A/N: This is for the Secret Santa Fic Exchange over on SFTCOL(AR)S. This story is dedicated to Fandrea, for whom this fic was created for. I hope you like it!
A/N #2: Christmas is in the air! That means mild cussing, gift giving, and some brotherly fluff cause I wanted it and so it was done. :D I do not have a beta for this, so any and all mistakes are mine, unfortunately.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sam or Dean. Kripke owns the rights. But damn if I didn't want to own them. They'd be safer with me at this point!
Sam wished tomorrow was today.
He was curled up in the fetal position near the base of the toilet, stomach spasming, mouth pooling with saliva mixed in with whatever he'd last eaten that he'd thrown up into the toilet five minutes ago. His teeth clicked together as he lay shivering on the floor, head propped slightly on a rolled up towel that he'd managed to grab off the steel rack above his head before he'd started paying tribute to the porcelain god.
Sam knew vaguely that he'd been in the bathroom for about two hours. He'd woken up around six-thirty that morning to a stomach that cramped, a mouth full of stomach acid, and a missing brother. He'd only just made it to the toilet after tripping on one of his brother's dirty t-shirts and almost sprayed vomit after stumbling and colliding with the entry way into the bathroom.
So that's where Sam had stayed, throwing up every fifteen to twenty minutes as his stomach tried to purge. He lay curled on the floor as his stomach twisted and gurgled in displeasure. He wasn't sure what it was that he'd eaten, but obviously something had set him off.
He had no idea where Dean was – it wasn't like his brother to get up before daylight broke, not unless they had to book fast, or were on a hunt.
So Sam tried to stay as still as he could while his body trembled, cold and alone.
It was maybe a half hour later amid the bouts of heaving and wracking chills that he felt another presence at the door.
"Dean?" Sam pried his eyes open long enough to glimpse at a hazy figure in the dim light.
"Who else would it be genius?" Dean said, eyes crinkled.
"Death, hopefully." Sam moaned, trying to stifle a groan.
Dean rolled his eyes, carefully stepping into the room. "Well you can't be that bad off – you're making jokes." He paused a moment, canting his head to the side. "Lame jokes, I may add. But you were never that funny anyways."
Sam moved his head a little, so he felt the cool floor under his cheek and closing his eyes, focusing on his rolling stomach. "And you're such a comedian."
His brother didn't say anything for a moment, but Sam felt a hand graze his forehead and he blearily opened his eyes as he made a weak swipe at Dean's hand. "Get off."
Dean scowled, his mouth curling into a mirthless smile. "Make me, chowder chunks."
Oh that was the wrong thing to say. Sam could feel whatever color was in his face drain away. Clam chowder – that was probably what contributed to his less than desirable current state of being. That along with the giant shrimp bowl that Dean had picked up at the only seafood joint in town because he wanted freaking seafood at 11 o'clock at night.
Dean would blame it on Sam having a weak stomach – and that Sam had developed a cough the day before, probably having already picked up a bug.
Sam would argue it was the seafood. Stupid clam chowder and stupid big brothers for picking up said contaminated clam chowder.
Sam barely got his head up in time before bile was making a splash into the toilet.
Dean was just lucky he'd moved his feet out of the way because Sam would have been more than vengeful enough to give Dean a little something to remind him not to pick up freaking seafood the next time he went to get dinner.
Sam coughed, spitting into the bowl and resting his chin on the seat and reached out a hand for the handle, flushing the mess away. Blindly, he pulled at the paper roll and wiped his mouth, tossing the tissue into the swirling water below. Groaning, he gently lowered himself back to the floor and curled into himself, teeth clicking as the pervasive cold took hold again.
Through the mist of his blinding headache and spasming muscles, he heard his brother's long sigh from the doorway. "You really know how to kick Christmas off with a bang, Sammy." The tone was soft, rarely was it ever soft nowadays, at least when he talked to Sam, so he took it for the reprieve and sympathy it was meant to be.
"I do it in style." Sam muttered quietly, trying to hide a smile that turned into a grimace shortly after.
"You're a mess is what you are." Came the soft reply.
Sam snorted, feeling his stomach twist again. "Oh shut up." He shut his eyes and rode out the nausea and dizziness that followed, pressing the side of his face into the cold floor, feeling a moment of relief.
He sensed Dean standing over him, one foot on either side of him, and heard the tap turn on. He wasn't sure what Dean was doing, but a moment later the tap shut off and something nice and freezing cold was placed over his forehead and eyes and it felt like this would be the closest thing Sam would ever get to Heaven. "Thank you."
He didn't see his brother shake his head fondly, but felt the soft touch of fingers pat against his shoulder as Dean stepped out of the bathroom once more. "I'll be right back." He called over his shoulder.
Sam mumbled something unintelligent, letting the cold cloth numb his aching head, letting himself drift ever so slightly.
What felt like hours was more like minutes before Sam felt something soft and warm wrap around him. "Wha?" He mumbled, one hand pulling back on the wet cloth as one eye cracked open to see Dean draping a striped pale and forest green blanket over him. It was new, Sam could tell on two accounts: one, he'd never seen it before and two, it still had that store bought smell to it.
He raised an eyebrow at his brother. Dean shrugged. "It is Christmas you know. And I kind of ruined your last one."
That was true. When money was tight, they sometimes had to sleep in the car, and it got real cold when snow and subzero temperatures started approaching and they weren't always in the southern states when the winter months rolled around.
Cramped and cold is what the Impala was in December during the night.
And Dean had thrown his old blanket at a raw-head to distract it when it had attacked them near the car three weeks ago, Dean grabbing the first thing in reach. Of course, he then shot the thing in the head, splattering skull, blood and who knows what else all over it.
That was trash, real quick after that.
Sam did give a genuine smile after that, fingers curling into the soft material as he pulled it up and above his arms. "Thank you."
Dean smiled a little at that, pulling something out of the medical kit that they kept by the sink. "That's not all you got either."
Sam snorted, then started coughing, trying to cover his mouth with a fist.
When he finished, Dean was holding out two tiny white pills. "Stick those on your tongue and let them melt – it should help."
Sam took them wordlessly and let the chalky feel melt on his tongue, hoping they would help ease his stomach long enough to get some fluids in him – dehydration would be the next thing to tackle.
He found a water bottle being waved in front of his face. Apparently his brother was thinking the same thing. "Drink up."
He felt a little nauseous at the thought of sitting up to drink it. "I might throw up if I sit up."
His brother put the bottle on the counter. "Well at least you've had some practice to prepare in that department." He sighed. "Slow and steady, okay? I'll help you." And his brother did. With one hand across his back and one hand gripping his bicep, his brother propped him against the wall and pressed the bottle into his hand. "Small sips man. Hopefully it'll stay down."
That would have been encouraging if Sam hadn't thrown it back up two minutes later.
Dean grimaced at the sight. "Dude, you caught one hell of a bug." He sighed, rummaging in the kit again. "Here, you're going to need another pill."
Sam finally stopped throwing up an hour and a half ago, and it felt wonderful. Of course, he still felt like crap, and wish now that he'd been shot or stabbed – that kind of pain and torment he could handle – being sick sucked you dry physically and at times, emotionally as well.
Dean took it in stride, it seemed. Years of taking care of a sick Sam made this easy practice, even if dealing with everything else Sam had done hard, this was… familiar.
How sad was it that being sick and puking for hours brought them closer when nothing else had?
That's Winchester round a' bout logic, apparently.
Dean had traded him a pillow for his rolled up towel, and settled in at the end of the doorway, Sam's feet tucked against his side. The bathroom was too small and Sam taking up all the room, blocking any chance Dean had to really move around unless he wanted to sit in the tub.
Sam wasn't sure Dean hadn't thought about that.
His older sibling had pulled out the newspaper from the day before and started reading aloud, to which Sam was eternally grateful for. That, and it also lulled him into a hazy state, not fully awake, but not totally asleep either. Dean went on to read out the comics, to which Sam kind of blanked out on, but it made Dean chuckle, so it couldn't be all that bad.
So which was to say Sam did drift off, a half empty bottle of water near his head, and his brother near his feet, laughing at a joke that Sam didn't catch.
He felt a hand at his shoulder and opened bleary eyes.
"Come on Sam. I think you'd be more comfortable in bed than on the floor."
"Mmmm.."
Dean smiled at the lack of a coherent response. "I'll even let you open your other presents in bed, princess." He cajoled, hoping a little bribery might work.
At least it had when Sam was little.
Sam made some kind of non-committal sound in the back of his throat, but made an effort to push himself up. It took a little while, but Sam was finally standing, wrapped up like a green hot dog in his new blanket, hair all askew and face pale with the slightest sheen of sweat. "Come on, let's get you into a proper bed."
Sam finally reached the mattress and curled on his left side, facing the other bed as Dean tucked the top sheet around his blanket covered brother. Dean then went to the small kitchen table and picked up one newspaper wrapped gift and gently sat down on Sam's bed, being careful not to jostle the mattress too much in case his brother needed to spew chunks again.
Dean shuddered at the thought. He'd seen and smelled enough vomit for one day.
"Here." He said, waving the item in front of Sam's face as he rolled onto his back and took the item.
Sam unwrapped the gift and grinned. "Thanks. I needed this." It was one of Sam's favourite kinds of packaged coffee – Italian roast.
"I ah, also got you a case of beer," Dean motioned to the unwrapped box sitting on the table, "but I don't think you'll be having that for a while."
Sam's gut twinged. "No, definitely not for a while."
He put the coffee on the bedside table. "Yours are in the side pocket of my duffel."
"Yeah?" Dean's eyes looked a little surprised, and Sam felt both irritation and sadness that Dean might have thought he'd be getting nothing. "Yeah you moron – go get it."
Dean didn't have to be told twice. He pulled out a white grocery bag by its handles, and used his other hand to hold it from the bottom, as one item in particular was heavy. He again sat on the bed, untangled the bag and pulled the contents out. "Let's see." Dean ripped the same newspaper wrapping off with much more vigour than Sam had. So as Sam watched, he could see at least his first gift would be successful. "Dude!" Dean smiled widely as he held a bottle of his favourite whiskey close to his chest. "Best stuff that's ever been made!"
Sam chuckled a little at Dean's childlike awe. Sometimes, he forgot that pleasing his brother didn't always have to involve hunting.
Dean was equally pleased with the cassette tape that replaced the old one that had finally been played one too many times. That one Sam had been a bit more creative in finding.
E-bay was Sam's new best friend.
A few lottery tickets rounded out Dean's gifts and his brother set to work on looking for the fifty thousand dollar prize.
Sam felt a pat on his blanket covered knee and turned his head.
"Thanks Sammy."
Sam laid his head back on the pillow and smiled as he drifted off back to sleep. "You're welcome."
Sam awoke sometime in the late afternoon to the TV turned down low and his brother sitting back on his own bed, laughing every so often as his eyes tracked movement on the television. "What are you watching?"
Dean's eyes didn't leave the TV, but his fingers pressed on the remote and the volume increased. "Home Alone 2. This kid is awesome."
Sam snorted softly, eyes finally drifting toward the movie. "Only because Harry and Marv are outsmarted by an eight year old who shouldn't be able to do half the stuff he does."
Dean's eyes glanced over at him. "Don't take the fun out of my enjoyment of cheap entertainment." He grinned suddenly. "Besides, this is a classic Christmas movie, so shut your pie-hole."
Sighing, Sam pushed himself up, leaning against the headboard and looking around for his water bottle.
He found it being waved in front of his face, Dean's eyes still on the TV. "Thanks." He said quietly, as he took the water and then the pill bottle that his brother rattled in his hand.
"Take two of these – you're due for another dose."
"Yes mom." Sam answered sourly.
"Ungrateful snot." His brother teased, ignoring him for the most part as his eyes continued to watch the movie, laughing when Marv gets nailed on the head with a brick.
Pushing himself up slowly, Sam peeled away the blanket and instantly felt goosebumps pepper his arms. He shivers involuntarily as he stands up slowly, making his way towards the bathroom.
"Need any help?" Dean asks quietly, eyes tracking Sam's shuffling movements.
Sam shakes his head. "No, I'm okay."
His sibling turns down the volume a little. "Holler if you need me."
Sam does smile then. "Yeah, I will."
It takes him a few minutes, with weakness set deep in his joints and muscles and the return of nausea. Sam manages to take the pills his brother gave him and relieve his bladder, washing his hands thoroughly and drying them on the thread bare hand towel. He shuffles back into the room and finally dumps himself on the bed, cocooning himself back in his new blanket and under the cheap motel sheets that have sporadic spots all over them that Sam would rather not identify. "What did I miss?"
Dean's stretched out on his stomach, his face near the end of the bed, his chin resting on folded hands. "Not much. They're just getting into the house now."
Sam not really interested in the movie. He's content to just… be. For one day, they could forget about angels and demons and the devil. For the first time in a long time, they were just brothers, watching a movie and exchanging gifts like everyone else.
They could pretend to be normal for a day, even when the world they lived in was far beyond the realm of probability and all likelihood.
But seeing Dean laugh, being on the receiving end of kindness – of which Sam didn't think he necessarily deserved - and being able to exchange gifts – even though it was between bouts of sickness and exhaustion - all in all, today wasn't the worse they'd had. Far from it. And besides, it was the small things that counted.
Dean's laughter brings Sam out of his thoughts and he smiles, sinking into the warmth wrapped around him. One hand skims across the bedside table, searching for that elusive wet cloth – which his brother throws at his face.
Dean looks at Sam and then points at the screen. "Now shut up and watch the movie. You're going to miss all the good parts!"
Yeah, they had their own brand of normal too.
A/N: That's it folks!
In case you were wondering, the prompt was: Hmm, a good old fashioned hurt/comfort fic (even a drabble) makes my day. So I had a lot of free rein on this one :)
Hope you enjoy (and don't end up like Sam on Christmas!) and I wish you all a happy holiday (and a very Merry Christmas!)