Don't send him back!
Genre: Gen, WeeChesters
"Don't send him back!" Dean yelled at his father as he ran into the room. For two whole months Dean had been in charge of his new, baby brother, and he wasn't going to let his parents take him away. "Sammy is a good baby. I want to keep him!" he emphasized by stamping his small foot on the kitchen floor.
"Hey, it's ok, buddy," his dad said. He picked up the four-year-old and gently rubbed his back. Mike watched them from the doorway.
"No, it's not," Dean sniffed. "Mommy said she was taking him to the hops-pidal, and that's where she got him. Just like she took the toaster back to Sears and got a new one. I don't want a new brother. I like Sammy."
"Oh, Dean," John sighed. "You'll get Sammy back, not a new brother. Don't worry, kiddo." His feelings lifted in response to his firstborn's obvious love of his brother, but he knew he couldn't laugh at the ridiculous thought process of his boy. Instead, he threw a small smile to his friend, Mike, who had been watching Dean while he and Mary brought little Sam to the doctor.
"How is he?" Mike asked.
John sat on a wooden kitchen chair and settled Dean on his lap, the boy's forehead pressed into his father's neck. Continuing to rub Dean's back, John tried to resist the exhaustion pulling at him. He and Mary hadn't slept the previous night, and he suspected that explained much of Dean's behavior as well.
"They're keeping him overnight. The doctor said it was just a bad respiratory infection. He might have to stay a few more days to clear it all up, but the doc didn't think there would be any long-term damage."
"Thank the Lord for that. I'm sure he'll be home causing mischief in no time," Mike offered to reassure his friend. No matter how well-developed John's tough-guy image was, Mike knew that he was extremely shaken with the situation. "So, how are you and Mary doing?"
John smiled tiredly, "Oh, we're alright. Everything's pretty settled, now, so we're just trying to catch a breath, you know?"
"I can't imagine how you must be feeling, Johnny, but anything you need, you just let me know. I'll handle the garage until your boy is better."
"Mike," John started to protest, only to be cut off by his friend.
"I'm serious, John. You know your family is more important. Nothing but oil changes and tune-ups scheduled, anyway. And if I need help, I'll call my nephew. He's been talking about opening a garage instead of going to college. It would be good to show him that it's not as easy as he thinks."
John laughed. He'd met that nephew; what a handful. The boy was barely a teenager when he was out chasing girls and charming any woman he laid eyes on.
"If you need us to take Dean for any reason, just call. Kate works tomorrow afternoon, but I think she's off in the morning and the day after. You know she's completely taken with the boy, would consider it more a treat for her than anything to spend the day with him," he said with a grin.
John looked at Dean and chuckled. "Got her wrapped around your pinky, huh?" He tickled Dean under his chin until the boy laughed. "That's more like it. You feeling better, buddy?"
Dean nodded and asked softly, "Can we go see Sammy, now?"
John kissed him on the top of the head and consented. "Sure, we can. Mom's there with him. What do you think about bringing her some food and having a picnic in the waiting room? You remember the place with all those toys in the big blue box?"
"Yeah," Dean said, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "They have Lincoln Logs. Lots and lots of them! Can Sammy play, too? He likes when I make him a castle."
John's smile fell, but he tried to hold on to it for his boy. "No, Dean, Sammy can't play right now. Do you remember Mom explaining that your brother doesn't feel good?"
"Do you remember when you had the flu on your birthday?" John asked.
"Yeah," Dean said in a very small voice. "I didn't like that; felt yucky."
"I know, kiddo. You were too sick to play or eat cake or even get out of bed. Well, Sammy is feeling pretty yucky right now, too."
Deans big eyes brightened with tears and a few fat drops fell down his cheeks as his chin wobbled. He buried his head in John's shirt and latched onto his sleeves.
"Shh, it's ok," John soothed to his overtired son.
"Nuh-ah," Dean protested in a thick voice, speaking into his dad's chest. "I don't want Sammy to feel like that. He's a good baby."
"I know, son, but these things happen. He'll be alright after the doctors give him enough medicine. Let's get you cleaned up and go see Sammy. How does that sound?"
Dean just nodded, still sniffing and wiping at his eyes with his tiny fingers.
Mike handed John a wet washcloth and brought Dean's small bag to the door.
"Anytime you need us, you know where we are."
"Thanks, Mike. I just might take you up on that," John replied as they headed out the door.