Nothing Short of Invincible
An icy hand pressing against Dean's cheek caused him to wake, his glassy eyes shifting around the too bright motel room but not actually taking in any of his blurred surroundings. He allowed his eyes to fall shut, letting out a pained whimper as he recalled an image of the body of his younger brother lying motionless on a stained mattress, but was shaken back to reality by a strong hand on his shoulder.
"Dean, I need you to open your eyes for me. Just for a sec, ok?"
The words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Dean let out a laboured breath, and his head felt heavier against the cold hand that was still held against his cheek.
His eyes lazily fluttered open, staring up into hazel eyes that he was certain belonged to his mother.
"M...Mom..." he stumbled, letting out a relieved sigh from his aching lungs.
"No, Dean. Hey! Just keep your eyes open for a second. It's me, It's Sam, Sammy. Remember?It's me."
It was only then that the image of his baby brother seemed to focus.
"Sammy." Dean breathed, attempting a smile. Dean managed to sit up long enough for Sam to practically force medicine into him, before he was gently eased down onto his back by his not-so-little 'little' brother.
"Dean Winchester never gets sick, my ass." Sam almost smirked, running a damp washcloth over his older brother's feverish forehead.
"Flu sucks" the eldest Winchester groaned as Sam pulled the blankets up around his shaking shoulders. That was the last thing he remembered before falling back into unconsciousness.
Sam rubbed his eyes and yawned, leaning against the solid headboard of his brother's bed. Dean was restless, sweat running down his flushed cheeks which indicated to Sam that he was in for a long few days.
Thinking about it, it had all come on kinda sudden. Yesterday morning Dean seemed fine, but after a few hours of driving his sunglasses had emerged, mumbling something about a headache. That was where it all started. From there it was a downward spiral, and by lunchtime Dean had agreed to Sam taking over driving. Then dinner rolled around, by which time Dean was puking up his lunch on a hard shoulder, propping himself up against his beloved impala. After that, it hadn't taken much persuading from Sam for them to stop off at the next motel. When Sam checked on Dean during the night, he was burning up. Dean only had a year left now, and he was spending his time cooped up in a motel. Just great.
Sam's thoughts were interrupted by Dean waking up next to him with a strangled whimper, pulling down the blanket on top of him.
"S'okay, Dean." Sam whispered, glancing down at his brother, pulling the blanket back up around his shoulders.
"Neck hurts, Sammy."
"I know, but you can't have anymore meds for a few hours. Just try and go back to sleep."
Sam replaced the fallen washcloth on Dean's forehead and brushed a hand over his brother's damp hair in an attempt to soothe him as Dean curled against Sam's hip.
"Don't feel good, Sammy."
"I know. Try and sleep, Dean."
"Sammy...I think...I think I'm gonna..."
The next thing Sam knew, Dean was wide awake and sat bolt upright with the back of his fisted hand clamped against his mouth. One look at Dean's drained face alerted Sam to what Dean meant. Scanning the room, Sam cursed silently when he failed to locate the trashcan and turned back to his shaking brother.
"Think you can make it to the bathroom?" he asked, jumping up and waiting as Dean slowly shook his head once before hesitating and nodding instead. Carefully, he pressed both hands against the mattress and swung his legs over the side, almost falling onto Sam when he attempted to stand.
"I've got you" Sam assured him, hooking one arm around his older brother's waist and helping him cross the short distance to the bathroom.
All seemed to be going pretty well, all things considered, until Sam flicked on the light. A pulse of pain jolted through Dean's aching head and he lost the fight to keep what little he had in his stomach down.
Dean was fighting against Sam's grip, but Sam knew that if he let go of Dean, his brother's face would become fast friends with the tile floor. He hadn't quite thought through the alternative though, when instead of fighting against Sam's grip, Dean clutched onto his brother's old grey t-shirt and doubled up as his abdominal muscles contracted painfully, expelling his stomach contents over Sam's shirt.
"Jeeze, Dean" Sam grimaced, as his older brother spluttered and stumbled. Sam managed to lower him down to the floor and get him to the toilet incase Dean threw up again.
"'m s'rry..." Dean mumbled almost incoherently and stared up at Sam with watering green eyes.
"It's ok. It's just a shirt." Sam sighed, illustrating his point as he slipped it off, throwing into the bathtub.
Sam watched Dean unsteadily scrubbed a hand across his lips and before he slowly peeled off his older brother's damp shirt and cleaned him up. Dean shuddered as Sam ran the washcloth across his chest and neck. Normally he'd make some comment about "Nurse Sammy" but right now all he could concentrate on was the pain in his neck as though he'd slept funny, and his pulsing headache. He barely registered it when Sam pulled a hoodie over his head and hauled him to his feet.
"Let's get you back to bed, yeah?"
Dean doesn't do normal,
and that certainly applies to getting sick.
So how will Sam cope when things take a turn for the worst?