Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, Dean?” 

Dean slowly dragged his eyelids open to see his seven-year-old brother kneeling on the floor by the couch. 

He groaned. “Wha’d’ya want, Sammy...?”

Sam frowned before turning his attention back to the ancient TV currently providing his after-school amusement. “How come you didn’t pick me up by the tree?”

“What?” Dean said, blinking against the bright light. Oh, he did not feel well at all. Unable to get his blurry vision to focus, he settled for flinging one arm over his face. 

“You always pick me up by the big tree. That’s the pick-up spot we agreed on.” 

Dean squinted at his brother. “What does it matter which tree? You saw me there.” 

“Yeah--But I was expecting you to be by the big tree.” 

Ugh. Sam could be so friggin’ annoying! “I guess,” Dean started, “I didn’t realize it was one specific tree. I just thought we agreed on the trees...” 

His stomach was starting to churn again, so he reluctantly hauled himself up into a seated position. He cradled his aching head in one hand and massaged his stomach with the other.

He’d hoped Sam wouldn’t notice, but those hazel eyes zeroed right in on his stiff movements. 

Scooby-Doo completely forgotten, Sam knelt on the dingy carpet so he could reach Dean’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong, De? Are you hurt?” 

Dean shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine.”

It was a lie. 

He’d woken up feeling like crap and been sent home from school with a fever just before lunch. When Dean got back to the one-bedroom apartment their dad had rented- for three weeks while he was helping some other hunters nearby- he’d had an upset stomach. 

He had figured that since he skipped lunch, maybe he was hungry. He’d made himself a ham sandwich and had a glass of milk with it. 

However, the small meal had only made him feel worse. 

He’d been napping on the couch when the alarm he set to remind him to pick up Sam went off.  

“No, you’re not,” Sam said stubbornly. “You’re pinching your nose, like when you have a headache, and you’re rubbing your tummy. You’re not okay.” Sam peered closely at his big brother before stating, “You’re sick.” 

“What? I’m not sick.” Dean tried to brush it off. He didn’t want Sam to worry about him.

Dad trusted him to take care of Sam while he was gone. Dean could handle a minor flu bug. Sam didn’t need to know. 

“Yes, you are.” 

“No. I’m not. Let it go, Sammy.” 

“No! You’re sick. So, you hafta let me help you!” 

Dean balked, “What? No, I don’t.”

“Yes...you...do!” Sam stomped his foot on the floor to emphasize each word. 

“Sam, stop-”

Oh, boy. Dean’s stomach was doing somersaults. He briefly closed his eyes, breathed through his nose trying to quell the rising nausea. 

“NO! You take care of me when I’m sick! So, I should get to take care of you when you’re sick!” 

Dean needed Sam to be distracted so he could go into the bathroom to get sick, but his little brother wasn’t having it. He was adamantly arguing that he had a right to be Dean’s nurse. 

“Sammy, please, just-” Dean stood up, swallowing thickly. He stepped around his brother. “--watch your show...” 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, hurrying after him. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

“You’re gonna puke.”

Sam said it so matter-of-factly that Dean actually stopped to look at him. 

“No. I’m not,” he said weakly. “I’m fi--fine.” Sweat was gathering on his upper lip, and he could taste the remnants of his ham sandwich in the back of his throat. 

He was definitely going to puke, and Dean didn’t want an audience.

Why did his brother have to be so damn difficult! Why couldn’t Sam be like all the other little brothers who were obsessed with talking dogs and wouldn’t want to be anywhere near their older brothers when they were sick? 

They were standing at the threshold to the bathroom. 

Dean gave one last attempt to keep Sam from seeing what was about to happen.

“Go watch your-” He gulped. “--cartoons-”

Dean gagged and pressed the back of his hand to his lips to keep from spewing all over the floor. 

Whether he liked it or not, he was out of time. 

Resigning himself to Sam being witness to him getting sick, Dean walked into the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. He lifted the lid and the seat up, then leaned over the bowl.

Almost immediately, Dean burped and a stream of milky puke poured into the water.

As he waited with his head over the bowl and a string of saliva hanging from his lip, he felt a small hand tentatively smooth over his spine. 

“It’s okay, De. You’ll feel better once it’s over.” 

Dean only had a moment to be thankful for his little brother’s company before his back arched and a mess of food flowed from his mouth.

His eyes watered and his nose ran as his stomach forcefully evacuated all of its contents. 

Sam stayed the whole time, rubbing Dean’s back in between the awful heaving and, eventually, fetched Dean a cup of water so he could rinse his mouth. 

Dean was exhausted after it was over. His body was achy and sore, his throat hurt, and he was freezing. 

With Sam’s help, he made it back over to the couch and collapsed onto it.

All he wanted to do was sleep. 

Sam grabbed the blanket and pillow from their room and brought them into the living room. He tucked the blanket around Dean, then placed the pillow under his head. 

He crawled under the blanket with Dean. 

For the rest of the evening, Sam enjoyed the cartoons on the TV while his big brother slept behind him. 

Chapter Text

“Dean?” Sam sighed, “Have you even heard a word I just said?” 

Dean looked up from his coffee cup to blink at his brother. “...What?”

Sam shook his head. “Forget it.” He started angrily shoving things back into his bag and stood up from the booth.

“I mean, it’s not like Iike I didn’t even want to come on this stupid job, anyway!”

He stomped over to the exit and shoved the door open with enough force that it slammed into the wall, and the bell jangled noisily. 

Dean winced before smiling sheepishly at the rest of the diner’s occupants. He threw a twenty on the table and grabbed his jacket. 

Stepping outside, he spotted Sam sulking in the Impala. 

It had only been sprinkling when they arrived, but now, the rain was coming down in sheets. Dean didn’t blame his brother for hiding out in Baby’s dry interior.

Turning his collar up, Dean sprinted over to the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

He turned his head and opened his mouth, but he stopped when he saw his brother's state. Sam’s long hair was plastered to his head, and he was pissed off . 

He didn’t spare Dean a glance, choosing, instead, to continue scowling out the side window. 

Dean decided now may not be the best time to have a heart-to-heart.

Sighing, he pulled Baby out of the parking lot and headed back to their motel.

The room was nice and toasty, but Dean wanted to groan when he stepped inside.

He was already plenty hot, sweating through his tee-shirt and dampening the armpits of his overshirt. 

Sam disappeared into the bathroom and a moment later, Dean heard the shower turn on. He figured brushing his teeth could wait until morning anyway.

Stripping down to his briefs, he crawled into one of the beds and closed his eyes. 

When Sam emerged from the steamy bathroom half an hour later, he found his brother sound asleep with the blankets pulled up to his ears. 

He frowned and walked over to place his hand on Dean’s forehead. 

“Dammit, Dean…” he mumbled, feeling the heat radiating from the cocooned body. The idiot obviously had a fever, yet he hadn’t told Sam.

Once again, Dean only thought of himself. 

A raspy cough jolted Sam out of his pity party. He frowned at his sick brother before venturing back into the bathroom to grab a few things from the medkit.

After placing the thermometer, a glass of water, and two gel capsules on the nightstand, Sam snagged the keys to the Impala, donned his jacket, and left the room. 

Dean moaned and rolled over, not wanting to get up yet though his bladder begged him to.

Truth was, he felt about a hundred times worse than he had when he went to bed.

His nose was stuffed up, his throat was scratchy and dry, and his head was pounding. 

Carefully shifting his body to the edge of the bed, he slowly sat up. 

Once the room righted itself, he stood and made his way to the bathroom. 

He shut the door most of the way, then flipped the light on and shuffled over to the toilet. He peed and blew his nose, before moving over to the sink. 

His pee was dark yellow which wasn’t good- he was definitely dehydrated. 

Dean reached for the cups they’d had sat beside the sink and frowned when his hand came up empty. 

Where’d they go? 

Frowning, he wandered back over to his bed and sunk into it. All that walking around had made him dizzy… 

“So-- How long have you been feeling bad?” 

Dean jumped when Sam spoke. He’d thought his brother was asleep, but, apparently, not. 

In answer to his question, Dean shrugged.

“Started this morning.” 

“And you didn’t tell me because...?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “Because I’m fine. It’s just a cold.” 

Sam angrily whipped the covers back and stood. “Dammit, Dean! You always do this!” 

“Do what?” 

“Try to handle everything on your own!” Sam yelled.

He grabbed one of the empty cups and stormed over to the mini-fridge to pull out the bottle of cherry-flavored sports drink.

“You insist on mother-henning me whenever I so much as sneeze without your permission-” He stomped back over to the bed and shoved the cup at his brother. Then, he grabbed the packet of flu meds he’d bought at the drugstore and popped two out of the foil wrapper. 

“But you refuse to tell me when you’re obviously not well enough to take care of yourself!” He angrily dropped the pills into Dean’s hand. 

Dean peered up at his brother and winced when he was met with the worst of Sammy’s bitchfaces. This one would curdle even Crowley’s rotten blood. 

Sam closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Dean, so help me God- If you don’t take those in the next ten seconds, I will hold you down and shove them down your fucking throat !” 

Dean coughed pitifully in his elbow. “I don’t mother hen,” he mumbled. He quickly swallowed the meds when Sam narrowed his eyes dangerously. 

Only when Dean had drunk the entire glass, and Sam had taken his temperature- one-hundred-point-eight- was the sick man allowed to lay back down. 

Though he was still annoyed with Dean, Sam didn’t crawl onto his own bed until he was sure his brother was comfortable and had plenty of tissues in reach. 

Dean couldn’t fall asleep with the guilt weighing so heavily on him, though, so he rolled over to say, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…” 

Sam harrumphed and flipped a page in the book he was reading. 

Dean smiled. “Thanks for taking care of my stubborn ass...Bitch.” 

“...Get some rest, Jerk.” 

Chapter Text

“Sammy, come in here! You gotta see this!” 

Sam rushed down the hall towards his brother’s room imaging all sorts of horrific things.

He skidded to a stop in the doorway and frantically searched the room for whatever had caused Dean to shout. 

He frowned, chest heaving when he saw no obvious threats. 

“Dean? Where is it?” he asked, out of breath. 

Dean grinned from his spot on the bed. “This is awesome, dude! You gotta check it out.”

His eyes flicked to Sam before returning to the TV. 

Realizing his brother wasn’t actually in danger, Sam’s shoulders sagged in relief. “What? Dean, I was in the middle of--” 

“Seriously, Sammy. C’mere.” Dean patted the bed beside him. 

Rolling his eyes, Sam walked into the room.

He stood beside the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. “What could possibly warrant you summoning me--” He stopped to glare at his brother when Dean started laughing.

“That’s it,” he said angrily, “I’m leaving.” 

“No, Sammy, wait-”

Dean grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto his lap. “I didn’t mean to laugh, I’m sorry.” He turned his attention back to the screen where a girl with bright blonde hair and a dark-haired boy were walking in the woods. 

“I found this new show on Netflix, and, Sam-- It’s awesome! I mean, you gotta see this shit!” 

Sam couldn’t tell if his brother was serious or not, but he was definitely intrigued.

Deciding he could use a quick break from the mountain of lore waiting to be cataloged, he shifted so he could see the TV a little better. 

The scene seemed serious, from what Sam could tell, but without any context, he only had the images in front of him to go off of. 

The brunet was telling the girl about something that happened to him when he was younger. Apparently, he’d gotten lost in a mine while playing a game with his brother and some friends. 

Sam knew from experience how easy it was to get lost in the black void of endless tunnels, so he could relate. Though, what parent lets their kid play in a mine...

The boy described something he saw.

"And then, I saw...it, Sabrina," he said. 

"What?"

"This is gonna sound crazy- But I swear to God, it...it looked like a goat. Only bigger, and standing up on its hind legs, and- it smelled like a book of matches had been struck.

A flashback reveals the monster from the mines.

Sam's breath catches in his throat. He's seen that monster before.

In Hell. In the cage.  

Suddenly, Sam is back there. He can smell Lucifer approach, hear the deep clang of the Devil's claws on the bars.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Sam shivers in his brother's arms. 

Without warning, scalding vomit surges up his throat. 

“Woah!" Dean shouts when Sam suddenly projectile pukes on the bed.

He shifts them so Sam's head is over the edge. "A little warning next time would be nice,” he jokes. 

Dean sobers when he realizes his brother is in the midst of a panic attack. His chest heaving for breath under Dean's palm.

He doesn't know what caused it, but he has to try to calm his brother down.

He rubs rhythmic circles on Sam's chest as he speaks in a soothing tone. "Easy, Sam. I gotcha. You're okay, little brother."

Sam tries to listen to the familiar voice, but the afterimage of Lucifer's true form still dances in front of his eyes.

He reaches for his brother and twists the fabric of Dean's shirt in his fist.

He blinks hard. He does it again, but on the TV, the boy is still talking about his experience in the mine. 

Sam pants. Another mouthful of vomit hits the floor. 

"T-Turn it off," he begs his brother. Fear makes his voice shake. "Please, De, turn it off..." 

Dean quickly snatches the remote and hits the power button.

“It’s off, Sammy. It’s off. You’re okay, Sam. You're right here in the bunker with me, okay?” He hauls Sam against his chest and wraps his arms around him tightly. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you.” 

Sam nods and half-turns so he can curl up against his brother's warm body. 

It slowly starts to work to calm him down.

Dean rocks them gently and hums under his breath under Sam quiets.

He doesn’t ask what happened or pressure Sam to talk. He just holds his little brother until Sam falls asleep. 

When Sam subsequently hovers around Dean for the next few weeks and plasters himself to Dean’s side in the dead of the night, Dean doesn't say a word or push him away.  

He can guess what set Sam off. He tries not to feel guilty.

Because even after spending forty unholy years in the bowels of Hell himself, Dean never came face-to-face with the Devil. He’d gone toe-to-toe with Lucifer in his vessel, but Sam...

Sam had been trapped in the cage with that angelic psycho. There's no way he hadn't seen the the Devil's true face. 

And if Dean still remembers Alistair's ugly mug as well as he does, he can only imagine how vivid it must be for Sam.

Sam screams himself hoarse most nights, clinging to Dean while in the throes of horrific nightmares. Dean does whatever he can to soothe his brother, cursing Netflix all the while. 

But deep down he knows, even if it was that stupid show that inlocked the door to Sam's worst memories, Dean was the one who gave him the key.

Sam was reliving Hell, and it was his fault. 

Chapter Text

“Sammy, something’s wrong…” 

Sam looked over at his brother and immediately started searching for a spot to pull off the road. 

Dean was shaking like a leaf, his face ghost-white. 

Something red dripped from the corner of his brother's mouth, and Dean's breath stuttered. 

Sam tried to quell the panic quickly rising.

“Dean, man, talk to me- What's going on?” 

Instead of answering, though, Dean leaned forward to spit a mouthful of something into his hand.

It was too dark to see fine details, the moon hidden behind dark clouds, but Sam was sure it wasn’t saliva. 

“Dean?” he asked again when Dean remained still and silent. "Are you okay?"

Dean blinked hard, trying to get his vision to right itself. He swayed and put a hand on the dash to steady himself.

“I...I don't know...”

He opened his mouth to say more, but a surprise cough cut him off.

A few drops of warm blood speckled his jeans.

Dean only had a second to frown because in the next, a fountain of blood erupted from his lips. It splashed noisily onto the floorboards.

When his brother began projectile vomiting in the passenger seat, Sam reacted immediately.

He wrenched the wheel to the right, and the Impala skidded to a violent stop in the dirt. 

Dean didn’t notice when the car stopped moving and Sam raced around the car to pull his door open.

"Dean! Talk to me! Are you hurt? What's happening?"

The elder Winchester clutched at his belly and screamed in agony. More blood leaked from his mouth and now nose, too. 

Dean's scream of pain snapped Sam out of his panicked trance. He frantically felt under the seat for anything that was out of place. There was nothing there, so he wrenched the back door open and searched the backseat. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair. "Shit."

Sam ran back around the car and looked around the driver's seat- Nothing.

Sam checked Dean and saw that his brother's entire lap was now soaked with blood. 

He researched the seat, but he couldn't find the hex bag. 

"Where the fuck is it?!" he cried out.

Dean's body weakened under the onslaught of the spell until he could no longer hold himself upright. He fell back against the seat with blood still dripping down his chin.

Every time he puked, it felt like his insides were being clawed out of him.

Tears mixed with the blood on his face when the pain suddenly increased exponentially. Dean screamed wordlessly before turning his head to expel another mouthful onto the bench seat.

He silently swore that if he survived this bloodbath, he would give Baby a thorough cleaning. 

Having finally exhausted all th hiding places inside the car, Sam ran to the trunk and opened it. He saw the same talismans, weapons, and ammo.

“Dammit!” 

Pacing furiously, he stopped and kicked the back tire. 

...the tire!

Sam hurriedly dropped to his hands and knees, so he could check the wheel well. The rear one was clear but tucked up in the front left well, he spotted a little black bag tied up with a red string. 

"Gotcha!" He said with a smirk. 

Dean blearily watched him as he dug through the driver's side pocket to find the Bic lighter stashed there. He grabbed the hex bag and called over his shoulder for his brother to hang on.

“I got it, Dean! You're going to be okay!”

The fabric of the hex bag caught on the Bic's flame. Sam held it away from his body until it was engulfed then dropped it onto the ground. 

Behind him, Dean clutched his chest as the spell lifted and gasped for breath. 

He wiped his mouth on his hand and lifted his head to survey the damage to his car. 

It was a mess.

Dean turned his head to see Sam. His brother grinned.

Dean sighed before letting exhaustion take over. "Fucking witches..."

Chapter Text

“Aw, man, this is bullsh-” Dean’s words were cut off by a strained heave. “ ...Ow…” 

He spat into the trash bin before raising his head to glare at his shamefaced brother. “This is bullshit, Sam! I didn’t even touch the damn thing- so why do I gotta be the one who suffers!” 

Sam winced. He tucked his hair behind his ear and looked away from Dean.

“According to the legend Bobby found, the stone targets those the person holds dear, so-”

“So, because you felt up the Diamond Lady-” 

“...Emerald Empress…”

“- whatever... I’m the one who gets to puke out his liver?” At his brother’s nod, Dean snorted wryly. “Well, isn’t that just peachy.” 

Sam placed a hand on his brother's back. “Dean, I swear. If I knew this would happen, I wouldn’t have...” He trailed off when he saw Dean roll his eyes. 

Sam didn’t blame him.

Dean swallowed a gag and closed his eyes. He wasnt interested in his brother's apology. He just wanted the damn curse to end.

“How do we stop it?” he asked.   

Sam nervously shoved a hand through his hair. “Well, uh, since no one’s ever found it before... There isn’t much to go on...”

Dean groaned as nausea rose in his gullet. “Awesome,” he deadpanned.

“But-" Sam soldiered on, ignoring Dean. "-from what Bobby could find, if we shatter the stone, it should break the curse.” 

Dean dry-heaved over the can and spat out a mouthful of bile. “Great,” He coughed. “Let’s give that a try…” He vomited. 

Chapter Text

“Sam! C’ mon, dude, let’s get on the road!” 

Sam opened his eyes to realize he’d fallen asleep at the motel table. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. He watched Dean's move around the motel room. “What did you say?” he asked with a yawn. God, he felt exhausted. 

Dean shoved his clothes into his duffle. “I said, let’s get a move on. I want to get on the road soon, so we don’t have to pay extra.” He glanced up at his brother and immediately walked over to find out what was wrong. 

Sam's face was pale, his brows drawn tight against a headache, and there were large bags undee his eyes- even though the kid had already slept about ten hours. 

“You feeling okay, dude?” He placed his hand on Sam’s forehead.

Warm, but not extremely so. 

With an exaggerated eye roll and pained grimace, Sam huffed. “‘m fine, Dean," he lied. "Just a little tired.” 

Dean shook his head and walked back to the bed to finish packing. “Don’t know how- you’ve been out of it for almost ten hours, dude.” 

Sam balked. "I was out for... Why didn’t you wake me, Dean!” 

His brother's eyebrows rose. “Well, excuse me, princess- I didn’t realize I was supposed to be your manservant...” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Unamused, Sam maintained his accusatory glare until Dean surrendered.

Dean tossed his hands up and sighed. “The witch-bitch took a lot out of you, okay? I figured you could use the extra z’s.” 

“Hm,” Sam grunted before yawnng again. He was so tired he would probably fall asleep if he let his head rest against the wall for a minute or two...

Concerned by Sam’s continued lack of energy, Dean ruffled his brother's hair as he walked by on his way to the bathroom. “Nap time’s over, Sammy. Pack up." He leaned down to press a kiss to Sam's head. "I gotta take a leak. Then, we’ll head out.” 

***

“Dude, maybe you should call Sarah and cancel…” Dean tried to be funny, but even he could hear the edge of worry in his voice. 

Sam lifted his head from the pillow. “What, so, first, you practically shove me and Sarah together and now, you want me to cancel the date?”

His brother was unbelievable! He had been bitching at Sam since they arrived, getting them into trouble, and trying to wiggle Sam's hand into the local autioneer's daughter's pants. For some reason, Dean was dead set Sam hooking up with Sarah.

But all Sam really wanted to do was sleep. It didn't matter how long he slept lately, he never woke up feeling refreshed. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “You can barely move, Casanova."

He tossed his hands in the air. “Look, I’m not sure how you expect to show Sarah a good time when you almost fainted while taking a piss...” He gave his brother a pointed look. 

Sam blushed and looked away. “I told you, Dean, I stood up too fast.” 

Dean sighed in defeat and turned back to the computer in front of him. “Right.” 

***

The Impala was filled with palatable tension as the brothers tailed John’s truck.

Dean anxiously waited for the inevitable explosion that happened whenever his dad and brother started stepping on each other’s toes. 

Not to mention, he was really starting to worry about Sammy’s new chronic lethargy. 

When it was just him and Sam, Dean could pick up the slack caused by his brother’s delayed reflexes and shortened attention span.

But with Dad around, it would be a lot harder to cover. 

Dean glanced to his right and saw Sam leaned with his head against the window, fast asleep. 

"Shit.”

Dean reached out a hand to gently shake Sam's shoulder. “Hey, wake up, sleepin’ beauty-” 

Sam sat up in the seat and blinked a few times, trying to orient himself. Right, they were in the car following John.

It didn't look like they'd reached their destination yet. “What's going on?” he asked, smothering a yawn with his hand. 

Dean watched his brother wake up with a frown. Sam's movements were sluggish, more so than was normal when waking from a short nap. It was like he was running on half-power, even though Sam had been sleeping enough for the both of them over the last few weeks. 

“Not yet," he answered finally. "But we need to have a little chat before we meet back up with Dad, Sam...” 

“‘Bout what?”

Sam twisted his body in his seat. His back popped loudly.

Dean winced. 

“This isn't normal, Sam." Dean flicked his eyes to his brother before refocusing on the road. "I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you're like a zombie. You're sleeping constantly, Sam."

"I told you, Dean, I'm fine." Sam sighed and turned to look out the window.

This wasn’t the first time his brother had tried to bring up the topic, and while he appreciated the concern, he wasn't sure what else they could do about his constant tiredness. 

He'd researched on his own shortly after finishing the case in New York, and he hadn't found anything that matched his general feeling of body bleariness.

Dean clenched the wheel. “Sam, man, I’m worried about you. Ever since you and the striga sucked face, you've been off." He shook his head. "This isnt regular run-of-the-mill tiredness. You sleep more than a hibernating bear-" Dean held up his fingers as he listed Sam' symptoms. "You barely eat. You’re constantly yawning. And your reflexes are shot to hell, dude.”

Hearing the genuine concern in his big brother's voice, Sam shrugged. “I know I’ve been a little tired lately, but-” 

Dean interrupted him.

“No- This is not ‘tired’, Sam. Tired is when you pass out due to exhaustion, catch a couple of hours, and wake up ready to kick ass.” 

He turned his head to look his brother in the eyes.

“Sammy, when was the last time you actually felt rested?” 

Thinking back, Sam realized Dean was right.

As much as he slept, he should be running on a full battery by now, yet he was still tired and felt  weak. 

“I...don’t know," he answered honestly, "A few weeks, maybe?” He looked at Dean, as if his brother could somehow magically have the answer. 

Surprisngly, Dean did have a theory.

“I think the Striga did something to you, Sam. Something that is preventing you from recovering fully.”

The edge of fear crept into Sam's voice when he said, “What do we do?” 

Dean paused before replying. “If you think you can make it through this case with Dad..." He waited for Sam to nod. "I think we should do some more research on the striga after." His jaw ticked. "- see exactly what that psycho doctor did to you.” 

Relieved to hear Dean had a plan, Sam blew out a breath and settled back into the seat. “Okay. That sounds good.” He turned to his brother and smiled. "Thanks, Dean." 

Chapter Text

Bang! Bang! Bang!  

The force of a closed fist against the metal door made the whole stall rattle and shake. 

Sam groaned. He’d been hoping to be on the mend before his brother came to check on him. Sam knew Dean would- They’d been about to exit the diner where they stopped for a quick lunch when Sam had to hurriedly excuse himself. He'd practically run to the men’s room… 

“You alive in there, Sammy?” His brother’s voice was tired, but the concern was evident.

Nausea swirled in his gut. Sam grimaced and shouted over his shoulder. “Yeah! Just a min-” He clamped his lips shut and breathed through his nose when something rushed up his throat. 

It slowly descended back into his belly. Sam let out his breath and raised his head from the bowl. 

“I'll be out in a minute,” he said, voice shaky and weak. 

"What’s wrong? You feelin’ sick?”

Leave it to Dean to figure out Sam felt ill just from the sound of his voice. 

“I’m fine, Dean.” He wasn’t.

But it was embarrassing enough to be on his knees in the men’s room of some dingy diner. Sam didn’t need his big brother  crowding his space and making him feel like he’s four years old again.

He heard Dean sigh.

“Sam…” 

Anger surged forth. “I said, I’m fine!” Sam shouted. 

There was a long pause before Dean told him to open the door.  

“Dean, seriously- ” Sam argued. 

“Sammy- open the door.”

God dammit. How was Sam supposed to stay strong when Dean spoke in that sweet, soft big brother voice?

Sam reached behind himself to unlock the door. 

As soon as he heard the lock slide open, Dean crowded into the stall behind his brother.

“How long you been feelin’ bad?” he asked, reaching around Sam to check for a fever.

Sam allowed it. Once Dean pulled his hand away, his laid his head on his arms and spat into the toilet bowl.

“About ten minutes after we got here.” He moaned and moved a hand to his stomach.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Only Dean could manage to berate Sam while still comforting him.

Dean helped Sam out of his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then, he snaked his warm hand underneath Sam's flimsy tee-shirt to rub his stomach. 

Sam shivered. Dean's body provided a warmth the bathroom floor could never hope to mimic.  

Heat rose from Sam's belly... into his chest...up his throat… He whimpered. 

"Shhhh," Dean soothed. He combed Sam's hair out of his face then replaced his hand on Sam’s back. "Easy, little brother..." 

Sam retched, but nothing came up...yet. He hated throwing up, but the gross anticipation was almost as bad. At least when he finally got sick, he would feel better. 

Dean's hand kept up a steady rhythm smoothing over Sam’s spine with relaxing strokes.

“Don't fight it, ” he murmured when Sam jerked forward with another retch. 

Sam's stomach clenched. It felt like he was on fire.

Then, the next second it was as if someone dumped him in a vat of ice water.

The vomit erupted out of him violently.

Dean held him steady as the continuous waterfall of partially digested food and lukewarm soda surged out of Sam's mouth.

“There you go, Sammy. Just let it out. I gotcha.”

When it finally abated, Sam felt wrecked. His abs ached, his back hurt, his throat was rough as hell, and his head pounded.

He was grateful for his brother's body behind him, acting as a wall to lean on. 

He closed his eyes and panted for breath. 

The toilet flushed. Dean tore off a length of toilet paper and cleaned the sick off of his lips and chin.  

He groaned when Dean hauled him up from the floor, but he dutifully followed his brother to the sinks. 

Dean retrieved Sam's jacket while Sam rinsed his mouth with cool water from the faucet. Then, he gently herded Sam out of the bathroom. 

Sam tiredly followed him through the diner and out into the parking lot.

He sighed when he heard the loud creak of the Impala’s door and ducked his head when his big brother told him to. 

The loose gravel crunched under Dean's boots when he rounded the car to the driver's side. 

Sam waited until Dean was seated and the car was moving. He scooched over on the bench seat and laid his head on Dean's shoulder. 

Dean slowly carded his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Feelin’ any better?” he asked quietly as he pulled the car onto the road and headed toward the highway. 

Sam nodded. “A little.” 

“That's good.” Dean switched on the indicator and merged onto the freeway. “Let me know if you need to stop.” 

The Impala rumbled softly in the background. 

Sam nodded again and shifted to press more of his body against his brother. 

Big brothers could be nosy as shit, but they were sure nice to have around.

Chapter Text

“Hey, S’mmy, ‘member when that ghost busted yer’ head in?” 

Sam frowned when his brother's woozy voice came from the backseat. 

He checked his mirrors for the hundredth time. “You’ll have to be a little more specific, Dean. That happens a lot…” 

“Dad was there...and um, we were...doin’ sumthin…” Dean’s voice drifted before snapping back into focus. “What were we doin’ there, Sa'?” 

“I don’t know, Dean. You said there was a ghost?”

Sam peered through the windshield, praying they would come across a motel soon. Dean really needed to be in a bed, not the backseat. 

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and the small tuft of hair he could actually see.

The spirit they'd been hunting had zeroed right in on Dean. They'd managed to search the house unscathed, but once they stepped foot on the back porch, it had gone bezerk. Even though Sam was the one holding the locket, it hadn't seemed to want anything to do with him. It barreled straight into Dean, knocking him off the porch. Sam had hastily placed the locket in the prepared bowl, but he got distracted when he saw the angry spirit drag his brother across the yard. 

It flung Dean into a thick oak tree then zipped to the bottom to kick him in the head when Dean's body dropped to the ground.

"DEAN!" Sam had shouted, his heart in his throat when he realized his brother wasn't moving. 

He'd lit the match, dropped it into the bowl, and ran for his brother. 

As soon as Dean came to and immediately vomited, Sam had looked up the nearest ER. 

The doctors and nurses had been quick to confirm Sam's concussion diagnosis. They warned him it might take up to a week for Dean’s sensitivity to light, noise, and smells to go away. After a lifetime of hunting, Sam was very familiar with how to treat a concussion.

However, the doctor also advised that Dean might have a little trouble remembering things for a while.

That was new. Sam didn't like new. 

So, now, at a quarter past eleven at night, Sam was on a mission to find somewhere for them to hole up. Dean was still in the pliant stage of his injury, butnit wouldn't last long.

Experience warned that after the calm of blissful medicated dopiness, Dean would enter the   full-on pissed off, not-going-to-do-what-you-ask-no-matter-what stage. 

A groan brought Sam back to the present. 

He turned, so he could properly peer into the backseat. “You okay back there?” Clocking the ashen pallor of his brother’s face and the way his head was pushed into the leather bench seat, Sam cursed and hurriedly resumed his motel search. 

“S’mmy…” Dean moaned and licked his lips. 

“Yeah?”

Sam had a feeling he knew what was coming, but there was nowhere to pull over safely, and he really needed to get his brother somewhere safe. 

Dean gulped. “Don’...feel...good…” 

Shit.

He banged his hands on the steering wheel. “I know you don’t. I’m going to find someplace you can sleep." He scanned the road again, but there was nothing out here. "Just, hang in there. Okay?” 

When Dean swallowed so loudly he could hear it plain as day, Sam cursed under his breath. He glanced at the phone sitting beside him on the seat, but there was still no signal. There was a town about fifteen miles ahead of them, and he prayed they would make it in-

Dammit.

Sam winced and did his best to ignore the sounds of his brother getting sick on the floor of the backseat. 

Dean ran a hand over his mouth and gently patted the seat beside his throbbing head. “‘M so sorry, baby…” He sniffled shamefully. 

Sam attempted to comfort him. "Hey, it's okay, Dean. I'm sure Baby will forgive you. She knows it was an accident." Spotting a flickering sign ahead, Sam pushed the gas pedal down a little further. 

"You think so?" Dean slurred as Sam pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a small motel. 

The lot was marred by large cracks and sunken areas, but Sam didn't care. Baby had driven over worse, and he needed to get his injured brother into an actual bed.

"Yeah," Sam said, shutting off the car and pulling the keys from the ignition. "She knows how bad you feel right now..." He popped open the glovebox to grab their stash of emergency cash and opened his door. He couldn't risk one of their fake credit cards getting dinged right now.

He reached into the backseat to squeeze Dean's shoulder reassuringly. "I'll be right back, Dean. I just gotta go get us a room."

Dean's pupils were unfocused as his head lolled on the seat.

Sam didn't want to leave him, but he also didnt want to try to manuever him up to accompany Sam inside.

"Once I get back, we'll get you ito a nice, soft bed; how does that sound?"

Dean didn't reply other than to blink at Sam.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands squeezing the steering wheel in a very Dean-like move. 

"Hang in there, big brother..."