Little Deanie & big brother Sammy

Dean VS Chicken pox

DEAN VS CHICKEN POX

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

Little Dean has chicken pox, so Sam looks after him.

Sam hummed while he turned the pancakes over he was making for breakfast. He had only been watching little Dean for over a week now, but Sam had taken to the big brother role pretty well. He was loving every minute of looking after the little three year old version of his brother.

He smiled as he looked over at his brother, who was sitting in his pajamas with his Buzz lightyear and Woody dolls, watching Monsters INC. Even though Sam never thought of his brother as cute, he had to admit little Dean was the cutest little boy ever, he had blond hair, which stuck up everywhere when he woke up in the morning, huge green eyes that seem to take up his whole face, a tiny nose which scrunched up whenever he smiled, and freckles which were all over.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked when Dean sneezed. The past few days Dean had been sniffly and warm, showing the signs of getting a cold.

"Mikey," Dean answered, pointing at the movie.

Sam shook his head fondly, and continued making the pancakes.

"Dean breakfast is ready," called Sam several minutes later, placing the pancakes on the motel table. "Come get it."

Dean nodded, and slowly walked over to the small kitchen with Woody in his arms. "Fank you," he mumbled, sniffling when Sam picked him up, and placed him into his chair.

"Are you feeling any better, little brother?" asked Sam worriedly, placing his hand to Dean's little forehead to check his temperature. 'Still a little warm.'

Dean didn't answer, he just wiped his nose with his sleeve, picking at the food.

As Sam ate, he kept shooting worried glances at him. If Dean was sick, then Sam was going to look after him.

"Sammy Sammy. Gotted spotties. What is dey Sammy?" asked Dean, waving his arms around frantically. "SAMMY!"

Sam frowned, running his fingers gently over the spots which covered Dean's chest. "Oh crap."

"What Sammy?" whimpered Dean, looking terrified.

"It's alright kiddo. Don't panic," he soothed. "You've got chicken pox."

Dean gasped, eyes going wide in horror. "Deanie be chicken?"

"No, you're not gonna turn into a chicken."

Dean burst into tears. "I BE CHICKEN!" he wailed through his tears. "I WANT BE DEANIE, NOT CHICKEN!"

"Hey come here," said Sam, lifting his sobbing brother into his arms. "Shh. You're not going to turn into a chicken, baby. I promise you."

"B-But I gots chicken spotties, Sammy," whispered Dean, gripping Sam's shirt tightly in both his tiny fists.

"I know, but you're not turning into a chicken. And even if you did, I'll still love you millions and billions," Sam told him, kissing the little face, which would soon be covered in spots. "We've got to go out."

"Where go?" asked the little boy, bottom lip trembling.

Sam grabbed Dean's blanket, and wrapped his brother in it before answering. "I'm taking you to the doctors to make sure it's definitely chicken pox and not anything else, and then we've got to go and get some things which are gonna help you when you get worse."

Dean gasped, more tears filling his eyes. "I is be chicken," he wailed.

"Hey hey, Dean when I say worse, I don't mean you are gonna turn into a chicken," soothed Sam, wiping the tears which were flowing down his freckled cheeks, before hugging the tiny boy gently. "Shh. I promise."

When Sam managed to calm Dean down, he picked up his wallet and car keys and carried Dean outside. "Come on, spotty."

By four o'clock, the tiny Winchester was covered in spots, and completely miserable.

"Dean, come here," said Sam, coming in from the little bathroom where he had been filling the bathtub with oatmeal. The doctor told him that it was supposed to help, and right now he was willing to try anything.

Dean whimpered when Sam picked him up. "Ishy," he moaned, laying his little head against Sam's shoulder as he scratched at his arm.

"Shh. I know. But I'm gonna try and make you feel better. Put Woody down," said Sam, taking the doll from his brother.

When they walked into the bathroom, Dean's head shot up when he saw his reflection in the mirror. "SAMMY!" he yelled, bursting into tears when he saw the big red spots covering his face.

"Whoa, hey. What's this about?" asked Sam, surprised.

Dean didn't answer, he hid his face against Sam's neck, crying.

"Shh. Tell me what's wrong, baby."

When Dean calmed down enough to talk, he looked back at his spotty face in the mirror. "S-S-Spotties eated my's feckwes," he told him, pointing at his reflection.

"No they haven't. Your freckles are still there," Sam promised him. "The spots haven't eaten your freckles."

"Nooooo," Dean cried, scratching his face.

"Stop that," said Sam, grabbing the tiny hand gently in his own.

"ISHY!"

"I know, but I'm trying to help you." Sam sat on the toilet seat, and undressed his brother.

Dean whimpered, and started scratching at his chest.

"Dean, stop scratching," Sam told him again, picking him up and carrying him over to the bath. "Here we go."

As Dean was lowered into the bath, he gasped and his eyes went wide. "WHAT DAT?"

Sam laughed, and knelt beside the tub. "It's gonna help you stop itching."

"Wook yucky," pouted Dean, scowling at the bath.

"I know, but this helps," said Sam, dipping the new sponge into the water, and wiping it along Dean's arms.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam stood Dean up and gently rinsed the little body, before patting him dry with a towel. "How are you feeling, spotty?" he asked, placing his hand on Dean's forehead.

Dean smiled at his big brother. "I not ishy."

"See?" said Sam, grinning back. "Told you it would work, didn't I?" He grabbed a bottle and cotton balls from the bag, and held them out. "Okay, now let's put some of this on. This is calamine lotion, this is gonna help you too. But I need you to stay still for me, can you do that?"

Dean nodded, and tried to stay still while his brother applied the lotion onto his skin. "Cowd," he exclaimed, shivering.

"I know it's cold, but you need this on." Covering the small body in the calamine lotion was difficult since Dean kept shivering and squirming, but eventually his skin was covered.

Instead of dressing him back into his pajamas, Sam dressed Dean in a pair of boxers, and carried him back to bed. "You're staying in bed today, so anything you want, you just ask me, alright?" said Sam, covering the little boy up. "Your wish is my command."

Dean giggled, and scratched behind his ear. "Ice ceem?"

"Coming right up master," Sam joked, bowing forwards. "Anything else? What do you want most in the whole world?"

"Um... has cuddwe," replied Dean, holding his little arms out.

"Come here you," he said, sitting Dean up and wrapping his arms around him, holding him to his chest. After several minutes Sam pulled away, and laid Dean gently back against the pillows. "I'll be back in a sec with a bowl of ice cream."

When he had a bowlful, Sam carried it over to Dean, and sat on the edge of his bed. "Here we go, master Winchester. Open up," he told him, lifting the spoon up.

"Oooh," squealed Dean, before opening his mouth. "Yummy yummy."

"Is that nice?" asked Sam, getting another spoonful, and feeding his brother.

Dean nodded, and ate more ice cream. "F-Fank you."

"You're welcome."

"ISHY ISHY!" yelled Dean, scratching frantically.

"Hey hey, stop scratching," Sam told him, before reaching over to grab Dean's mittens. "You're wearing these."

"Why Sammy?" moaned Dean.

"I don't have any nail clippers, and I don't want you to scar if you scratch the spots too much."

Dean's eyebrows met as he frowned, looking adorably confused. "Spotties scared?"

"No. I said scar not scare," Sam explained, putting the mittens on the tiny hands. "They leave little marks on your body."

"Not wike chicken, dey bited me," mumbled Dean, scowling.

Sam sighed. "Dean, a chicken didn't bite you."

"How's you know?"

"Have you seen any chickens anywhere?"

"I gots chicken spotties. And.. and I be chicken."

Sam slapped a hand over his face. "Dean, for the last time, you're not gonna turn into a chicken. You don't get it by being bit by chickens," he told him, grabbing the glass of water.

After taking a few sips, Dean whimpered and started crying again. "Huuuuurrrrrrt," he cried, pointing at his mouth where he had three blisters inside.

"Shh, come here," said Sam, lifting him onto his knee. He stroked Dean's cheek, and noticed he seemed a lot warmer than before. Luckily he had gotten some acetaminophen earlier to help as advised by the doctor.

Reaching over, Sam got the medication and water, and carefully gave some to his little brother.

Dean scrunched up his tiny fists into Sam's shirt, crying his eyes out against his brothers warm chest. Sam felt like crying himself. Sure, chicken pox wasn't serious or anything, but it broke Sam's heart that Dean was in pain and miserable, and he couldn't do anything to help him.

Sam stood up, and started rocking Dean gently from side to side, his big hand cupped the back of Dean's head which was laying on his shoulder, fingers stroking through the soft blond hair as he tried to comfort him. "Hush little Deanie, don't you cry, Sammy's gonna sing you a lullaby. If that lullaby is wrong, Sammy's gonna sing you a Zeppelin song..."

As Sam sang, Dean's eyes fluttered closed, and his cries lessened as he relaxed and fell asleep in his big brothers arms.

Later when Dean was awake, Sam walked over to sit on Dean's bed. "How are you feeling, baby?" he asked, fingers stroking through the floppy fringe.

"Spotty," Dean mumbled miserably. He pouted up at Sam, the look on his face melting Sam's heart.

"I'll tell you what, why don't I get some more ice cream, get into my pajamas, so me and you can curl up in bed and watch finding Nemo?"

Dean gasped, face lighting up into a big grin. "Nemo? Yes pees Sammy. Woves Nemo."

"Then after that, we'll watch Toy story, Shrek, the Lion king and the Incredibles," said Sam, naming almost all of Dean's new DVD collection.

"Yay," said Dean, clapping.

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

As Dean watched Sam getting everything ready, he scratched at his stomach and neck with his mittened hands.

"Dean, stop that," called Sam over his shoulder. "I told you I've got eyes in the back of my head."

"Funny Sammy," said Dean, giggling.

"I know I am," laughed Sam, walking over with a tub of ice cream and two spoons. Dean's mouth had been too sore to eat anything else all day, but luckily Sam had plenty in the little fridge. "Close your eyes, I'm getting dressed."

Dean covered his eyes, and listened as Sam quickly changed into his pajamas, then placed Dean's new DVD into the player. "Here we go."

As soon as Sam climbed into the bed, Dean immediately snuggled close against his side. Sam smiled and curled around him as the two shared the ice cream.

"Nemo Nemo Nemo," sang Dean when the movie started. "Nemo fishy."

Sam smiled down at the little boy, and laid a kiss to the soft blond hair, which was the only thing not covered in spots. "I love you, Spotty," he whispered.

Dean giggled again through a mouthful of ice cream. "Woves you, Sammy."

*The End*

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