Here goes my attempt at a normal, sweet and brotherly sick!dean oneshot. Bless him. Obviously i don't own anything supernatural, cos d'ya think i'd be doing this if i did, lol! Thanks for reading if you do continue and yeah, enjoy!

Review when you get to the end, as always. Dean and Sam will be sending virtual hugs your way if you do. promise! (well they won't, cos they are fictional, but you can imagine they are!)

Dean pried his eyes open, the sleep that had congregated there jamming them shut. His arms felt heavy and his body felt clogged and tired. He rolled over onto his back, groaning with the effort. He flinched as he saw Sam watching him, inevitable concern on his face.

"Dude, stop staring…it's a little weird," Dean said, hoping that the rasp in his throat was only loud enough for him to hear.

Sam wasn't deterred.

"Are you okay, Dean? You don't sound so good…" He moved to place a hand on Dean's forehead but his older brother quickly swatted it away.

"I'm fine. Just need to wake up that's all…"

He swung his legs over, and pulled off the duvet, shivering a little as the cold ran through him.
And this is what they call summer…

He stumbled over to the bathroom, hoping that his misplaced steps were nothing to do with the fact the room was spinning and more to do with the fact he was tired. He placed a hand on the doorframe to steady himself, and took a breath, praying Sam hadn't seen how hard it was to make it across the room.

He had.

"Dean, I don't think you're fine…maybe you should rest a little…"

Dean shook his head, his eyes closed as he fought the attack of nausea that was trying to occupy his territory. He swayed a little, but fortunately managed to keep himself upright, knowing that his body wasn't putting up the most convincing argument for being healthy and okay.

"Sam, I'm fine…honest…'m tired…need a shower," Dean waved away the concern on Sam's face and closed the door.

Sam opened his mouth to say something but Dean got there first.

"Don't worry, I won't use all the hot water!" he shouted through the door.

Sam sighed, and lay back on the bed, not believing for one second that Dean was okay, but he knew that whilst Dean was conscious and able to fight, he would never get him to admit he was ill, let alone see a doctor. He just had to hope Dean would battle through it, and get better.

Dean examined himself on the mirror. Even he had to admit, he looked like crap. Heavy bags were forming under his eyes, unfortunately highlighted by the lack of colour in his face. He was almost grey. And that was not a good look for anyone, let alone Dean, the self declared Mr Never-Gets-Ill.

Rubbing his eyes once more, he yawned, but he was unprepared for the huge, guttural cough that seemed to explode from his chest. He spluttered, placing his hands on the side of the sink to brace himself. Not only did he look like crap, he felt like it too. He shuddered, a wave of coldness washing over him once again. He really needed a hot shower.

Turning it on to full blast, he watched as the steam rose to the ceiling, and he thanked whoever that this motel had a power shower.

Freakin' heaven in a shower head….

He stepped in, not feeling the scalding water burn, but still feeling a little cold. He doubled over as yet another coughing fit was triggered by a drip of water falling into his mouth. He sneezed, and was forced to place his palms on his knees, the shower whirling into a haze of burning water and nausea.

Slowly, he straightened up, running a weak hand through his hair. He tried to make a fist but found that his hand was too feeble to even do little a task. God forbid he should be attacked; he wouldn't be able to punch at all.

The dizziness attacked again, but this time the onslaught was unforgiving. He swallowed as he tried to lean forwards on his arms, but he couldn't get a grip on the slippery tiles. He didn't feel so good, his head feeling just a little too light. His knees buckled and he heard the hollow thud as his head smacked the pipe of the shower hard. He tasted blood as it trickled into his mouth, the water around him going a little pink. It didn't quite register, however, because a few seconds later, Dean knew no more.

Sam sat, the TV blaring out the usual early morning crap. He glanced toward the door of the bathroom. Dean had been a long time in there. The water was still blasting out, but if Dean had been in there that long he would be somewhat resembling a prune by now.

He stood up, stretching his stiff limbs, and knocked hesitantly on the bathroom door.

"Dean? You okay in there?"

There was no response, nothing but the harsh pattering of water against the plastic floor of the shower. Sam bit his lip. Something was so not right about this.

He knocked harder.

"Dean?"

Again, no response.

He twisted the door handle, and clenched his jaw as he found it was locked. He had to get to Dean, and quickly. God knows what had happened in there, but Sam had a feeling it wasn't good.

Bracing himself, he threw himself into the door, feeling it give as he slammed against it. He tried again, and this time, it gave way completely, bursting open. Sam blinked at the vast cloud of steam that billowed out, sweeping it away with his hands. He couldn't see Dean anywhere. Well, he couldn't until he looked down.

"Shit! Dean!"

Dean was lying, curled up in the corner of the shower, his mouth gaping open. He was so pale. Almost deathly pale.

Sam reached for the shower tap and turned it off, wincing at the hot water sizzling off his skin. He jumped in the cubicle, growing more worried by the second as he saw the sickening colour of the water trapped around Dean.

He swallowed, and realised that he wasn't doing anything. Now was not the time to stand there and watch. He had to help Dean.

He crouched beside his brother's limp form, squashed against the glass door as this cubicle was certainly not made for two men, both over 6 ft tall.

He saw the depth of the water, and pulled Dean's face up, worrying more and more. Couldn't a man drown in less than an inch of water? Or did it have to be more than an inch?

Why wasn't Dean flinching at his touch? Why wasn't he waking? And how the hell did he get down here?

Unanswerable questions bombarded Sam's already preoccupied mind. Dean's head was still bleeding, albeit slowly, the cut being relatively small. Sam thanked the lord that at least one thing wasn't too bad.

"Dean? Dean? C'mon, man, can you hear me? Wake up?"

Nothing.

"Shit, man, you're scaring me here. Open your eyes for me…c'mon!"

Sam patted Dean's face lightly, ever more concerned at the pallor considering how hot Dean's skin was. It was on fire.

He exhaled, relieved, as at last Dean spluttered. It wasn't the sound Sam had been hoping for, but at least it was a sound.

"Dean! Are you okay? Have you broken anything?"

Dean groaned, his eyes slowly opening as the water slowly expelled itself from his mouth.

Sam took that as a no, and finally pulled him out of the shower, his brother's limbs unusually still. Dean hated being weak, and it scared Sam even more that Dean had no fight left in him. He was actually letting someone help him for once. And boy, did he need it…

He laid the once again unconscious Dean onto the dry, musty carpet of the bathroom, and placed a hand on Dean's face, again concerned at his brother's lack of awareness.

"Hey, Dean…open your eyes for me, bro…that's it"

He watched as Dean's eyelids fluttered, fighting to open his eyes for his younger brother.

"Ssm?" he murmured.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm here…"

"Ssm…you 'kay? You sound worried?"

Sam shook his head disbelievingly. There Dean lay, his head bleeding onto the carpet, looking like freaking snow white crossed with a very ill panda, but he was more worried about Sammy.

"Dean, I'm fine. It's you, you should be worried about? Man, you just collapsed in the shower. And don't even bother telling me you're fine now."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but said nothing, his eyelids drooping again. He was starting to feel worse.

But he was worrying Sammy. And Dean could never knowingly be the cause of that, so he forced his unwilling eyes open once more.

"What? Sht 'p… I'm fine…"

He sat up, but the room span again, and he could feel himself swaying. He would have been flying to the floor again if it wasn't for Sam's strong arms keeping him upright, placed behind his back.

"Yeah, Dean, you're fine. Let's get you to bed…"

With a groan, Dean nodded, eyes closed against the next invasion of nausea and dizziness. Sam stood up, and watched as Dean began to fall limp again.

"Nah, not again. C'mon Dean, help me out here…"

Dean shook his head slowly, but stayed as awake as he could all the same. Sam pulled him to his feet, as gently as he could and let Dean fall against him.

"Think you can make it to the bed?"

Dean swallowed, his throat dry and sore from all the spluttering he had been doing in the last day. His legs felt like they didn't belong to him anymore, they certainly weren't obeying him as they once did. Nevertheless, he didn't want to let his little brother down, and Dean would never admit to being too weak to walk, and so he nodded, dreading the task of staggering to his bed.

Sam walked forward, Dean placing one unsteady foot in front of the other. This wasn't walking; this was being dragged, by the brother that was basically the only thing keeping you upright at the moment. His knees buckled, and Sam caught him by the waist.

"Whoa…you okay?"

Dean tried to nod, but black was framing his vision and he couldn't command his body to do anything at all. All he felt was his body go limp, as once again he fainted.

Sam moved Dean into a more comfortable position in his arms, alarmed at his big brother's ease into unconsciousness. This wasn't good. He had to get that head wound sorted out and make sure his brother didn't die from this freaking cold that Sam was sure Dean had contracted.

He pulled him up into his arms, one behind Dean's back and the other in the crook of his bare legs. This wasn't ever how Sam had imagined the day going, and he especially hadn't counted on a sight of the infamous Little (or not, Sam wasn't really looking) Dean. But right now, Sam couldn't care less whether he was carrying his brother naked or not, he just wanted him to be okay.

Sighing with every step (Dean wasn't exactly light), he placed the older hunter on his bed, pulling the sheet across his naked body and feeling his forehead. Considering Dean had just been lying in a steaming hot pool of water and his own blood, he was hot. But he still shouldn't have been this hot. To top everything off he had a fever. But Sam couldn't worry about this now, he had to dress that head wound.

Sam sat back in his chair beside Dean's bed, and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. Dean had been out now for hours. Sleeping like a baby. An extremely sweaty baby, with a high fever but whatever. At least he was alive. He removed the flannel from Dean's forehead, and dipped it the cold water next to him before replacing it. Sam watched as the water dripped down the side of Dean's face, and sat back in his chair again. Why couldn't Dean just admit that he was ill? Then this wouldn't have happened.

Dean's head rolled over to the side, and his hand flexed.

But even Sam was surprised when he heard the quiet rasping of his own name.

"Sam?"

"Here, Dean." Sam replied gently, leaning forward and stroking his brother's arm with his thumb.

"You 'kay?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Yep, I'm good. You?"

He smiled as Dean's eyes drifted closed again.

"I'm fine, Sam…I'm always fine…"

Sam could have laughed. He knew that his big brother was ill, but sometimes all he needed to hear was a protestation and that would make his day. He rubbed Dean's forearm one last time, before reclining in his chair again, putting his feet up on his brother's bed. Sam knew nothing would change, but for once he hoped it didn't.

Dean would always be fine, and Sam would always know better. And best of all, he'd always be there for his big brother. No matter what.