Disclaimer: Not Mine. The Winchester Universe began with a different speck of dust.
Warnings: Betaed by my anal personality. Strong language. Some vomit. A bit short.
For the LJ sickdean Hurt/Comfort Meme, as requested by sarcasticval: Teen!Dean and chronic migraines.
Sam hadn't been too worried when Dean didn't meet him on the front steps of the middle school at the end of the day. They'd been living in this town for a few of weeks, and the school was only three blocks from the motel. Dean let him walk home by himself most days now that he was twelve and carried a knife everywhere.
He made it to the motel, unlocked the door, and was surprised to find sixteen-year-old Dean huddled on the bed in an almost fetal position.
"Ngh," Dean moaned when the sunlight invaded his carefully constructed dark room. He'd even taken the bedspread from Sam's bed and tacked it up over the window to keep out the light.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked, closing the door and rushing toward Dean's bed. He stumbled over Dean's boots and cursed as he did a face plant into Dean's sweaty feet.
"Shut up," Dean replied quietly, pushing Sam's probing fingers away from his head. "Leave me 'lone."
Sam was embarrassed that it took him this long to figure out what was wrong. It had been months since Dean had suffered a migraine though. "Where's your medicine? Dean? Where's the pills?"
"Ran out," Dean muttered. "Go 'way."
"How could you..." Sam let his rant trail off when Dean flinched and curled tighter into himself.
The older brother was quiet for a minute before bolting for the bathroom. "Gonna be sick!"
Sam tried to help, but got a mouthful of vomit down his shirt for his trouble. Dean managed to hold the rest of it in until he got to the toilet, and Sam winced in sympathy while he peeled his shirt over his head and threw it in the bathtub.
After a few minutes of puking, Dean slumped against the porcelain. He really wanted to lay down, but didn't have the energy to do more than breathe.
"Here," Sam said, holding out a plastic cup of water.
Dean rinsed and spit back into the crapper before raising a shaking hand to flush the evidence of his sickness.
"You ready to go back to bed?" Sam asked, reaching down to help Dean up before the older teen even answered.
"Sammy?" Dean murmured as they wobbled their way toward the bed.
"Yeah?"
"Shut the fuck up. 'M not sayin' it again." Dean put as much anger and annoyance into it as he could, but his voice was barely above a whisper.
Sam bit his tongue as he helped Dean lay down and put the waste basket nearby. He got a threadbare washcloth from the bathroom and wet it with cold water before placing it over Dean's forehead.
Dean reached up and gripped Sam's wrist with one hand, not letting his little brother leave his side. Sam squeezed Dean's hand and settled himself more comfortably against the headboard.
Once Dean was sleeping fitfully, Sam slipped out of Dean's grasp to put on a clean shirt and rummage quietly through the duffel with the first aid supplies until he found the blank pad of paper and a pen. He tore off one sheet before stepping out of the room.
Sam hated most of the things he was forced to do as a Winchester, but there were some things he would do as often as necessary. And one of them was forging his brother's migraine medicine prescription.
~The End