Jared's Birthday Fanfic Exchange:
This is for the gorgeous Blue Peanut
John and Dean forget Sam's birthday and take off on a hunt, Sam doesn't go as he's really unwell. He has a vision that something bad has happened, and forces his weary body to go and help, stealing a car to get him there. He saves the day, but ends up worse than he was which results in a hospital visit where the Doctor just happens to mention that it's turned into a bad birthday for the boy, causing John and Dean to realize their mistake.
Bonus points for icy weather and crashed car be it the Impala or Sam's.
Just wanted to add that Sam's: 17, Dean's: 21
Bye, bye baby bunting … Daddy and Dean's gone a-hunting!
Sam stared at his older brother with a mixture of indignant hatred and jealousy, he felt miserable with annoying pains in his side, an unreliable stomach and a slight fever and just an all over achy feeling. Dean was too excited and his constant babbling and joking was really starting to get on Sam's nerves.
Sighing heavily he tried to roll over and get more comfortable but the movement cost him dearly and he audibly gasped in pain. Biting his lip Sam tried to play down the fact that he seemed to be getting worse, because even though he hated the fact that Dean was going on the hunt without him he didn't want to make his brother feel guilty for leaving or to feel obligated to stay with him and miss out completely. That and the fact that if Dean had to stay behind as soon as Sam was well again, Dean would find a way to get back at him for getting sick in the first place or something just as bad, as Dean would say "it's in the big brother handbook, rule number twenty-nine subparagraph two… Big brothers have the right to torment said little brothers for getting sick and making the awesome big brother miss anything."
Sam rationalised his situation the best he could, the quicker Dean and their dad could go and do the hunt then the faster they could get back for his birthday. Although, it was not a milestone one he was turning seventeen in three days and for the first time in a long time all three of them were together … relatively together anyway.
"Sammy!" Dean stopped his packing and went to sit on the edge of Sam's bed; he had called his brother's name a few times and was now beyond worried. "Dammit bro answer me."
"Huh?" Sam blinked and for a moment felt the panic rise when he couldn't focus on Dean's face properly. After a couple more blinks and a scrubbing at his eyes he was able to see his brother albeit a little hazily. "I'm fine Dean honestly."
"Dude I called you four times before I got an answer from ya, that's it I'm gonna go and tell dad that I'm staying home with you and that he'll have to get Caleb or someone to help with the hunt."
There they were the words Sam dreaded to hear, swallowing deeply against the rising ball of vomit, he literally forced himself to calm down and gave Dean his best kicked puppy look, "I'll be fine, anyway the quicker you go the quicker you'll get back for …"
"Dean come on we have to go now," John barked angrily he stood in the doorway of the boys' bedroom and stared down at his sons talking, "Sam'll be fine it's just the stomach flu going around the school we got hikers dying …"
"Dad he's getting worse maybe I should …"
"Go Dean I'll be fine," Sam mumbled softly, "I just wanna sleep anyway."
"He'll be fine and it's too late to call anyone in, the sooner we get going the sooner we'll be back for Sam." John reasoned his gaze flickered over his youngest and it tore at his heart when he took in Sam's feverish state and obvious pain and for the briefest of seconds he reconsidered taking Dean with him but his hunter's logic took over and the thought was gone. "I'm fine Dean, I got the phone here and if I need ya I'll call," Sam promised yawning again, "m'tired anyways."
Dean tossed his duffle in the trunk next to his dad's and then he stared up at their bedroom window, torn between Sam and the hunt. It had been a difficult time for the three of them lately, especially between Sam and their dad.
Maybe they'll be better after a couple of days apart the thought ran through his mind as he waited for John, knowing that their dad would be giving Sam a list of dos and don'ts. Though the kid was barely able to sit up without vomiting; Dean straightened his shoulders and made a snap decision but just as he went back to grab his duffle his father appeared at the end of the car a thunderous look on his face. "Get in the car now Dean." He ordered and without a backwards glance to the house he strode to the driver's side and had the car roaring to life before Dean had a chance to blink.
Sam lay in his bed shivering violently, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had to get up and change his sweat-soaked sheets but the energy to do so no longer existed. Blearily he tried to focus on the clock sitting on the nightstand but it was just a blur. Knowing he was alone in the small house Sam let himself cry out in pain, which was more often than not now. Sharp and vicious it streaked across his abdomen and down his side, this time it took his breath away, leaving him gasping and sobbing. He wanted Dean so badly.
Pushing himself upright Sam fought against the dizziness and nausea, Dean was just downstairs, he was sure that he was playing hide and seek with Sam and that he would find his big brother slouching on the couch. "M'coming Dean," he was sure that he called it out but his own voice sounded so muffled and faraway.
Disorientated Sam stumbled out of the bedroom and then tried to workout which door was the bathroom. Swaying dizzily Sam lurched towards the door and managed to somehow drop to his knees in front of the toilet before he vomited up the last of the bitter bile inhabiting his stomach. Vaguely he remembered his dad ordering him to drink the water next to his bed, but not what to do if he drank it all. "Dean!" He rasped out with a heaving sob, "Dean … needs you …"
John finished the last stitch for Dean and sat back wearily taking a quick breather before tending to his other cut. They were too far from the impala to hike there safely; the hunt was a disaster he was so sure that it was a Wendigo all of the signs pointed to it. Although he was so sick, Sam managed to get the research done for him and was the first to point out to his dad that it wasn't a Wendigo that it was in fact a Wraith, inhabiting the park probably posing as a park ranger.
John immediately dismissed Sam's theory stating that because he was not well that he did not have the concentration or the energy to research carefully enough and that there is more evidence of a Wendigo attack than that of a Wraith.
He shook his head feeling a twinge of self-loathing, he had done it again, he had shot Sam down when his son was right and he was wrong. The great hunter John Winchester was once again bested by his sixteen year old son. His son who was scarily intelligent tried to tell him but John knew better and wouldn't listen. Now, now his eldest was lying unconscious on the ground in the middle of the wilderness with two slash marks on his chest and another wound on his neck from where the Wraith tried to feed from him.
They had armed themselves with flares, matches, cans of lighter fluid and scraps of material, enough to kill a Wendigo but not a Wraith. He needed silver, the silver bullets sitting snug in the trunk of the impala.
Sam slowly regained awareness in a painful series of the reawakening of his symptoms. Pain spiked down his legs as well as across his chest now making it hard for him to breathe. He had trouble focusing and was seeing at least two of everything, his stomach empty and burning from the acidic bile growled at him. Although it was his thirst that hurt the worst, his dry mouth "screamed" for something wet, his cracked lips tasted of blood and salt, his throat was trying to work but instead was starting to implode on him.
After two attempts Sam finally managed to stand up on shaking "newborn-foal-like" legs, propping himself on the basin he cupped a trembling hand under the cold tap and after a few goes managed to get some of the blessedly cold fluid down his parched throat.
Aware enough to realise that if he drank too much, too quick that he would probably vomit the water back up, and so he forced himself to sip the water until he could swallow properly again. With one eye closed Sam managed to focus on the glass next to the basin left there by Dean in his hurry to pack and leave him.
Sam whimpered softly when he thought of his brother and father, they were gone tired of his constant questions and getting sick at the drop of a proverbial hat. Yeah, Dean was probably chatting up a girl in some nameless bar while their dad was off hunting his next prey. They were gone and free of Sam.
"No, No Dean wouldn't do that to me!" Sam cried out the sound of his own voice startling to his ears. Hoarse and rough from disuse he sounded like a husky twelve year old with a changing voice.
Bracing himself for what he had to do next, Sam pushed away from the basin and lurched out of the bathroom coming to a stop at the top of the stairs, he swayed dangerously as he tried to clear his vision enough to navigate the staircase. Clutching the balustrade with one hand Sam used his other to guide himself down by running it along the wall. With each step down he felt the pull on his side even more but he ignored it and instead kept his thoughts fixed on just one, get to the kitchen.
He dropped a slice of bread into the toaster figuring dry toast would stay down, pushing himself towards the fridge he pulled out the milk and poured a small glass of it leaving the carton on the bench when he heard the toast pop up. Sinking tiredly onto a kitchen chair Sam nibbled the piece of dry toast and sipped his milk. Feeling a little more aware for the first time in days, Sam let his gaze wonder around the small kitchen, unwashed dishes sat piled in the sink, the rubbish can was full and needing to be emptied. The slightly mutilated calendar hung on the wall just near his left shoulder.
Sadly he gazed at the date, his birth date and there was still no sign of Dean or his dad, another birthday he'll end up spending alone … yet again.
Dean moaned and slowly opened his eyes immediately regretting it when the sunlight, although filtered by the canopy of tree tops was still too bright for his over-sensitive eyes.
"Dean? You finally decide to join the land of the living?" John sat up straighter and stretched his back and neck, "how you feeling kiddo?"
"Like I got put through a meat mincer," Dean pushed the words out as he tried to sit up, "how long have I been out?"
"A little over twenty-four hours …"
"Shit dad, did you call Sam?"
"I had a little more pressing things to worry about," John snapped angrily the thought hadn't even crossed his mind, way to get the father of the year award Winchester, the thought echoed in his mind but was not vocalised.
"Ah dad I just got a little cut up that's all," Dean played down his own pain he wanted to get back to his sick brother, "so not a Wendigo?"
"Nope, looks like Sam was right … a Wraith."
"A Wraith?" Dean blinked at his father as he tried to replay what happened to him in his mind, the friendly park ranger who gave just enough information to satisfy them without raising questions. The ambush where they had found the latest victim, head crushed open, brain matter, gore and blood splattered over the small clearing. The sudden pain across his chest when he was attacked, choking on his own blood he felt the spike breach his skin and was vaguely aware of his father jumping into the fray when everything went black.
"Dammit dad we've got to get back to Sammy, he'll be making himself sicker with worrying about us." Dean finally spoke to his father, only to be stunned into silence at his father's next words.