Don't own the Winchesters or anything Supernatural-related. This was another one for the comment-fic meme. Just some good old-fashioned sick Dean. Hope you enjoy!
He knew he shouldn't have eaten those tacos. They had looked greasy and heart-burn inducing and oh so delicious. And Sam had warned him not to eat them, telling him he'd regret it later. Boy was he right.
Dean groaned quietly, trying his best not to wake his brother. He was so not up for a lecture right now, not when he felt like all kinds of shit, curled up on the bathroom floor, trying his best to keep it together and not start bawling like a freaking baby. But it was hard, especially when he'd been puking his guts up for what felt like hours, spewing bodily fluids from both ends.
Dean had no idea what time it was, had no idea what time it had been when he'd been forced to crawl out of the surprisingly-comfortable motel bed when his stomach had begun gurgling in warning, letting him know that if he didn't get up and make it to the bathroom soon he'd be very sorry. He'd barely lifted the seat of the toilet before he was puking his guts out, salsa, sour cream, and beef combining to leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth, coloring the toilet water brown. Dean had no idea how that hadn't woken Sam – he hadn't exactly been trying to be stealthy about it, his body too concerned with evacuating the nasty toxins he'd forced into it.
That was hours ago. Dean hadn't even tried to leave the confines of the bathroom, though he had been trying his best to be quiet about it over time, realizing that it was in his best interest not to alert Sam to his current predicament. Still, he almost wished Sam would wake up. Dean could take the scolding if he got some TLC in return. He was starting to feel shaky and weak, knew he was getting dehydrated, and if the chills coursing through his body were any indication, he had a fever to top it all off. Dean just prayed the morning would come and all this would go away.
After he finished puking for what felt like the hundredth time, Dean managed to crawl back to bed, knowing he needed to try to get some sleep and he certainly wouldn't be able to do that lying on the cold bathroom floor. He pulled himself into bed, cocooning himself in the blankets and wrapping his arms around his quivering stomach, willing sleep to come.
Sam awoke at the crack of dawn, lying in bed for a few minutes before deciding to get up and shower. He looked across the room at his brother, smiling at the nest Dean seemed to have made for himself. The only part visible was the top of Dean's head poking out from the covers. Sam grabbed a change of clothes and started heading to the bathroom, stopping when he heard a low moan coming from Dean's bed.
"Dean?" he asked, waiting to see if his brother would respond. The only answer he got was another soft moan and his concern ratcheted up a notch. On closer inspection, he realized that the mound of blankets was shaking and shivering. Sam pulled the covers back, exposing a pale, shaky Dean. He put his hand to Dean's forehead, shocked at how hot he was. "Dean," Sam said more loudly, shaking his brother.
Dean looked up at him with bleary eyes. He was about to say something when he gulped hard, quickly bringing a hand up to his mouth. Sam reacted quickly, grabbing the garbage can and setting it down in front of his brother right before he started heaving. He stood by, concerned while his brother suffered. When Dean was finished, he fell back bonelessly against the pillows.
"You're really sick," Sam said in realization, recognizing the signs of Dean's illness from the night before. It was clear this wasn't the first time Dean had thrown up. "Dean," Sam said, getting his attention. "How long has this been going on?" Dean mumbled something quietly and Sam leaned closer to hear. "What was that?"
"Last night," he repeated. "Stupid tacos."
Ah yes, the tacos, Sam thought. Those things had looked vile. Sam studied Dean again, recognizing the signs of dehydration. He was ghostly pale yet he wasn't sweating even with the high fever. Sam quickly took Dean's pulse, Shit. "Have you had any water since you got sick?" he asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer to that.
Dean gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. "Kept throwin' it up."
Sam nodded, trying to decide what to do. Dean was clearly very sick, had been suffering through this on his own. And dehydration was nothing to mess with. "C'mon bro," Sam told him, pulling Dean forward. "Hospital time."
"Don't need hospital, Sam. Just can't stop puking."
Sam sighed. "Exactly, Dean. You're dehydrated. The doctors will run an IV and you'll feel better in no time."
Dean gulped again, looking sick and incredible young. "Kay," he agreed. Sam helped him pull on sweats and a t-shirt, shoving Dean's feet into his shoes without bothering to tie the laces. He supported Dean as they walk-stumbled to the car, tucking him in to the passenger seat with a blanket draped over him.
The hospital was crowded, but that was no surprise. Dean wasn't doing any better by the time they'd gotten there – Sam had had to pull over three times to let Dean puke nothing but air and bile. After Sam had checked in with the front desk, he'd returned to Dean's side, letting his brother rest his burning-hot head on Sam's shoulder. They stayed like that for nearly five hours, only changing positions when Dean would groan, indicating that he needed the emesis basin again.
After what seemed like an interminably long time, Dean was finally led back to an exam room, Sam helping him the whole way. Sam was allowed to stay while a harried-looking doctor examined Dean, telling the brothers what they already knew – Dean was severely dehydrated, a result of the food poisoning that he'd acquired from last night's dinner. The doctor sent a nurse in to set up an IV, administering fluids into Dean's depleted body and anti-emetics to help with the nausea. By the time the nurse was finished, Dean was already dozing, his body aching for sleep. Sam pulled up a chair, watching as his brother's features softened and his breathing evened-out.
Dean awoke several hours later, feeling a million times better than he had when they'd arrived. He looked over, feeling a heavy pressure on his arm, realizing that Sam was lying on it, asleep. "Sammy," Dean called, trying to shift his arm. Sam sat up quickly, hair sticking in all directions.
"Dean!" he said warmly, happy to see his brother looking so much better. "You look better."
Dean nodded. "Feel it too. Man that was awful." He looked over at his brother, seeing Sam's lips quirking up in a smile. "Sam...I still feel shitty," he tried. "Don't say..."
Sam grinned widely, cutting him off, "I told you so!"
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