Sam slipped into the darkened room silently as he could on one good ankle, juggling the much needed supplies. That meant coffee and food, but most importantly the restocked meds for Dean. Having barely turned to secure the door, he dropped the grocery bag and spun at the sliding step behind him. He rocked back hard, standing on one leg and knocking against the hotel room door as Dean stepped in close, closer than the King of Personal Space would usually get.
"Dude, what the hell? What are you doing and why are you out of…" Sam stopped.
Green eyes held his, barely leaving him room to breathe. Dean's t-shirt was now on the floor along with all the blankets and he was half cocooned in one of Sam's hoodies, right arm in the sleeve, bandaged left arm still too swollen to fit in the other. He looked like he was wearing half a cape. Sam stared, realizing with a sickening feeling that he could almost make out the outline of Dean's ribs. The cold or flu his big brother kept denying lingered in inconsistent fevers, a ropy crackling cough and insomnia. Dean was stubbornly bearing the weight of Sam's decision to take Lucifer back to Hell.
Dean held up his right hand, the amulet Sam had rescued months ago from the trash and slipped back into Dean's bag just that morning dangling from his fingers.
Sam swallowed, his voice thick, brows furrowed.
"Yeah, that's… I meant to get that back to you. It's just… the time never seemed right, and now, well…" Sam smiled, "time's up."
Dean swayed, his dilated eyes never leaving Sam's. Internal fire flamed on too-pale freckled cheeks, courtesy of his wound's infection. The fever added in with too much cold medication and Dean's personal barriers fell, charred to ash. His right hand slipped back behind Sam's neck, cupping his head for a brief second, then pulling him close. An instant later, Sam gasped as he felt the amulet knock against his chest.
"Dean, what the hell..." Sam stuttered, jerking back, cracking his head against the door. He was shifted further off balance as a strong arm wrapped halfway around him, hugging him close, then pushing him away, back against the door frame. Dean leaned forward, half staggering as he fell against Sam, right hand tight in Sam's sleeve in an effort to keep himself upright. Sam stared down at the weight on his chest, then back up at Dean as his brother slowly began teetering to one side.
"Sabb," Dean's voice is a hoarse whisper. "Wear id. Dever taag id ovf. It's biid a pard of bee ever sidzs you gabe id to bee." Dean closed his eyes, swallowing painfully. "Aaa, Awwchubsstszz." Hand grabbing at his head, he sniffled, looking up at Sam. "You fidd your way back, cauzz I" he punctuated each word with a finger in Sam's chest, tears filling already watery eyes, "wodd. stob. loogigg." With that, Dean's eyes rolled up and he fell in a boneless heap.
"Whoa, hey…" Sam had been waiting, but was just barely able to stop his brother from hitting the floor as the extra weight ground his bad foot into new realms of pain. Sam half caught him under the arms, staggering at the awkward grip, basically half dragging Dean around until he got him back onto the bed.
In the end, they compromised. Sam wore the amulet and Dean continued to get worse and worse. Despite Sam's efforts, Big Brother apparently wasn't getting the memos 'cause he wasn't getting any better. When Dean insisted… " I'bb Fide, Dad, Fide!...", when he sneezed his mouthful of tomato rice soup directly into Sam's ear as he was cleaning the rest of the spilled mess off Dean's lap, Sam was finished.
Sam wrestled a mostly submissive, barely conscious brother into the car for the ER trip and then back into the car less than twenty-four hours later. This time he brought the IV stand with them, the last one they had having been left in the witch's chest three states away.
Silence was golden. That was fine with Sam Winchester. Silence could be alabaster, turquoise, even freaking fuchsia as long as it remained just that. Silent. Silence meant the good drugs were working, finally.
Three days after the hospital run and although Dean's hacking cough was only marginally better, the infection in his arm was improving. Sam nodded to himself; the IV stand had paid off.
Only Winchesters could find the one lame-ass hotel off the farthest potholed road in the darkest back woods of Southern Georgia that had been taken over by Zombies. Uneducated witches and their crazy desire for flesh eating minions. Sometimes even Sam had trouble feeling sorry for the really stupid ones.
He leaned against the kitchenette wall, taking the weight off his throbbing, swollen ankle, glaring at the slowly dripping fresh pot of coffee. With a sly glance over at the far bed, he glared at the dark brew, attempting a little mind control to get the drip into the pot faster. That wasn't working. He stretched his arms up, again leaning and staring over at the bed, but Dean was still out. More coffee and he was heading back to the research because nothing on that last case made sense. They certainly hadn't been looking for anything, just a place to hole up after a hunt, give Dean's arm and Sam's ankle some time to heal up.
The burbling of the water alerted Sam to heaven and he grabbed a cup. It was worth the burn as he grabbed a swallow, moaning from pain and pleasure. He refilled his cup and headed for Dean's bed. When the smell of fresh coffee did nothing to rouse his snoring sibling, Sam grabbed his clean clothes, his cup and headed for the shower.
'Weird behavior for zombies' Sam thought, wiping the steam off the mirror after a long steaming 'used up all the hot water' shower. "Ow!" grunting as he accidentally twisted, putting too much weight on the wrong foot. He propped his foot on the closed toiled seat, pulling the ace wrap a little tighter. 'Since when do zombies fight back? And with weapons? And what's with grabbing someone's leg? Usually it's just brrraaains, brraainnns, not ankles, ankles?' He could still hear Dean's croaky comment as his brother had checked Sam's ankle with one hand. 'Only you, Samantha, would find a zombie with a foot fetish.' Dean had gone down quickly during the attack, jumping out of bed, shaking with chills and confusion since they were in their hotel room. A savage tug on his left arm had ripped open deep sutures. Winchester that he was, he still managed to shoot the putrefying undead in the head before he passed out.
Sam heard the motel room door open, then silence. He quickly pulled on his shirt. Dropping his razor and picking up his gun, he stepped out into the empty room, eyes flashing straight to the open door. "Dammit." He muttered.
"Dean! Stupid self sacrificing sick son of a…" Sam hissed as he limped out the hotel door.
His brother was slowly mincing his way across the gravel driveway towards the Impala, shivering in the cool, damp air, clad only in white socks and the scrubs stolen from the hospital. Sam approached cautiously; making more noise than he had to, not wanting to startle his delirious older brother. Sam shook his head as Dean bitched his way across the lot "Ow, ow,dabbit, OW!" as he stumbled on the rough rocks.
"Dean, where are you going? Come on; let's get you back inside."
"Sabb, where arrr you?" Sabby." Dean croaked. "Huu, hawchnzttss." Dean wiped his running nose on his sleeve. "Cannd led you hund by yourselvv."
"You're ok, I've got you. It's all right, come on; let's get you back inside."
Sam slipped up next to Dean, ignoring the spike of pain in his own ankle. He gently eased his arm around Dean's waist, steering him away from the car and heading them both back inside. Dean started to look over his shoulder back towards the car and stumbled. Sam hopped then bit back a gasp as Dean's foot clipped his bad ankle. Sam saw stars for a second. Catching his breath, he got them moving forward again. He was barely able to get them back inside as the pain in his ankle ratcheted up when the closing door side swiped it, causing Sam to bite back another moan as he aimed them for the bed.
"Sabby?" Sam grimaced at the congested, raw concern of his brother's voice.
"Yeah, Dean, right here man." Sam shoved the covers out of the way and sat Dean on his bed. Sam grabbed all Dean's meds and a half empty glass of water. He handed them to Dean who was shaking even worse but dutifully swallowed them down.
"Come on, arms up. There you go, all right. Nice dry shirt." Sam peeled off dirty, wet socks and scrub pants, quickly toweling off damp skin. He worked Dean into dry sweats and socks, not an easy task as Dean was falling asleep faster than Sam could change his clothes. "Ok, good, I need you to drink this. Okay, that's fine, slide down. Easy, easy, that's it." He pulled the covers back up, tucking them in as tight around Dean as possible, hoping to keep him in the bed, let alone in the room. He'd taken the rope back to the car after last night. His decision to tie Dean to the bed to keep him in the room while Sam tried to sleep had resulted in a fever-laden discussion about Dean's personal preferences and past relationship involving bondage. No matter how bad that had been, Sam now found himself wishing he'd left it on since Dean trying to drive away was worse.
"Sabb?" Dean yawned, eyes already shut.
"Right here, bro."
"Cheg for bides, use ho-holy wadder…" Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
"Dude, I didn't get bit."
Dean calmed at Sam's hand on his chest. "I'm fine, really. Come on, stop already. You sound like a girl."
Sam waited.
One green eye opened, unfocused, but narrowed.
"You're a gurrl…ZZZZZZZZ"