A/N: Happy birthday Musica Diabolos!
Sam moaned as Dean maneuvered him to the bed and pulled off his shoes. A cold shiver ran through his sweaty body.
His head had started throbbing after arriving in town. Then the fever had kicked in. Dean kept pacing the motel room, convinced it was a curse, but Sam knew it was a flu.
"You don't have to sit up," Sam groaned.
"Sure I don't…"
Dean settled on the edge of the bed, grabbing the bucket just in time to shield the motel's carpet from the return of Sam's dinner. Somehow Dean always knew and he'd make it better.