Daddy's Little Soldier (SPN) - Dean

[HPG]

Oh, poor Dean! Whatever illness he has plus cat allergies - yikes! Sam is such a good brother for him.

[spirkestielgirl87]

This story is amazing! The case is intriguing, the characterization is accurate, the sneezing is well-timed, and the care-taking is perfect! I LOVE it!

[HPG]

Dean!!!

[MissBayliss]

Ok, I've realised a mistake in my last post. I said buried... I meant burnt! Sorry, a lot of the writing occurs late at night and is unbeta'd Please forgive!

[MissBayliss]

***

When Sam woke it was dark outside, the light over their kitchenette brightening up the room. He couldn’t figure out what had woken him. He was so deeply sleeping, not dreaming, peaceful at last, and he was pulled from away from it. A light tap was heard against the door. Angela, he thought, running a hand down his face. He sniffed and coughed, looked over at his brother.

“Dean?”

Dean was lying on his back, his face turned towards Sam, sleeping so soundly, his congested breaths rattling in his chest. His neck was pink but the welts had gone down.

The tap came again.

“Boys? Are you alright?” the worry in her small voice was apparent.

Sam sat up, coughed again into a fist. His head felt like a bowling ball and his body protested every movement.

He got to the door, running a hand through his hair and opened it.

“Sam, are you alright?”

Sam blinked, rubbed his face again, “Yeah,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “Yeah, is something wrong?”

“Something wrong?” she asked, “It’s been eleven hours since I left. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Have you been sleeping this whole time?”

Sam’s mind couldn’t process information as quickly as he usually could. He fixed his wandering eyes on her.

“Eleven hours?” he looked at his watch, squinted to see the time, “God, why’re you up so late?”

“Well, I said I’d bring you dinner, didn’t I?” she quirked an eyebrow in such a mum-like way, “I know you need to rest but you also need to eat. How’s Dean doing? I’m so sorry about what happened,” she wrung her hands, obviously guilty.

“It’s fine,” Sam paused, held up a hand, turned away and, “Het’schuu!.. sorry.”

“Bless you, hon.”

Sam ignored her, “Dean’s allergies aren’t that bad usually, and it’s just cats but, I guess he’s not in top physical condition to begin with,” Sam bent at the waist, coughing against the back of his arm. Stars shot across his vision.

“Dear, come sit down,” she said, pushing him inside and into a chair.

Sam tried not to notice the fact she’d just let herself into their motel room, but let’s face it. Sam had been trying to look after his brother, give him food and antibiotics but he just couldn’t right now. He couldn’t even remember to eat, himself. They needed someone, and God knows, their father wouldn’t help them. He would if he was there. He’d pat them on the head, make his famous kitchen sink soup. That was before he’d pull the covers off them and tell them to be a man about it two days later, sending them out on a hunt together, like the time Dean’d got viral meningitis and ended up in the ER. He was so sick by the time they got there they thought he might not make it through the night. That was the last time Sam had seen him this sick, apart from the whole massive heart attack, there’s nothing we can do thing. Their dad had it tough bringing them up on his own, but he’d tried to make the best of it, even if he didn’t know what the hell he was doing half the time. A woman’s touch was definitely missing. Sam never knew his mother, he didn’t miss her, because he didn’t know any better, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the void.

Cool fingers were placed against his cheek and he couldn’t help but sag into them. The hand was moved to across his forehead.

“Have you taken anything for your fever?”

Sam looked up at her with glazed eyes, “Uh, only just woke up.”

“That’s a no then,” she smiled, “Where’s your tylenol?”

“Bedside table,” Sam pointed a heavy hand, watching as Angela creeped between the beds, her eyes flitting over Dean’s sleeping form. She put a hand against his head and he let out a little moan but didn’t wake.

“Het’schoo! Huh’tchkuu!” Sam hunched over, sneezing into his elbow. When he opened his eyes, Ange was in front of him with the tylenol and a glass of water, “Thanks,” he croaked, taking it from her.

“I made chicken noodle soup,” she beamed, “I’ll bring it over for you two. You should wake Dean. I’ll be back in a minute.”

And as soon as she had come, she was gone. Sam scrubbed both hands across his face. He was still so tired. His stomach let out a massive growl.

“Woah,” he croaked, rubbing a palm across it.

And hungry.

“Dean,” he called, a little below his normal speaking volume, obviously it didn’t get much of a result.

He stood up and maneuvered his way to Dean’s bed, plonking down at his waist. He put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.

“Dean, come on, man.”

Dean startled awake, arms flailing.

“Woah, alright, relax. It’s me,” Sam said, shielding himself from the wayward limbs.

Dean flopped against the bed, bonelessly, bright green eyes fixed on his brother.

“What the hell time is it?” is what Sam could decipher from the husky croak, cutting in and out in the middle of words, that was now his brother’s voice.

“Almost midnight,” Sam rubbed his eyes again, pulled the covers away from Dean so he could get a good look at his neck.

“Shit...” Dean moaned, curling in on himself. He bunched the blankets up around his face, “huh’ehTSCHUo! Hup’SCHTEew!”

“Bless. You take your antibiotic?” Sam asked. He knew the answer already.

“Was a little busy,” he swallowed, “trying not to die.”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Sam stood on shaky legs, hit his brother with his pillow, trying to make light of the situation and how obviously scared they’d both been. Especially when Dean sort of, almost, couldn’t breathe.

“Ow, bitch!” Dean’s voice squeaked like a 14 year old girl. He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow, “I hate cats...”

***

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Is it bad that I enjoy the suffer these boys go through? It melts my heart at the brotherly love.

[spirkestielgirl87]

Nice update! I am loving your style. I especially liked the flashbacky part about John's kitchen sink stew. Nice nod to 8x21 As soon as I heard that in that episode, my mind immediately started making up sick weechesters scenarios. I like the way you did it. I could totally imagine him making them soup and then two days later when a case comes along telling them to suck it up ha ha

[MissBayliss]

Okay, so I may have taken a little detour from the story with this short little part! It is pure whumpage and I apologise if that's not your thing but... I was in a mood.

***

The soup was kind of good. Okay, the soup was amazing. It soothed Sam’s scratchy throat, cleared the fog away from his mind and warmed his chest, and for once that day he wasn’t shivering.

Dean was nursing his. The slow, cautious way he was eating it, showed how hard it’d been for him to keep down food the last few days. Sam hadn’t had the same nausea his brother had been having, which was good, just the general lack of appetite that came with swallowing mucus all day past your hideously engorged throat.

“It’s actually pretty good,” Sam gave his brother a sideways glance. They were both propped up in their beds, on top of the mountain of extra pillows and blankets Angela had brought them. When she saw how hungry Sam was she rushed back to get some more. She’d already plied Dean with pills, much to his disgust, more than likely towards his pathetic self.

Dean nodded, stirring the spoon around in his bowl. Completely done with the idea of talking. Although his raging sinus infection probably made it hard to taste anything. At least the steam from the bowl was working at decongesting both of them.

Sam held the bowl up off his lap and he sneezed in the general direction of his shoulder.

“Hup’schkoo! Hat’atchoo! Hit’sscxhuu!”

His hair flopped in front of his face, and he sniffled, trying to stop his nose from running freely all over himself. He sat the soup down of the nightstand and plucked a tissue from the box at his hip.

He blew his nose wetly, and there was no way one tissue was going to be enough. He grabbed two more and tried to blow out as much as he could and alleviate some of the pressure. He was out of breath by the end of it and that was just sad. Dropping the tissues in the bin in between their beds he glanced at Dean, who was staring glazed green eyes at him.

“What?” he asked, sounding more like ‘Whad?’, and cleared his throat.

Dean shook his head again, taking another mouthful of soup, wincing as it went down. His breath started to hitch and he didn’t have time to move before...

“Het’SCHXUuu!”

Soup splashed all over his lap, and it was definitely not cold either.

Sam figured Dean was trying to scream or curse, but it was just a squeaky expel of air out his mouth, with no similarities to actual words. He scrambled out of his own bed as Dean kicked wildly with his legs to get the scorching sheet off him, still holding onto the bowl as the hot liquid ran down his hands. Although, Sam didn’t counter for the tilt that came with getting up that quickly and he was soon on his ass in between their beds.

Of course, that was the moment Angela entered, carrying another container of soup. Dean was lying uncovered in his bed, wearing only his boxers, holding a bowl of soup with a pair of bright pink hands.

“What in the... Where’s Sam?” she asked, staring in amazement.

“Uh, over here,” Sam waved a hand from his position on the floor.

“Oh my lord...” she sighed, “I can’t leave you alone for one minute...”

***

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Ha! Omg Sam! He's such a doll I swear.

[Dylan]

Dean was lying uncovered in his bed, wearing only his boxers, holding a bowl of soup with a pair of bright pink hands.

“What in the... Where’s Sam?” she asked, staring in amazement.

“Uh, over here,” Sam waved a hand from his position on the floor.

This made me giggle like a toddler omg :')

[MissBayliss]

***

Angela looked over Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You eat all of that now, dear.”

Dean grunted, then coughed. She took the bowl from him until he got it under control. Sam would have laughed at him if he wasn’t so concerned. Dean obviously didn’t want to be babied, but, desperate times.

She clucked her tongue, handing the soup back to Dean, rubbing a hand across his shoulder. “Dean, you’ve got to keep these antibiotics down. You’ve definitely got more than one infection in there... Maybe you shouldn’t go to the house tomorrow...”

Dean’s wide eyes found Sam’s.

“We’ll be fine by tomorrow,” he assured, punctuating his sentence with a thick sniff.

She gave him mom eyes again, and that was getting far too regular.

“Well, not fine but we’ll manage. Really, you should go get some sleep,” Sam bit back a yawn himself, decided to cough instead. His raw throat pulled at him and he couldn’t help the tears in his eyes, ‘cause it hurt so much.

She turned from him, returning to the little kitchenette to wash Sam’s bowl up.

“I don’t need to sleep, hon. Worry about yourself.”

“I’m serious, you don’t need to do this...”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” she stopped, shoulders slumping forward slightly, eventually she turned to face them, “Sam, you just told me my husband’s a ghost... who’s killing people. And I can’t do a thing to stop it!” Sam opened his mouth but she wasn’t done yet, “So, I can do what I can... and that’s look after you two.”

Dean and Sam were both wide eyed at her, before Sam decided it was time for the puppy face.

“Angela, I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, turning back around, “Just... don’t.”

Sam and Dean were both quiet after that, submitting to the temperature check she forced on them a minute later. The tension slowly drifted from the room as the boys became engrossed with the Indiana Jones marathon that was currently on.

“Twenty more minutes. If Dean can finish his soup and keep it down, I’ll go,” she relented.

Dean rolled his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later though, and an empty bowl of soup, he wasn’t joking around anymore. His skin had gone a decidedly green colour and he was doing that compulsive swallowing thing again.

“Here, breathe through it, son,” she said, handing him a pill and a glass of water.

“What’s that?” Sam asked.

“Anti-nausea, if he can keep that down long enough it should work...”

Dean was sweating again. Focusing on not throwing up seemed harder than it should be. His head was tipped back against his pillow, lips slightly parted, brow creased, eyes closed.

When they finally made it into safe territory she made him drink a bit more water and then finally left them for the night, and Sam actually found himself missing her presence in the room.

Dean was looking a bit better now. Obviously he still looked like rolled over crap, but he didn’t look like he wanted to pass out or throw up which was good. Imagine, eating food and keeping it down was good for the body. Whodda thunk it?

Sam stared at his brother. This cold. This cold. That’s all it had been. The kind that made Dean feel crappy enough to complain about it every five seconds. That was manageable. Complaining Dean was actually preferable to silent Dean. Silent Dean, too sick to complain. Too sore to complain, with only air and no actual voice. Air that probably hurt to move around his weakened respiratory system. This damn cold. Now sinusitis, and probably laryngitis or bronchitis, or something else ending in ‘itis’.

He thought about dad. When they’d got Dean to the ER he was clutching his head, unable to move his neck, whimpering. He was 24... 24 and whimpering. Sam thought back at how that had been another load on the camels back that forced him out the door to Stanford. How his dad had neglected Dean until the hunt was barely over and Dean was barely alive. Dean, his daddy’s good little soldier, never brave enough to stand up to him until he literally couldn’t stand. But how could that have been something that made Sam leave? It just meant he was leaving Dean alone with his father. Without anyone to protect him, and shout when enough was friggen enough. He couldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have been that selfish, could he?

And then there was Jess. Way out of his league, way too accepting. He didn’t deserve her, just like he didn’t deserve a brother like Dean. And you know what, he’d left her alone too. Just like his brother. And she’d died, like he knew she would. Burning on the ceiling, Dean pulling him out of the fire again. He should have just left him there to die. No, that would be selfish again. Then Dean would be on his own for real. Then who’d look after him, cause Christ knows, he wouldn’t look after himself. Sam never had a plan. Stanford. Stanford was the plan. But in the bigger scheme of things it was leaving. His plan, his whole life, had been to leave. Leave the life, leave his dad, leave his brother. The only thing he knew how to do was leave. He had to change his plan. Now his plan had to be to stick around.

*Click*

Dean was clicking his fingers in front of him. Sam’s focus snapped back on is brother, his brother that he’d been staring at the entire time he was having a stroke.

Dean waved a hand, then held them, palms up, either side of him. What the hell, dude?

“Sorry,” Sam shook his head, “Was thinking...”

Dean made the crazy symbol, with his finger swirling around his temple.

“Yeah, thinking, Dean. You should try it some time,” he smiled, weakly throwing a used tissue at his brother.

Dean mouthed ‘gross’ and flipped him off.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Sam said, adjusting his pillows so he could lie down.

“Hat’SCHKXUuu!”

“Ouch,” Sam sympathised, looking over at Dean, who had a hand pressing into his eyes, like he was afraid they were going to pop out. He nodded, weakly, dropping the hand.

“I’m serious. Sleep time, sicky,” Sam said, flicking the TV off.

Dean held a hand out towards the TV, his eyes screaming, Dude, I was watching that!

“Not anymore. Go to sleep,” Sam said, flicking the lamp off and curling on his side, ignoring the sound of Dean trying to curse.

Eventually though, he heard Dean settle, and the congested breaths evened out. Their fevers were both significantly down since this morning and they had full bellies of soup, and pain meds in their system. Tomorrow was a new day, hopefully a better day, but that was yet to be seen. Sam went to sleep.

***

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Dean!!!! Sam!!!!

Two sicky babys and a caring 'nurse'. love it!

[Sawyer]

Love to see them getting cared for like that. I'm always so impressed by how long you're able to keep stories going! You just expand and expand and never run out of material, it seems!

[spirkestielgirl87]

wonderful update:)

[MissBayliss]

Thanks, guys! Sorry this has taken me so long. I don't know where I'm going, just hoping you enjoy the ride! Some Dean POV in this next part to mix it up little shorter than usual, sorry.

***

Sam actually felt better when he woke up. The sun was streaming into their room, telling him it was later than they would usually get up. Except Dean was already up. Sam blinked his eyes into focus at the empty bed. His head was still a little foggy, his throat hurt and he still had that niggle that made him want to cough.

“Het’SCHOoo!”

Oh, and that.

He reached for a tissue to wipe his nose as the bathroom door clattered open, emerging a slightly red-faced Dean, looking, well, just as bad as the day before.

Noticing the way he was swallowing, Sam threw his tissue on the ground, “You okay?”

“Got my voice back,” he swallowed again.

“Barely,” Sam scoffed.

Dean just shrugged, “Come on, let’s go gank a ghost.”

Dean swayed slightly where he was standing and put a bracing hand against the wall.

“Dean...”

“I’ll do the coffee run,” He pushed off the wall and snagged the impalas keys off the table, leaving while Sam was still gaping at him.

***

Dean’s POV.

***

Dean hunched against the chill that creeped around him as soon as he’d stepped out the door, the morning dose of tylenol lost down the toilet half an hour ago, along with his stomach lining. He coughed against the back of his hand, feeling the warm mucus spray against it. Green. Lovely. He wiped his hand on his jeans as he walked. He felt like shit. Worse than shit. He walked as fast as he could, gratefully slumping behind the wheel of his baby. He rested his head on the steering wheel as he started her, not wanting to pause long enough for Sam to come after him. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d been this sick. He wanted to curl up and die, at least there’d be some relief in that. But, no, he had too many responsibilities. You can’t look after bitchy little brothers if you’re dead. And you don’t want Sam looking for dad on his own.

Dean drove to a coffee shop the other side of town, which was probably still walking distance from the motel, not in his current condition however. He sat in the car for too long, thumbing the front of his phone. What if he did call dad?

He flipped it open and scrolled down to Dad.

He bit his lip, pressed a hand against his face as he geared up for a sneeze.

“Hut’SCHOo!”

Nope, not done.

“Hap’CSHcuu! Hat’ACHuo! Hit’tsSSHUuu! Huh... Heh’pSHHCTOoo!... Gahhh,” he growled, when the fit had subsided.

He snuffled pathetically. He was pathetic, and he wanted dad, dammit.

He cleared his throat for about a minute before hitting call, and putting the phone to his ear. His ears were so gunked up he could barely understand the voicemail, but he knew what it said.

If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean...

“Dad,” God, he sounded terrible, “Listen, Sam and I got a case but... We’re not doing so hot... I can’t... I don’t want to do this without you, dad. Uh...” he pressed his eyes closed, shook his head at himself, “Forget it... We, uh, we’ll be fine. Sorry... sorry.”

He hung up, stared at the phone for a while like it was an octopus, then threw it against the passenger side door and punched the steering wheel.

What was he supposed to say? He was supposed to say nothing! Why even call dad? What the hell was he going to do? Come and hold their hand? Oh, and by the way, my heart didn’t explode. Thanks for asking.

He slammed the impala door, knees buckling slightly, recovering by grabbing the roof. He was a mess. A steaming pile of crap. His lungs burned with every breath, his head was so full of mucus he could actually hear it. He couldn’t sleep for the coughing, he couldn’t eat or drink, he’d puked so hard he’d burst blood vessels in his face. He was dangerously dehydrated and beyond exhausted. But they didn’t get time off. Winchesters don’t get time off.

He staggered into the coffee shop, trying to not look so hazardous. It didn’t work. He leaned against a table, an already occupied table, and tried to stop the world from spinning.

“Hey, buddy, are you alright?”

He couldn’t answer, the world was taking a nosedive again... No, wait, that was him.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He felt hands on him, but he couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t push against the pull of darkness, and it was sweet in its embrace.

***

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

DEEEEAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOO!!!!

Cliffys! I call fowl! FOWL!

Loved this btw

[Anilkex]

Whoo I'm soooo behind. Didn't know this was going on! BUT....BUT!!! Then I got to read it, like, all at once. Only now I'm all caught up and have to wait like everyone else. Ah well. Looking forward to the next update!

[gingerdean]

Ahhhh! I've been following this religously, but this has been my first chance to post on this. This is fantastic! There are so many things I love about this that I'm not sure where to start, actually. I love how the boys are BOTH sick, and one sick brother is trying to take care of the sicker brother- I love that scenerio. I really like Angela's character as well. I love seeing the boys taken care of by an outside maternal figure. Poor Dean is sick as a dog, and so very miserable- and then when I thought it couldn't get any better, you went and threw in the cat allergy on top of it. Gah! My favorite is when the two are combined like that. And to top it off, there is an interesting case fic to go along with all the rest.This is heavenly. So glad you decided to continue Dean's misery, I thought he was on the mend for a minute there . My heart broke for him when he was calling his dad though. Aw Can't wait for more!

[CHOCOLATE <3]

GAH! I JUST found this

I may explode

from feels

all the feels

AND HOLY CRAP CLIFFHANGER

[HPG]

How did I not see you had updated?!?!?! It's wonderful as always.

[MissBayliss]

You guys are simply the best!

I whipped up this next part for you because I knew you'd be dying to know what happens next Sorry if there's any mistakes. Totally unbeta'd and I'm in a bit of a pain haze from a shoulder injury at the moment. Hope you enjoy it anyway There has been less sneezing lately but I promise I'll pick that back up as the story goes on. Thanks for sticking with me.

(Also, now switching POVs)

***

“Can you hear me, buddy? I need you to open your eyes.”

Machines beeped, voices came from all around, panicked and nervous, air moving against him. He rolled onto his side, trying to get a proper breath.

“Hey, hey, stay still for me. Can you open your eyes?”

His awareness came into sharper focus. The floor was hard and cold, so cold. His head pounded to the rhythm of the beeps. He coughed, gasping like a fish out of water. He felt like he was drowning on dry land, in his own body fluids.

“I need oxygen, now.”

Two sets of hands, cold, pure air that hurt in a kind of pleasurable way.

His eyes came open, and it took everything out of him just to do that.

“Hey, buddy, do you know what’s happening?”

Two paramedics, crouched beside him, a crowd of coffee house patrons surrounding him in a circle, and it was intimidating... and embarrassing.

“You passed out, son. We’re gonna get you to the hospital...”

Oh, good, he thought. And that in itself spoke volumes to his current state of health. The air hurt to suck in, his heart slamming in his head, and he submitted to their ministrations, unable to think about the risks of going to hospital, their phony insurance cards, everything. He really needed help or he could die on the floor of a crappy coffee house, and that was not part of the great Dean Winchester’s plan.

So he closed his eyes, let the world slip away again.

***

Sam came out of the bathroom, coughing against his elbow, towel tucked around his hips. Dean wasn’t back yet, and that was a little strange. Along with the fact he’d looked like week old road kill before he left. Sam had been hit with the smell of puke and bile as soon as he entered the bathroom and he wasn’t surprised, but he wasn’t any less worried. He quickly dressed, and grabbed his phone off the bedside table. He sat on his bed, a little embarrassed to find himself sweating and breathing heavily just from showering and dressing. Maybe he wasn’t completely out of the woods yet. He called Dean’s phone.

It went to message bank.

He called it again, left him a lovely voicemail about getting his ass back to the motel in one piece, then pulled on his hoodie and went out to find him.

Angela was sweeping out the front of the reception room.

She waved, and Sam smiled, making his way towards her.

“How are you feeling today, dear?” she asked, as he got closer.

“Better, thanks,” he sniffed, “Have you seen Dean?”

Her face fell, “No, why? What’s the matter?”

“He went for coffee this morning but he’s not answering his phone and that was 40 minutes ago now and... usually I wouldn’t worry, but...”

“There’s three places he could have gone. I’ll go and call them now. Find out if he’s been there,” she said, disappearing inside.

Sam followed her, “You don’t have to do that...”

“Nonsense, Sam. Sit down,” she ordered, as she pulled out an address book and started dialing.

Sam warmed inside. It was nice having someone take care of them. But this horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach wouldn’t go away. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Sam coughed quietly into his sleeve, sagging into the hard plastic chair in reception. Strangely, he missed the pink velvet couch. He listened to Angela speaking to the owners when his nose permitted it.

“Hut’SCHUuu! Het’SCHKEWww!” he sniffled, looked back up at Angela. Her face was white.

“What? He... What did he look like? Are you sure?... Oh, God. Okay... Okay, where did they take him?”

Sam stood up.

“No, thank you,” she hung up, her hand shaking, “Sam...”

Sam’s piercing eyes stopped her, “Where’s my brother?”

“He collapsed in the shop, they had to call an ambulance. He’s on his way to Redbank County Hospital.”

Sam swallowed past the lump in his throat, “How far away?”

“About 20 minutes,” she said, grabbing her coat, “I’ll drive.”

***

Dean came to, he wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember what had happened. He didn’t know why he wasn’t at the motel. And where was Sam? His lungs still burned, his head still pounded.

“Dean?”

He turned his head weakly to the side where the voice came from.

“Dean Young, we got your name off your credit card... How are you feeling?”

There was too much to process. He wanted to sleep again.

“Try and stay awake for me, Dean. We need to find out what’s wrong so we can get you better.”

“Sam?” he whispered, his voice grating, making him cough again. A mask was back on his face.

“Sam? Who’s Sam, Dean?”

Dean shook his head. Too much. He was out again.

***

Sam came almost running through the hospital doors, fumbling around like a great dane puppy, with feet too big for it’s body. Angela was guiding him, maybe holding him upright a little bit. Holding him somewhat together.

It wasn’t long before a doctor came to see them.

“Your brother, is it?”

Sam nodded.

“He came in about half an hour ago. We’ve taken some xrays of his lungs...”

“Is he alright?” Sam jumped in.

“Your brother has walking pneumonia. We’ve got him on some strong antibiotics, it should start to clear up soon.”

Sam let out a breath.

“I’m more concerned with how severely dehydrated he is. His temperature was over 103 when they brought him in. He’s very confused, doesn’t seem to know where he is. You’re Sam, yes?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“That’s all he seems to say, but he can’t get much else out. He’s resting at the moment, and we’d like to keep him in for a few days to get his fluids up and give him some more antibiotics. I’d like to ask you more about his health over the last few weeks, if I can?

“Sure,” Sam cleared his throat, leant more into Angela.

The doctor’s brow crinkled, “Would you like to sit down?”

Sam shook his head, but felt himself being led to a chair anyway.

“Sam, how are you feeling?” the doctor looked at him.

“Fine,” he lied.

“He’s been sick for the last few days. They both have, but Dean was quite a bit worse.”

“Sick with what?” the doc asked Angela, grabbing Sam’s wrist and taking his pulse.

“Just a nasty virus. Flu, maybe,” she said.

“Dean had a sinus infection but hasn’t been able to keep down his antibiotics. Hasn’t been able to keep down anything, really.”

“Well, that would explain the dehydration... Have you taken anything for your fever this morning?”

I didn’t know I had one, Sam thought. He just shook his head.

“You take something for that, and keep your fluids up, or I’ll admit you too,” he scolded, “Your brother’s in room 127, but I’d say he’ll be out for a while. We’re doing everything we can to make him comfortable, I know how he feels, and pneumonia is not pleasant, along with everything else he has going on,” he stood up, looked at Sam one last time, “I mean it, Sam. Look after yourself better than your brother.”

“Well, he was a barrel o’ laughs,” Angela mumbled, as the doctor walked away down the hall, but Sam was already getting up.

He turned to Angela, “Where’s room 127?”

***

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

DEAN!!!!! SAMMY!!!!!!!!!

I'm loving this story!!! Please, let me marry you!? it's beyond beautiful!

[HPG]

“Well, he was a barrel o’ laughs,” Angela mumbled

The whole thing was great, but that line just killed me. I don't know why... Anyhow, great job!

[MissBayliss]

***

Angela went to get some coffee once they realised they’d be in for the long haul.

Sam sat slumped in the chair next to Dean’s bed, stifling sneezes against his arm, trying in vain to keep his eyes open. They’d been in Dean’s room for, he checked his watch, he didn’t know how long now, but it was after 6pm, and two days till the auction. Not that Angela even let him think about that, or who could be walking unknowingly into the house. Apparently she’d taken care of that, somehow. Sam didn’t know how, didn’t really care at this point in time. His brother was in hospital again, at least the oxygen mask had been removed for the time being, and now all he had was a nasal cannula, and drips in both arms, antibiotics and fluids. But he looked like he had the day he’d been told he had just weeks to live. And it scared him.

Sam pulled a crumpled tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. He lowered his head into one hand and massaged his forehead. He felt terrible, at least the tylenol was keeping the fever in check, and Angela had made him drink about 5 bottles of water since the doctor had reprimanded him.

Sam lay his head down on Dean’s bed. He mustn’t have been out long before he felt fingers on his head, tapping weakly. He shot up straight to see Dean’s wide eyes, fever bright.

“Dean, you’re awake. You alright? Do you remember what happened?”

Dean looked around, “Wh-” he coughed, his body shaking.

“Easy, man. Just take it easy. You’re in the hospital. How do you feel?”

Dean sucked in a shuddering breath, “Sucks...” he rasped out, wincing.

“I know, dude... Jesus, why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?”

“What’s wrong with me?” he whispered.

“Pneumonia, dehydration, exhaustion, sinus infection...”

Dean held a hand up, closed his eyes.

“Laundry list, man... You scared the crap outta me...”

Dean’s eyes opened again, forlorn, desperate, disappointed.

“‘M sorry, Sammy...”

Sam shook his head, tearing up, “It’s okay. Just get some rest,” Sam turned to cough into his elbow, his face scrunched in pain.

When he turned back Dean was eyeballing him.

“I’m fine, Dean. Just worry about yourself. You don’t have to look after me.”

“No can do, Sammy,” Dean gasped as something rattled in his lungs, pressed a hand down on his chest.

“Well, you’re going to have to, hon.”

Angela was standing at the door, hand on her hip, coffee cup in her hand.

The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up in a smirk.

“You need to sleep, dear. I’ll take Sam back to the motel and make sure he gets some rest.”

Dean sighed, looked at Sam, then back at Angela.

“I’ll take care of him. Promise,” she smiled.

Dean relaxed back into the pillows, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Come on, Sam. Visiting hours were over 20 minutes ago.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“I’m not giving you an option.”

Sam smiled at that. He was kidding himself. The more he sat by Dean’s bedside, the worse he felt. He needed a good night’s sleep in a bed, without the sounds of Dean coughing or throwing up. It would probably do him a lot of good.

“He’s alright, Sam. They’ll take care of him here...”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, standing up, “Dean, do you have your phone?”

Dean eyes opened blearily. He furrowed his brow. Then his eyes opened wide and he grabbed Sam’s wrist.

“Baby!”

“Okay,” Sam soothed, “It’s okay, we’ll swing by the coffee shop, grab the impala.”

Dean let go of Sam’s wrist, fell back on his pillow with his eyes closed again.

“There’s a phone by your bed, man. Call me if you need anything.”

Dean nodded, half asleep again.

“Night, Dean.”

***

It was the early the next morning when Sam woke to a knock at the door. He dragged himself out of bed, actually feeling a lot better than he had been, and hoping now he was coming to the end of it, another hour or so in bed though wouldn’t have gone astray. Angela was probably bringing him breakfast or medicine or something, given the fact he was her new favourite guest and patient. He opened the door, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Morning, princess. Suit up, we got a ghost to gank.”

“Dean?” Sam opened the door wider, allowing his brother to stagger in.

“Who’d you think it was?” he coughed, bending in half. His voice was wrecked, but at least it was operational.

Sam wrapped a hand round his arm and hoisted him up, helping him to the bed.

“You gotta stop doing this, man. Nurses not good enough at this one either?”

Dean smirked at himself, seemingly remembering how funny he is. Sam didn’t really think so.

“You need antibiotics, Dean. How did you swing this one?” Sam lowered him onto the bed.

“Not an idiot,” he panted, pulling a bag out of the pouch in his hoodie, and shaking it in front of Sam, “Got the good stuff.”

“We’re not taking this case,” Sam stood back to look at his brother, folding his arms.

“Yes, we are.”

“Dean, you can barely stand...”

“I’m fine... We’ll get through this, we always do. We get in, burn the leg, and we’re out. We’ve done it a hundred times.”

“Except we don’t know where the leg is.”

Dean sighed, rubbed a palm across his forehead. Since forever, Dean had always needed to work. Needed to keep moving, keep hunting. Doing anything to make his father proud, make Sam proud. Sam didn’t know why. He didn’t understand how Dean could walk around with the weight of everything on his shoulders. Like it was all his responsibility. Like he was the most insignificant thing on the planet and everyone else’s lives came before his own. He’d always been like that, since he was a kid. He had to save these people. He couldn’t stop. He’d never stop.

“Fine, Dean... Fine.”

Dean looked up.

“You win. We do this case, and then we are taking a long break, okay?”

Dean grinned, the swollen bags under his eyes wrinkling, “Deal.”

***

Sam knew he hadn’t won. Not really. Because dad was still out there, hunting the thing that killed their mother, hunting the thing that killed Jess. And they needed to find him. They needed to stop this yellow eyed son of a bitch. Sam knew that. So, he knew they’d never get a break. He knew Dean wouldn’t stop. And deep down he knew he wouldn’t stop. But Dean was a wreck. His breathing rattled and he looked like death. Not only that, both of them couldn’t go five minutes without sneezing. One would finally get it under control and the other one’d start up. It was exhausting. What was worse was, they were going to have to go into the house as prospective buyers, so they could find where this thing was, then come back at night and burn it. Angela had been able to keep people out for a day but that was over now and they were about to be showing people through again before the auction tomorrow. They didn’t seem to care that Angela hadn’t been able to get rid of the last few boxes from the attic and the basement. They were just going to sell it anyway. Money hungry, bitches.

Dean came out of the bathroom coughing into his sleeve. He looked weak, sick, but he wasn’t swaying, and he’d been given drugs for the nausea which had allowed him to keep down a solid meal.

“You look fantastic, by the way,” Sam huffed, “Het’schoo!”

“Yeah, back at ya,” Dean sniped, dragging his sleeve under his streaming nose.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this...” Sam muttered to himself, pulling on his jacket.

Dean paused, then looked at Sam, eyes wide, brow bent in worry, “They’re going to think we’re gay again, aren’t they?”

***

“Gentlemen! Nice to meet you,” the overzealous real estate agent extended a hand, “Ted Randall, we spoke on the phone.”

Sam and Dean kept their hands in their pockets, exchanged a brief glance, “Sorry,” Sam spoke into the void, “We’re both not feeling so hot. We’ll try and keep the germs to ourselves.”

“Oh,” Ted said, withdrawing his hand, “Thanks, gents. Very considerate of you. I’ll make this quick, shall I?”

“Please,” Dean said, with a strained smile.

Ted turned, “Follow me inside, then. Spacious front yard, you’ll see,” he chattered, as they walked up the path.

“So, this’ll be your first place?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, taking point on this one for Dean’s sake, “We move around a lot, so, it’ll be good to settle down somewhere.”

“Mm-hm,” Ted hummed, “And how long you two been together?”

Dean punched Sam in that arm, hard. The silence made Ted turn around and Dean pretended to be fixing Sam’s hair.

“Feels like forever,” he grinned.

Ted smiled warmly, turned back around. Dean flogged Sam in that back of the head.

“Ow, son of a -”

“Sorry, did you say something?” Ted turned again, as he unlocked the front door.

“Oh, nothing,” Sam shrugged, “Just saying how much Dean’ll love the garden. Marigolds are his favourite.”

Sam smiled smugly, could feel Dean’s gaze burning a hole in the back of his head, in the same place where he smacked him. Because, of course, it was his fault this guy thought they were a couple.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ted grinned at Dean, turning back to open the door.

“You are so dead,” Dean whispered, as they followed Ted inside.

***

[MissBayliss]

Sorry, if it's disjointed in any way! I really just have a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you have fun reading it!

DEAN!!!!! SAMMY!!!!!!!!!

I'm loving this story!!! Please, let me marry you!? it's beyond beautiful!

You are like my number 1 fan right now and I love it! Lol Thanks so much for all your comments Can't say I've ever been proposed to before! Haha Thanks so much, Fang815!

“Well, he was a barrel o’ laughs,” Angela mumbled

The whole thing was great, but that line just killed me. I don't know why... Anyhow, great job!

Haha thank you! I love just throwing in the humour when it's not expected. Glad you liked it