Title: Take Care What You Ask of Me, 'Cause I Can't Say No.

Author: dreamlitnight

Genre/pairing: Supernatural, hurt/comfort

Characters: Dean W. and Sam W.

Rating: G

Word-count: approx. 2,500

Summary: Sam wants a vacation. Dean wants to give this to him, but it might not be possible.

Spoilers: Maybe slight reference to Season 4 and onward... very slight, but be careful.

Warnings: Contains talk of PTSD and hurting brothers.

Disclaimer: The Winchesters are not mine. Also, the title belongs to song by Evanescence.

Written for a Prompt over at hoodietime: Sam and Dean have been on high-alert and in a high-stress position for years now. When the war is over, Sam insists they take a vacation/consider stopping hunting altogether. They're both having issues, but while for Sam the quiet-time is used for reflecting/rediscovering himself, for Dean with his life-long avoidance issues, not being in the high-alert state is initially nothing less than terrifying. When he suddenly has free time to kill, he crashes, gets sick and can't shake it. (I'm thinking like a cold/flu that turns into pneumonia or something, but whatever you want would work.)

Lots of feverish!Dean, of course, angst, and I'd love me some PTSD!Dean or mental-illness!Dean too.

"So Take Care What You Ask of Me,

'Cause I Can't Say No."

People were screaming. There was heat and light so bright that he couldn't see... and something was holding him so tight that he couldn't breathe... and where was his weapon? Where was Sam? He couldn't get away! He needed to to get away! The more he struggled, the more tightly he was restrained. He tried to yell for his brother, for Sammy. He couldn't get enough air. He was choking and his breath was wheezing in and out like a spluttering engine... and he couldn't breathe! "Sammy!" he tried to scream, his voice sounded thin and brittle and he... couldn't breathe... and the light was too bright... and he couldn't...

Dean felt his whole body shaking and twitching from the spike of adrenaline. He tried to slow his hitched breaths, tried to calm the still violent urge to fight, and get away, and help Sam, even though Sam was right there and... Sam... Sam was right there...

Dean blinked woozily as sound and reason returned. The scene faded, the fear receded. The screaming morphed into the loud droning of bees and the brightness and the heat was hot August sunshine and Dean was back in the small yard of the house they had been staying in for the past few weeks. He was back and he could feel Sam's arms hugging him tightly and securely and murmuring soothing sounds over and over in his ear, hot breath tickling... and it was good... and it needed to stop. Because Sam was okay and Dean was okay now.

After the flashback had eased off, Sam had sat Dean down on a ratty blanket half in the shade of the tall oak tree and half exposed to the bright sun. He was given a cold drink, some pain relievers, along with strict orders to rest. Dean watched, attempting to be stealthy, as his brother within minutes, seemingly care-free, flopped down and then sprawled out, almost boneless on the part of the blanket exposed to the sun. He lay quietly soaking up the warm sunshine. The book he had been thumbing through before Dean's little show, was now laid across his t-shirt clad chest, as if Sam wanted it handy, but instead of reading it, he looked as if he had fallen asleep the minute his head touched the worn quilt. The faint snores escaping his brother's slack mouth every now and then, proved Dean's theory to be correct.

Dean sighed and tried to follow his little brother's example. He tried to relax his tense muscles but they refused to settle, continuing to tremble and jerk spastically as his body tried to reboot itself. The war was over. They were safe. It didn't seem to matter how many times Dean repeated this mantra, it just wasn't sticking. Nothing felt safe or settled. It felt like they were on the edge of a deep chasm and could go tumbling over at any moment if Dean let his guard down. He knew that this wasn't reality. The world was relatively safe for now, at least from angels and demons and there was nothing for the Winchesters to do but rest and regroup. Sam kept reminding Dean that his only job was to rest, but it wasn't working out so well for him. While Sam was looking healthier and more like his old self with each passing day, enjoying the peace of the small town they were holed up in. Dean grew paler and he had even lost a little more weight. Just this morning he had had to put another hole in his belt in order to keep his jeans from falling down.

It seemed so simple, what his little brother was more or less ordering him to do. But after living his entire life as a soldier who was on call twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, it was a tough habit to break. His skin felt itchy, and his hands insisted on trembling and twitching, and his nerves felt strained, and stretched ready to break any minute. To Dean, these days of inactivity felt worse than being constantly on the run and wary for the past thirty some odd years. It was like, now that he had time to think and actually ponder what he might like to do with his life, all the junk he had stuffed down deep and neglected to deal with was coming out to torment him.

Today it was the buzzing bees that had sent him into a blind panic, a few days ago it had been a car backfiring while they were on their way back from getting groceries, sometimes just a whiff of smoke could cause him to get lost in his nightmarish memories. Everything made him skittish and nervous. Every little noise seemed to shout "Danger! Run away!" and Dean wasn't sure how much longer he could endure this "vacation" even for Sammy's sake.

When Sam opened his eyes again, the sun had set and there were fireflies blinking above him in the darkening sky. He sat up quickly, knocking his book off his chest as he searched for his brother. He was relieved to find him where he had left him, now slumped against the trunk of the tree, either sleeping or passed out. Shifting closer, Sam spoke softly, grasping Dean's bicep. "Hey. You ready to wake up?".

Dean came awake with a jerk, before recognizing his brother and taking a few deep breaths that turned into barking coughs.

Reaching out, Sam patted Dean's back until the coughing eased. He frowned, when he felt how bony his brother felt. Studying his brother's pale face, it seemed he was more on edge than ever and the cough sounded kind of bad. "You okay Dean?"

Dean huffed, pushing at Sam's comforting hand and wiggling around until he could get up. "I'm fine Sam, just choked on a bug or something."

Sam let it go, watching as Dean headed back toward the house shoulders hunched, walking slowly as if her were hurting. With a disheartened sigh Sam picked up his book, gathered up the blanket, and followed his brother.

The next few days were spent more or less peacefully. There was still cleaning to be done and Sam had bought paint for the two bedrooms and the kitchen. The house Bobby had found them, sat well off the road and had no close neighbors. It was about 30 minutes from town, by foot and that worked out nicely in Sam's opinion. He had convinced Dean to take this vacation with him, but his goal was to make this permanent, to settle in this little town and finally have a home. The Winchester brother's home sweet home, just the sound of that made Sam happy. So all he had to do was convince Dean that this was a good idea, or con him or guilt him into it, whatever worked. Sam was willing to do just about anything to get his way on this. He wanted this, but more than that, Dean needed it. He needed a place to heal and forget about the sheer awfulness of the last few years.

The house was on the large side and was a fixer upper, which was a good thing since it helped to keep Dean busy. A busy Dean was a happier Dean. Right now though, his daily coughing spells and the recurring fever he thought he was hiding from Sam was not going to be allowed to continue to be ignored. In fact, Sam had just poured a glass of orange juice for Dean and had two cold medicine caplets already popped out of the package when Dean came in, after having rinsed the last paint roller.

Wordlessly Sam held the offerings out to his very peaked looking brother, who frowned at them. Then he took the juice and bypassed the pills. Sam refused to be deterred and followed him as he attempted to go back outside.

"No, Dean. You need to take something for that cough and fever, you think you've been hiding, before it turns into something worse." Sam put firmness in his voice, because whether he liked it or not, his brother responded better to orders than he did the coddling that Sam would rather give him. So, he had to go with what worked.

Dean stopped and turned back to face his brother. Mouth tightened in frustration at being called on his subterfuge, he reached out and snatched the pills, still refusing to speak. Swallowing them quickly, he downed the juice. Then he set the glass carefully on the counter, and turned on his heel, and went back outside.

Sam watched out the window as his brother paced around their back yard. Dean didn't seem to have any task in mind as he wandered back and forth from the lone tree to the scrubby bushes on the other side. Sam had been hoping to get him to take a nap, since he knew he was coughing at night and probably not getting enough sleep. Winchesters had rarely gotten enough sleep, he admitted with a sad smile, but that would be changing. Sam watched Dean a few more minutes, before finally deciding his brother was safe enough by himself and went to finish another of the endless jobs he had put on the list that needed to be done. He would check on Dean in a while, maybe give him time to get over his snit. Sam chuckled at that, Dean wouldn't appreciate Sam accusing him of having girly snits.

Dean wandered back into the house after a couple of hours of grumpy pouting, or at least that's what he knew Sam would label what he had been doing. Dean just called it, hiding from Sammy. When he walked into the kitchen, the first thing he smelled was fresh paint, then he caught a whiff of something burning and suddenly he was lost in a melee of pain and fire and total confusion.

He came to himself lying on the floor with Sam looming over him, face scrunched up in his worried, little brother look and big hands patting and pawing at him. Dean rolled away from the touches. It was too much, overloading his already frayed nerves. He worked to steady his constricted breathing and ended up, choking and coughing until vomit spewed out on the floor and then he coughed some more, spitting and hacking. There were tears streaming down his face and he wasn't sure if they were from the fit he just had or because his heart was hurting like it had been torn bloody, from his aching chest.

His arms wouldn't stop shaking and it felt like he was going to collapse, right into the awful mess. Sam though, must have sensed the impending disaster and wrapped strong arms around him and pulled him back against his broad chest, all the while murmuring soothing words, but Dean couldn't make them out over the roaring in his ears. After a few more minutes of Sam holding him, the roaring ceased and he could hear Sam's voice murmuring firmly, repeating over and over that they were going to be okay. The panic faded as his brother's encouraging litany washed it all away. More time must have passed without Dean noticing, because his eyes were closed and his brother had gone quiet. Dean decided he had been held long enough and tried to squirm his way out of Sam's octopus arms. Sam however was having none of it and continued to hold his weakly struggling brother.

Ignoring Dean's mumbled complaints, Sam spoke softly, as if he had to be careful and not startle him, he asked Dean if he was ready to get up and Dean tried to answer, but talking apparently was beyond him so, he nodded instead. Once on his feet, Sam guided his wobbling steps out of the kitchen, down the hallway to his bedroom. He didn't even bother to argue when his brother pushed him down on the bed. He gave in with a gusty sigh when his back met the soft mattress. Sam was suddenly there, with more pills, and water, and a cool cloth laid across his burning forehead. After getting Dean settled, with the blanket tucked just so, Sam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, then sat down on the bed next to him and just stays there quietly. Dean thought that he would just lay there for a few minutes and then he would get up and do... whatever... but his body had other ideas and when he opened his eyes again the room was dark, except for the glow of the hall light and Sammy was snoring softly beside him.

Dean could feel his body burning with fever and his eyes felt dry and scratchy. The cloth must have slipped off, he didn't try to find it. He stayed still, not wanting to wake his brother, or deal with anything at the moment. Dean couldn't bear to see the pity, or worry, or maybe disappointment in his little brother's eyes. He wanted nothing more than to give Sam his "normal", a life that was far away from the one they had lived, but he wasn't sure it was possible. He just wasn't sure he could be okay enough to pretend everything was okay, even for Sammy's sake. He wanted to. Oh, how Dean wanted to do that for Sammy. He sighed wearily, his body and mind were so utterly tired that he ached with the exhaustion of trying to be normal for his little brother. Carefully, very carefully he turned over, buried his face against Sammy's hip and forced himself to let go and slip back into restless sleep.

~The End. Thanks for reading and commenting, if you're so inclined.