- Author: Sensue
- Summary: A "chick flick moment". Dean's sick, Sam fusses. Bit of Hurt/Comfort between the Winchester brothers. Sam's POV. (no slash, just smarm)
- Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural: the series or either of the two hot guys in it. Wish I did, especially Jensen Ackles.

- Rating: TV-14
- Pairing: Brotherly love (only): Dean/Sam.


No Chick Flick Moments

Sam lay in bed for the third consecutive day, the heaviness he'd felt in his chest only now starting to loosen. He wiped his nose with a rumpled up tissue, sniffing a little to clear his airway.

Children really were germ magnets, he huffed. Luckily, he'd gotten away from them with only a case of the flu and the horrible nightmare of being chased by a clown.

Dean had unobtrusively been caring for him non-stop since he'd nearly collapsed at the nightclub in Derry, Maine. Fluids, cough drops, chicken soup, and Tylenol capsules appeared before he'd even asked for them. Sam smiled, there were times that he believed Dean could read his mind; when he was hungry, a tray was placed in front of him. Thirsty—a tall glass of orange juice. And his favorite, cherry flavored cough drops were dropped in his palm at the first sign of discomfort.

Throughout it all, Dean refused to acknowledge Sam's 'thanks'. "The only reason I'm helping you is so that I don't have to listen to you hack up a lung all night." He made it sound selfish. It was so Dean to divert the attention away from himself; it was something he'd always done, either by making stupid jokes or twisting the conversation back to focus on Sam instead.

Take for example this morning. Dean looked pale and his voice kept breaking as if he was in puberty again, but he ignored Sam's observations by instead running out the door to get them breakfast.

Sam got up out of bed to take a shower. He was sweaty and he felt like he hadn't bathed in a week. Flushing with embarrassment, he briefly remembered that his brother had put him in the tub to lower his fever. It was pretty bad, he figured, his skin was raw from scratching and there was blood under his fingernails.

Dean hadn't talked about it, but from the slight look of concern he'd given him, whatever happened must've scared him. From the state his face was in (red, lined with scratches), it would've scared him too to remember.

Letting the rush of water hit him in the face, he let it all just wash over him. All of the tiredness that had seemed to seep in his bones over the last few days…just melting away, giving him a refreshed feeling. The warm mist helped clear his sinuses as well. He was feeling better, not quite a hundred percent yet, but nearly there.

He stayed in the spray for a few more minutes, just relaxing. There was one thing to be said about hotel rooms—the hot water almost never ran out.

Climbing out of the tub, he changed into a t-shirt and jeans, tired of wearing only his boxers and undershirt. He was putting on his socks when the door opened. Sam bounced up and down to pull up the sock before rushing over to help Dean with the bags of groceries that he'd bought.

"I hope you bought a cereal with more nutrients than sugar this time, Dean." He'd joked half-heartedly; knowing that his brother ALWAYS bought the sugar filled Lucky Charms. The laugh was cut short as he stared into Dean's face.

Taking a second to glance out the window, it didn't seem that hot outside—Hell, it looked cold from the way the wind was blowing the trees. And yet, Dean was sweating as if he'd run a mile being chased by a hound from hell.

"Dean?" Sam asked, "You alright?"

Dean looked up, his eyes were red and irritated; Sam also didn't fail to notice how he gulped several times, rubbing his neck before speaking. "I'm fine." It came out in a breath, right before his entire body starting shaking as he coughed. The cough was deep, leaving Dean hanging onto the table top as he heaved and tried to breathe.

Sam immediately came up behind him, thumping his back until he stopped coughing. "Yeah, you're fine, alright." He mumbled, watching him closely. Dean'd stopped coughing, but he was still leaning against the table; his face was almost completely beaded with sweat and he was losing color—becoming incredibly pale. "Dean?" He asked again, concern tingeing his voice.

Dean didn't answer, instead leaned more heavily against the table. Sam watched his brother's shaking hands gripped the top, as if to keep himself from falling. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head closer to the table. Reacting immediately, he grabbed him around the waist and guided him down to the floor. He kept Dean's head cushioned against his shoulder until he was lowered, pulled off his jacket to cool him off, and then gently rested him flat on the carpeted floor.

There was no response. His hand flew to Dean's neck to check his pulse. It was rapid but gradually slowing to its normal rate. He was breathing. Sam ran to his bed and grabbed the pillows, lifting up Dean's legs to elevate them. There a small moan a few seconds later, then a hard gulp.

Thanking his brother silently for making things easier for him, he ran to get the bottle of water Dean had left by his bed and the package of paper towels. He wet the towel thoroughly and began running it down his face and neck. Sam was unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt when Dean stirred.

His voice was barely audible. "Sammy?" a cough "What happened?"

Sam put the cloth on his forehead, patting the area before answering. "You passed out, Dean. How are you feeling?"

Eyes at half-mast, Dean whispered. "Just tired. I'm okay, though. Just give me a few minutes, alright, Sam?"

With a steady hand, Sam cupped his brother's jaw, letting his fingers palpate the soft tissue. Unsurprisingly, his fingers found several lumps on both sides of his neck. Dean flinched at the touch, pulling away. "Dean, your lymph nodes are swollen and you've obviously lost your voice--"

"I'm fine." He huffed again, trying to sit up but unable to do so because Sam kept holding him in place.

"Dean, just lie still. Or do you want to pass out again?" Sam tried to sound strict, but it ended up sounding unsure. He straightened, "Just stay here for a few minutes until you're not as pale as the last ghost we hunted. I'm going to get you some juice. I'll be right back."

Standing up, he went over to the small fridge in the corner of the room to pull out a small bottle of orange juice. He did a double take, surprised that the label said "100 fruit juice" instead of the cheap sunny 'citrus drink' they'd always bought. His brow crinkled as he remembered that vitamin C was supposed to help aid the immune system… thinking how'd Dean remember that fact?

Kneeling beside Dean, he lifted up his head, making sure that he wasn't going to pass out before bringing the container of juice to his lips. Dean's hand flew to hold the bottle himself—not wanting to look weak in front of his little brother. He barely took a sip before launching up to a sitting position in order to cough. Sam patted him on the back, waiting until he stopped coughing in order to have him drink more juice.

Dean waved the bottle away, re-capping it and letting it roll away from him. "Dean, you need to drink something!"

"I can't—." His broken voice blurted, "it burns."

Sam closed his eyes in sympathy. "Your throat, huh?"

Again, Dean insisted, "It's fine."

Just nodding, Sam let him have his own way for now. Sometimes it was just easier to let things happen. Dean was sick—if he didn't want to admit it, Sam wasn't going to force him. But it didn't mean that he wasn't going to take care of him—whether he wanted it or not.

Lifting Dean up from under his arms, he helped him into bed. Dean toed his shoes off and crawled under the cover the moment he hit the mattress. His eyes closed and he instantly fell asleep; Sam had expected it. He'd fainted before—once after he'd given a blood donation and a couple times after he'd been injured. Once he regained consciousness, all he wanted to do was to go back to sleep—as if fainting had robbed him of all the energy he had. So, it didn't surprise him that Dean had fallen asleep so quickly.

While Dean slept, he put the groceries away and cleaned up around the hotel—picking up tissues that hadn't made it to the waste basket and things like that. It was quiet and the waning adrenaline rush was making Sam feel tired again.

He went over to his side of the bed, then lay down next to his brother. His eyes closed of their own accord as he too succumbed to the healing call of sleep.


I may continue this with another chapter...what do you think?