Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I don't own. If I owned why on Earth would I be writing FANfiction? Though I'd love to own the both of them. And the car.
A/N: Much thanks to m y mom who helped give me ideas . She does that a lot... Uh. This is actually the first Supernatural story I wrote. I did sent it to a beta, HappyChaos913, so many thanks to her. She did a wonderful job. And any mistakes left are mine. She also came up with the name of this story.
Review if you see fit. If not, then that's alright. Thanks for reading anyway.
Oh. yeah. This takes place early season one.
The two brothers had just finished a hunt. Not a terrible one. More like a simple one. It involved just another pissed off spirit who was hurting people, so Sam and Dean salted and burned his bones easily. Didn't take too long to do and it was actually easier than most hunts. When they got back to the hotel room they slumped in their beds and fell right to sleep. Sam didn't wake up from a nightmare and Dean didn't have to use the knife under his pillow as protection against…well… anything.
Dean woke up first. The light shone through the curtains, blinding his eyes. He had wanted to take the knife and threaten whatever woke him up, but alas, no one can threaten the sun. He glared and sat up, stretching his body. First thing first: make some java. Ah yes, the nectar of the gods.
Dean glanced over at Sam just to make sure he didn't wake his brother. Sam hadn't been sleeping well due the nightmares, but for once Sam slept through the night, and Dean was going to let him stay asleep.
After he drank his first cup it was time for the morning ritual. No, nothing Satanic or anything like that. It's called exercise. Sit-ups, push- ups and all that jazz.
Sam woke up the quiet and rhythmic sound of his brother's clothes moving. He knew right away that it was just the exercise routine. He sat up and blinked. Surprised that he hadn't woken up during the night. Progress? He hoped so. He glanced around and saw the coffee. Ah wonderful. He loved it when Dean woke up before him. Then there'd be coffee that he didn't have to make himself.
Sam got up and padded over to the warm drink and watched his brother finish his exercise, "So, where to next?"
Dean got up and said, "I was thinking I'd hit the shower. And then the car." He answered sarcastically, causing Sam to frown and watch as Dean went into the bathroom and slammed the door. God, he'd better not use up all the hot water.
(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)
They had just finished with their breakfast at a small diner just inside town. Walking out to the car, Sam watched his brother, suddenly very worried. He had never seen Dean act like this.
Dean had stopped walking in the middle of the warm parking lot to fall to his knees. His hands were wrapped around his head as he fell into a ball on the ground, giving out a quiet, choked cry. He started pulling on his hair with his eyes shut tight and arms over his ears.
Sam ran up to his brother and crouched down, "Dean! Dean! Come on, man! What's wrong?!"
Dean's eyes opened to slits. "Stop yelling. Hurts," he said painfully quiet.
Sam blinked and quickly spoke in a whisper, "What's wrong? Dean. Tell me."
Dean was breathing heavily. "Fucking migraine," he muttered, pulling harder at his hair.
Sam's eyes widened, "Migraine?" This had to be a joke. Who had headaches like this?
The elder brother was lying on the street in a ball, pulling at his hair with his eyes closed, arms over his ears, and now he started hitting his head against the pavement. The younger of the two suddenly put his hands underneath the pained head, "What are you doing? Trying to give yourself a concussion?"
Dean left his head cradled in Sam's hands and let out a dry laugh, "That's funny, Sammy." After a second, he licked his lips, "Physical pain helps. Cuts down the exploding pain inside the head." And boy was it exploding. This was one of the worst and sudden migraines he'd ever had. Dean has had migraines before but it had been a long time since he'd had one that threated to send his brain into tiny pieces.
Okay. All right. Sam wrapped his head around the idea of Dean getting head exploding migraines. "Let's get you to the car, eh?" He removed his hands from under Dean's head and slowly helped him up. Sam began to worry when his brother's face became even paler.
"Oh God." Dean said, quickly turning the side and vomiting.
Well, this is new. First the sudden headache, then the self-infliction, and now vomiting. Sam helped Dean the best he could, and when the elder was done with that nasty business he grabbed him and pulled him up to the standing position. Dean still hadn't opened his eyes so Sam tapped his brother on the cheek, "Dean. Open your eyes."
Dean muttered something about the light and how noisy it was as he opened them. "Sammy. We've got a slight problem," he muttered, wincing at basically everything.
Sam raised an eyebrow and steadied Dean so that he wouldn't fall back down to the unforgiving pavement. "Oh?"
"I can't see anything on my left side." It was a quiet statement. As if this were something normal.
"What?! Dean!" Sam yelled. He couldn't believe it—Dean was half blind.
The elder hunter cringed at the yelling and fell back a step, causing the younger one to have to catch him. "Yes. Blind spot," he said, putting his palms over his eyes. Damn. Why did it have to hurt so fucking much? His head throbbed, threatening to explode. He felt like he was going to throw up again and the lights and sounds were growing worse and worse.
Sam sighed, "To the car then? We'll take it slow." Sam wrapped his arms around Dean to help steer him to the car and to keep him from tripping and falling.
He paused at the passenger door and leaned Dean against the car, opening the door as quietly as he could, then sat his brother down.
By the time Sam got into the driver's side, he watched as Dean rummaged through the glove box.
"Dammit to hell," Dean muttered, his face and eyes showed the pain he is in. He had trouble thinking, so he couldn't pull up his mask and hid the pain from Sam. Which is something he really wanted to do.
"What is it, Dean?" Sam leaned over, watching the rummaging.
"Can't find my medicine," Dean whimpered. Oh God. He whimpered.
Medicine? What the hell? Dean had medicine? Dean whimpered? This was bothering Sam more and more, "Let me help. What does it look like?"
Dean leaned back in his seat and started tugging at his hair again, pressing his face against the cool window. It slowed the throbbing down, but didn't make it go away, "A bottle of pills."
Sam rolled his eyes. Of course it looked like a bottle of pills. He heard the sound of pills and grabbed the bottle. He glanced at the label to make sure it was the right medicine.
It was prescribed to a 'Mark Dhannas'. Guess that what the name on the medical card at the time. And it was for severe migraines—some serious medication. Sam glanced at Dean worriedly and handed him the bottle.
Closing his eyes, Dean grabbed it quickly and dry-swallowed two pills and leaned back against the window. And then once again, Dean started on the self-mutilation as he began hitting his head against the window, then a bit harder. And harder still.
"Dean," Sam said, his voice stern, "stop trying to bash your head in."
Dean's face filled with apparent pain as he did what he was told, very quiet, with his eyes closed tight.
"I've heard that sleeping helps get rid of headaches. . ." Sam probed.
Dean grunted, "Fucking migraine, Sammy." He sighed deeply, digging his palms into his eyes, "Medicine usually doesn't do much but put me sleep."
Sam took that as a yes, he needed to sleep, "I'll drive us back the hotel. You can sleep it off there." He glanced over to see Dean pull his hands down, which he took as a good sign.
It started as a silent drive, for which Dean was thankful. But he wasn't too thankful at the movement he felt. He really didn't want to get sick in his car. Not his baby. "Pull over, Sam."
Sam almost hadn't heard his brother's order because it was so quiet. Luckily he had heard and Sam pulled over the side of the road.
Dean quickly opened the door and vomited again. His head pulsated with horrid sensations. His body racked with pain. His eyes were burning and he could hear way too much which made it even worse yet. When he was done he slowly got settled in the car and nodded to Sam.
Sam slowly started driving again, "Hey Dean."
Dean grunted. He was worried about what would happen if he opened his mouth.
"Since when did you have headac-I mean-migraines?" His voice stayed low and quiet. He tried to make it smooth as possible as he drove into the hotel parking lot.
Dean opened his door and slowly got out, now feeling that he could open his mouth without gagging, "Too many concussions."
Before Dean could take a step, Sam glared, "Don't you dare move. You're half blind. Let me help you."
By the time Sam was around the car Dean was holding his head again, and together they stumbled into the hotel room. Sam helped Dean to his bed and then he went around and closed the curtains. He then sat down in his bed and watched Dean try and get to sleep.
Dean closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in pain. The pillow was soft and cool which helped a bit, but he couldn't get his head to stop pounding enough for him to get to sleep. Not to mention he could feel Sam's eyes boring into him. He needed sleep and he needed it now.
Sam watched worriedly as Dean was trying to get to sleep. This was all new to him. Sam often got headaches, but nothing like Dean's migraine from hell. He could tell that Dean was having trouble getting to sleep, but as he watched carefully Dean's brow smoothed out and he heard his breathing even out.
Sam smiled weakly, his brother looked peaceful. More peaceful than when he was asleep at night. He knew that at night Dean was still in hunter-mode. He had a knife under his pillow, and though his body may be sprung out Sam could tell that his muscles were still tight, ready to pounce at whatever came there way. Not to mention Dean would wake up at the slightest noise, including Sam's nightmares. Sam never wanted to wake Dean up, so he would hold his screams back as he bolted upright in bed. But he knew Dean still woke up every time. Dean's breathing would catch and his body tensed, wide awake and ready to protect Sam. But he couldn't protect Sam from the nightmares, no matter how much he wanted to.
Sam spent the rest of the day doing research for a new hunt and glancing over at his sleeping brother - who was out cold.
(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)
Dean woke up to only a slight pounding behind his eyes. Much better. His head was no longer going to explode. He yawned and sat up in bed, removing the covers that apparently either he or Sam had pulled up.
"Glad to see you're awake," Sam said, moving over to sit on his bed across from Dean.
"What time is it?" Dean asked, still a little groggy.
"Just past six. You slept the whole day away. Feeling better?" Sam knew what the answer was going to be, but he still needed to ask.
"I'm fine." Dean said. He was always fine. He tried to not worry Sam any so that is how he always answered. Even when he wasn't.
Sam glanced at his brother. The only way he ever had an idea on how Dean really was to read the little body language and then he had to try and decipher it because in Dean's world one thing always meant something else. His body appeared to be in the normal 'relaxed, but ready for whatever comes' look. Sam nodded, agreeing that Dean was fine.
"So, I was thinking, now that your up, we could go and grab a bite and then stay one more night here. I've got a possible hunt we could check out tomorrow."
Dean nodded, "Sounds good, Sammy."
(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)
There were in the restaurant they had been in earlier in the day. They had gotten their food and Sam glanced out at the parking lot, remembering the devil migraine that Dean had.
Dean noticed in mid-bite of his sandwich that Sam was tensed up a bit, "What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked, closing his eyes and wishing for the slight pounding to go away.
Sam's eyes found Dean's green ones and he sighed. "Too many concussions?" he asked in disbelief.
The elder nodded, taking a drink, "Yep. Happens ya know."
"How?" Sam asked, suspicious.
"What do ya mean how?" Dean chuckled quietly, "You've seen what happens at hunts. Concussions happen."
Sam sighed, "Okay. Yeah. But…" He wasn't sure what to say, "Okay. How many have you had?"
Dean's brow furrowed in confusion, "How many? You think I keep track? A lot, okay?"
"And the medicine-"
"Sammy," Dean's voice stern, stopping Sam in mid-sentence, "How 'bout we drop it, alright?" He picked up his sandwich and continued eating. After a length Dean put down his food, "All right. So you've got a hunt picked out?"
Sam nodded, slightly pleased that they were on more comfortable ground. He knew that getting to know what Dean is feeling or what had happened in the past is like pulling teeth. "Yeah. While you were sleeping I looked up some stuff. It's not to far from here."
"So what is it?" Dean asked, mouth full of food.
"It's a pissed off spirit who…" Sam stopped when he heard Dean let out a quiet chuckle.
"Alright Sammy. Wanna know why I get migraines? Repetition. It's always a pissed off spirit who."
"I thought you said it was because of concussions?"
"Never mind, Sam. Tell me about this pissed off sprit who." Dean motioned for his brother to continue.
"Aright," Sam said, getting ready to tell it all, "This certain pissed off spirit has been killing off people who live in the house. The latest was a family of three. Apparently not that long ago the Teller family lived there and the son, who had moved out, came over and killed everyone. His parents and his two younger sisters. He then was shot there by the cops."
"Sounds like a regular pissed off spirit who. You find out where he's been buried?"
Sam nodded, "In their back yard."
Dean made a face, "What?"
"They lived in a cemetery Dean. The family acted as the grounds keeper."
"Sam. If they lived in a cemetery it could have been some other pissed off spirit who. We can't be sure it's this Teller guy." He threw his arms up.
Sam shook his head, "It was Teller. Some kids had gone in there on a dare and one of them got a good look of the fugly. That is the only kid who came out that night. Told cops what the fugly looked like. And it looks just like Teller."
Dean reluctantly nodded, "Okay. Sounds good. We'll head out tomorrow."
As they headed out to the Impala Sam glanced over at Dean, "Hey, Dean."
"What now?" Dean knew this was about the migraine he had earlier.
"Are you going to be sleeping at all tonight? Won't your sleep cycle be messed up or something from sleeping all day?" Sam thought it was a good question.
"Don't worry, Sammy." He replied, smiling slightly, "I'll be able to sleep through the night. Always do." Lie. Blatant and outright lie.
(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)
The cold wind blew around the two brothers, like a razor blade. It was a starless night as the clouds overheard covered the sky in dark ink. You could make out where the moon was behind the clouds, as there was a lighter ring there giving off little light in the darkness. The grass crunched under their feet as they made their way through the cemetery.
Dean eyed the house. It was empty and it looked as if it had been for much longer than it was. The paint flaked on the outside and the shutters pounded along with the slight headache still in Dean's skull. He shrugged against the cold breeze, "So, where is his grave?" He had his gun at the ready and shovel over his shoulder.
"Not far," Sam said, his eyes open in the darkness, flashlight moving about.
And before they knew it, they were right there looking down at Teller's grave. Dean handed Sam a shovel, "Let's get to it."
The sweat in Dean's eyes didn't help his slight headache any, but he was the older brother and he wasn't going to let Sam know he still had a bit of a headache. He was the first one to reach the casket with a sound from his shovel after the hard dig. The two brothers looked up and grinned at each other. It was about time.
And really, Teller didn't want them getting any closer. He appeared beside them suddenly, very angry.
Dean quickly went to grab his gun from his pocket, but Teller was not going to have any of it. He pushed against Dean's arm with a force only the dead could use. "Shit." Dean muttered, as Teller locked gaze with him.
Sam watched in horror as Teller grabbed Dean by the neck and threw him to the other side of the hole they dug.
Dean bit down on his lip so as not to let out a sound. He glowered at Teller as the ghost then glanced over at Sam. Dean quickly crawled over to his gun filled with rock salt and shot Teller. "Take that, Bitch," he said angrily. "Sam, you get the bones ready and I'll stand guard. Make sure you get the job done."
Sam nodded, getting the rest of the dirt off the casket and opening it.
Teller was there again only to last a second as Dean shot him dead on, "Hurry up, Sam."
"You'd better get out of here right now. I'll be out in a second to drop the match." Sam eyed Dean, then up six feet above them.
Dean's lips pursed together for a second, "Alright." With that he climbed out of the hole as the younger of the two put salt and gasoline on the bones, soaking them.
While Sam was busy with getting the bones ready, Dean was already out of the grave. Gun at the ready. Teller was one pissed off spirit who. And one that didn't want to have his bones burned. Made sense, most didn't. But Dean sure as hell was not going to let Teller get to Sam.
Whenever Teller appeared, Dean shot him before he got too close to Sam. After all Sam was the one that Teller needed to stop. But after the first few times of trying to get Sam, Teller realized that Dean was a problem as well.
Dean had just shot the fugly when he heard Sam say meekly, "Help me out." As Sam having trouble keeping his footing against the slightly muddy side of the whole.
Dean bent down and offered Sam a hand. "Wuss," he grinned.
As soon as Sam was out he got his matchbook out, ready to set the pile of bones on fire. He paused for a second when he felt something behind him. He felt the chill of a spirit.
Teller grined, "Uh-uh. Don't be doin' tha'." Teller was not stupid, he needed to stop the younger hunter, but the older one would not let Teller get near Sam. So, Teller did what he had to - which had been to go after Dean. The ghost suddenly turned at Dean and rammed into him, sending Dean flying into a gravestone.
Sam almost dropped his matchbook to run after Dean when Dean yelled, "Burn the fucker, Sam! Now!"
Sam watched as Teller grinned at him and then picked up Dean again. But Sam couldn't watch. He couldn't. He had to make it stop. So, he quickly lit a match and dropped it onto the bones. The fire rushed up. Sam could feel the heat on his face. The crackle was friendly and hungry. But Sam was not worried about the crackle. He turned toward Dean who was lying on the ground with his eyes closed. And thankfully, Teller was gone.
The younger ran up to his older brother, "Dean! Dean!" He looked over his brother, some bruises were showing up already and there was a gash on his head. He picked up Dean's limp form and tapped Dean on the cheek, trying to get a reaction. "Dean. Open your eyes. Dean," he said hurriedly.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, sliding his green eyes open.
"Yeah, Dean?" Sam asked, very glad to see that his brother wasn't badly hurt.
Dean chuckled dryly, "I think I've got another concussion."
End.
A/N: Okay. Hope you liked it. And if you're wondering. Dean's migraine from hell? Well, that is a mix of mine, my aunt's, and my cousin's migraine together. All parts of that migraine can be traced to one of us. So, yes, there are migraines that can be like that.