𝙀.𝙏. (𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙄𝙡𝙡𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨)
𝘈 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘢𝘮 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘪𝘤
Summary: After a hunt, Dean wakes up feeling the worst he's felt in a long time. Sam then takes it upon himself to take care of his older brother, even if it's making Dean feel worse.
Disclaimers: This is a PLATONIC oneshot about Sam and Deans sibling dynamic. Wincest DNI
A/N: Heyyyyy sorry I disappeared I started college and life became a lot. but I aint dead yet so... :D
Despised every part of it—the coughing, sneezing, snot, fever spells—and would do anything to make sure he didn't get sick. Call him a germaphobe, but he’d rather be annoying about keeping everything sanitized than becoming bed-ridden and away from hunts.
But lady luck wasn’t on his side this time.
Something was wrong as he drove baby back to the motel where he and Sam are staying. They just got done with a simple haunting, it wasn’t too much trouble, thankfully, and they were able to quickly kill it. But throughout the hunt, Dean could feel himself getting slightly worse and worse with every passing day. Every step had more weight to it, his mind felt sluggish and groggy, and there was a small tickle in his throat when he spoke too much. He knew damn well he was getting sick but refused to acknowledge it.
Suddenly, a cough rattles his lungs, breaking his train of thought, and he brings a leather-clad elbow to his mouth. His grip tightens around the wheel and he shakes his head slightly as he leans back once more to continue the drive. Sam’s eyes seem to bore into the side of his head, scrutinizing every bit of movement his face made to suppress his uncomfortability.
Dean then decides to break the silence between them. “Need something Sammy? You lookin’ at me like I did something wrong.” His gaze flickers to Sam with a lighthearted air as Sam furrows his brows.
“Are you okay man? You’ve been off this entire hunt.”
“Pfft, I’m a-okay Sammy. Just had something stuck in my throat.” He assures his brother with a small smile, albeit half-heartedly. Sam just sends him bitch face number 6, the more worried filled one, and Dean chooses to ignore him for the rest of the drive. He just wanted to get back to the motel, throw himself into his bed, and never get up.
The motel finally comes into view and Dean hastily parks Baby and dashes out of her. Dean had buried himself in the covers of his bed as Sam walked in with a snort. “Dean you’re clearly not okay, you ran out of the car like someone set fire to your ass.”
“Can’t a man crave some bedrest bitch?” Dean mumbled into the pillow, curling up into a dreamless sleep as he heard Sam scoff.
Scratch that, worse than death.
It felt like an 18 wheeler ran over him, a Djinn strung him up for weeks, and a banshee wailed in his ears for hours straight all at once. And quite frankly, he wanted to die. He slowly rolled over with a groan, the mattress creaking from his weight and the springs digging into his already sore body. He shot a glance over at Sam’s empty bed and noticed the time in bright red. 6:45 am.
“You’re shitting me.” Dean muttered in disbelief before coughs racked his body. He never woke up this early on his own volition, not unless he was sick. His body felt like lead and his wrists ached as he shoved himself up into a sitting position. However, his head had qualms about that and pounded behind his eyes relentlessly. A hiss breaks free from a sore throat while the heel of his palms pressed harshly against his eyes.
And now the one person who could help him—though he’d rather take on a Wendigo by himself butt-ass naked before he asks for help—had gone off to probably get some wack-ass leaves for breakfast. He groaned in frustration and coughed again before flopping back down on the bed. Dean debates his options for a moment, he could try to get up and get something done, or admit defeat until Sam gets back…
It doesn't take long for Dean to fall into a restless sleep.
“Oh my god- You’re sick aren't you?”
Shit, Dean didn’t even hear the motel door open, or Sam walking in for that matter. Dean glares at Sam, his eyes bloodshot and weary. “Ladies and gents we have a winner, you want a prize Sasquatch?” The green-eyed male couldn’t help but cringe at his own voice, it was raspy and barely audible over the hum of the rattling vents of the room.
Sam approaches Dean's cocooned form and puts the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead. “Damn it Dean, you should’ve told me last night.” Dean growls and smacks his hand away and harrumphs.
“I don’t need my baby brother coddling me over a simple co-” A violent cough erupts from Dean’s throat, cutting off his sentence as he doubles over to continue his coughing fit.
“Dean this isn’t a simple cold, just…lemme help out man. You always take care of me.”
Goddammit. Sam was pulling out his puppy eyes. That wasn’t fair, Dean is at his weakest right now as he sighs softly. “Fine, whatever makes you sleep at night, Sammy.”
Sam practically lights up and grabs the keys to Baby and tucks Dean into the bed—much to his discomfort. “Okay, I’m going to grab some stuff to make you feel better. Make sure you don’t move. I’ll be back shortly.” And with that Sam left a cranky Dean in the motel room.
Was it safe to say Sam had no clue what the fuck he was doing?
Dean always took care of Sam when he was sick growing up, and never got sick around Sam. Even at Stanford, his roommates or Jess took care of him. But he just wanted to do something nice for Dean, so he just blindly begged to take care of him.
Sam found himself at a corner store staring at the shelf of cold medicine in despair. They all looked the same and yet… so different. What was he supposed to pick? Was there really a big difference between all these different medicines? Sam quickly found himself regretting rising up to the task of taking care of Dean when an old lady appeared behind him.
“Sorry young man, I need to grab something from this shelf.”
Sam whipped around to see her standing behind him—he mentally kicked himself for allowing an old lady creep up behind him. He then panicked and blurted out, “Yeah, all good. Sorry Miss.” He shot her a quick smile and blindly grabbed at the shelf beside him, he then quickly moved out of her way and headed off to the canned goods aisle.
The rest of his shopping trip became a blur, grabbing items he thinks will aid in Dean’s recovery and driving back to the motel.
Alright, what was taking Sam so long?
A blanket wrapped around Dean’s weary form perched on the edge of the mattress. Boredom settled deep into his bones as the room swam around him. His parched lips were parted for him to breathe due to tissues shoved up both his nostrils to hold off the snot leaking out of them.
‘I should’ve gone shopping with Sammy. Just what is taking him so long anyway?’
Dean’s dry eyes desperately scanned the dim room in a sad attempt to find any source of entertainment. The thought of research just worsened his headache, even the methodical simple task of cleaning his guns became monumental and annoying. But then his green eyes halted on the small box tv across the room, that became his oasis in the desert of boredom that consumed him.
He took a deep breath before slowly getting up on weak legs. Dean shuffled over to the small couch and slumped down with a pained grunt. “Alright, let's see what type of movies are showing.”
He clicked the tv on and began surfing, yet nothing really stuck out to him. Dean was about to give up when the doorknob twists and in walks Sam with a bag in hand.
“Fucking finally Sam, I nearly thought you were dead.” He grumbled, tossing his head back against the couch to watch Sam sort himself out.
“Yeah, well you sound like death Dean so…” He throws a shopping bag down on the table and begins to sift through it.
“Okay, so I got some pre-made sandwiches for you, soup, extra tissues, and…” Sam hesitated before trailing off.
Dean coughs while raising a brow. “And what?”
Sam pulls out a small box and flushes darkly. “Well… umm… don’t make fun of me okay?” He begs.
Dean scoffs and straightens up with a loose grin. “What is it Sam? Did you get a box of extra large condoms or something?”
Sam remains silent, looking like he might die of embarrassment as he shows the box to Dean.
Birth control. Sam accidentally got a plan-b knockoff.
Dean looks at him in shock before erupting into laughter. Sam looks mortified and begins desperately saving his dignity, “L-Look man, I swear I got cold medicine. There was this creepy old lady who scared the shit out of me and-” He blabbers on, trying to justify himself yet Dean was too busy laughing to care.
“I just- I can’t believe you mistook that for cold medicine.” He stutters in between laughter.
Sam’s face bursts into a deep red of shame and he scrambles to grasp his coat. “Here, I can go and actually get the medicine.”
Dean shakes his head, waving Sam off. “I don’t even care at this point or even really need it Sam.” He freshens his nose tissues before beckoning his brother over. “Just bring over the food and let's watch some tv alright Sammy?”
He nods reluctantly and flops onto the rickety couch, tossing Dean a sandwich. Dean channel surfs for a bit longer as Sam remains silent, barely touching his veggie sandwich. “Now there’s no need to mope Sam, I don’t care. Really. I just appreciate the thought more than anything.”
Sam glances over at him through his bangs before a meek mutter escapes his lips. “...Really?” And just like that, Dean went straight into big brother mode.
He tosses the remote to the side and nudges Sam's shoulder with a grin. “Of course, it’s always great to have my little brother watching over me.” Dean slumps back onto the couch and motions at the TV. “Now let’s watch some E.T. so I can get better.”
The tension seems to melt from Sam’s shoulders as he smiles at Dean and nods. “Sure thing Jerk.”
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