always felt like you were trying to retch up organs, he couldn't imagine what it felt like for a tiny three year old child.

When the violent heaving finally subsided, Dean collapsed back against Sam's chest, exhausted.

"Hey, are you with me?" asked a worried Sam, stroking the flushed cheek gently. He placed the bin back on the floor, ready to be disposed of later, but right now he had Dean to look after.

Dean groaned, and nuzzled his face against Sam's chest, crying.

Sam kissed him on the forehead, before reaching over to dip some tissue in the glass of water, to wipe over Dean's face to try and cool him down. "It's alright baby, it's over. Shh. You're okay."

"S'my," moaned the sick little boy, face leaning into the hand that was on his face.

"Shh. I'm right here," soothed Sam, wiping the little face gently. He smiled when he saw the glazed green orbs looking up at him, shining with tears.

Dean tried to smile back, but the tiny nose scrunched up, and he sneezed over Sam's shirt. "Deanie atchoo'd again."

Sam grabbed a new tissue, and wiped his nose and the tears that were making their way down the freckled cheeks. "I know, but I'll be here to look after you until you're better."

Dean sniffled, and laid back down in Sam's arms, shifting around until he was comfortable. "Hug," he demanded again, holding his arms out.

Sam threw the tissue away, and wrapped him up in his arms. The one thing he liked about Dean being sick was that he kept asking for hugs to make him better, and Sam was always willing to give them to him.

"There you go. Do you feel any better yet?"

Dean stuck his bottom lip out almost comically and shook his head. "No Sammy."

"Oh no. Looks like I've got to let the tickle monster loose," he said threateningly, holding his hand up in the 'scary' shape.

As Sam tickled him gently, Dean started squealing and giggling as he tried to get away from the tickling fingers.

"Are you any better yet?" When Dean shook his head again, Sam sighed, and looked around for something that might cheer him up. "How about a story?"

"Yes pees," croaked Dean, rubbing his eyes.

"Alrighty then," said Sam, grabbing a book, and settling back with his sick brother, before opening to the first page. "In the light of the moon a little egg lay on a leaf. One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and, pop! Out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar..."

A tiny smile crossed Dean's little face as he listened to his favourite story, laying in the crook of Sam's arm with his teddy bear in his arms.


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