Dean glances at Sam. But he won't say anything- of course not. Mostly because Sam has been trying to be all macho man since they left Phoenix, Arizona. But Dean is worried. Dean sees right through Sam's barriers. Sam's stifling the wheezes through his jacket, trying not to let Dean notice the coughs that wrack his body by tensing just before it happens. He tries to stay out of the light that seeps into the darkened car so as to hide the thin layer of sweat over his skin. Every once in a while his eyes will drift closed, but he'll shake himself out of it before he falls asleep.
It's late at night. Dean isn't quite sure where they are right now, but it doesn't matter, not when Sam's looking sick as a dog. Dean pulls over to turn off at the next exit, despite Sam's feeble protests, a hard look on his face as he grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white. Why didn't Sam just tell him? How could he protect his baby brother when the kid didn't even tell him he was sick?
"'M fine, Dean." Sam growls out, and Dean can tell he is restraining the crack in his voice.
"Like hell you are, Sam." Dean keeps his eyes on the road, getting angrier as the seconds tick by.
He stops at the first motel they find, checks in and hauls Sam and their bags into room 3A. He tosses the duffels carelessly onto the nearest bed and helps Sam to sit on the other one while he gets a shower going. He knows exactly what to do, and God help Sam if he dared move or try to stop Dean.
As soon as the water is the right temperature, Dean goes back into the motel room and helps Sam to get into the bathroom (the taller man was stumbling, for Christ's sake.) and helps him to undress. Sam isn't really putting up much of a fight, only showing how weak he had gotten. Sam's skin is way too hot; Dean can feel it through the material of his shirt. He glares at the buttons as he pushes them out of their holes. Sam isn't even bothering to hide his coughs anymore, the way they make his whole body tremble and shake, and almost make him topple over with their force. Sam manages to get into the shower okay, without slipping, and Dean pulls the curtain closed behind him. He gathers up Sam's dirty clothes and throws them in a corner to be picked up when they pack up to check out.
Dean leaves, but only after setting out clean clothes and a towel for Sam in the bathroom on the toilet seat cover. He needs Aspirin and some cough medicine. And when he gets back, ice.
When Dean has finally gotten everything he needs and is back in the hotel room, a determined set to his shoulders, Sam is already dressed, dry, and shivering in bed, covers pulled all the way up to his chin, hair still slightly damp. Dean's gaze softens for a moment before he lays everything out- the clean cloth he got from the linen closet in the room, the medicine, the thermometer, and the bucket of ice water. He sits on the side of the bed and dips the cloth in the ice water and wrings it out until it's only damp before swiping Sam's face with it. More protests meet his ears, but Dean ignores them. He doesn't stop until he's gotten every inch of bare skin. He helps Sam sit up to choke down an Aspirin, chase it with some water, and waits a half an hour before giving him some cough medicine, too, because he can't bear to hear the way Sam's hacking up a lung.
But no matter how many blankets and sheets Dean adds to the bed, no matter how many pillows he stuffs under and around Sam's head, the kid won't quit shivering.
"'M cold, Dean." Sam mumbles. Although, when it comes out, Sam's voice is a little garbled and sounds more like 'De' than anything else.
"I know, Sammy." Dean gets up to go and find a thicker blanket and to turn up the heat in the room, but Sam's hand stops him by grabbing and holding onto his wrist.
"Don't go. Please." Another cough, and Dean turns to look over his shoulder. Sam's puppy dog look is on full blast, and Dean's will crumples instantly.
He's not sure what else to do, what else he can do. So Dean pokes Sam until he moves over a little and slips under the mountain of covers with him, shirtless to perhaps offer Sam some more warmth than he's getting by himself. Sam instantly latches onto Dean, burying his face in the crook of Dean's neck, holding him tight. Dean awkwardly returns the strangling-hug in a less violent way, gently holding Sam to him. He can feel his brother's heartbeat on his own chest, fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a plastic bag or something.
Sam begins to shiver, but Dean knows it's from the fever rather than the lack of heat. So he carefully detaches himself from Sam before he falls asleep and does the ice-water wipe-down again, breathing a sigh of relief when Sam lets out the first breath that does not contain a cough, relaxing deeply in Dean's ginger embrace. Dean lays the cloth on the bedside table, not caring if the water damages the wood. That is, if it's even real wood. The motel is cheap and crappy, but it's the first one Dean found and that was good enough for him.
Sam speaks suddenly, his voice cracked and soft, but Dean can still understand it.
"Th'nks, De'." He mumbles, again burrowing into Dean's chest. Dean threads his fingers through Sam's hair, breathing in the smell that is purely Sam.
"No problem, Sammy." Dean murmurs back, deciding not to tease Sam for the new endearment. It's different than 'asswipe' and 'jerk', and Dean can't lie to himself- he kind of likes it. But he won't let Sam know.
Sam suddenly looks up, right into Dean's eyes. His expression is unreadable- so many emotions so fast Dean can't quite catch them as they slip through his fingers. Sam is getting closer, closer, so close Dean can smell his minty, toothpaste-y breath. Dean's not pulling away. What's wrong with him?
"Sammy?" Dean asks. It's not really a question, either, it seems. And they both know it.
"Mm?" Sam hums back, before pressing their lips together gently.
When he pulls back, Dean can see the fear there, the uncertainty and can guess the thoughts running through his brother's head. Oh god oh god I just kissed him oh god he'll hate me oh god.
Not surprisingly, he's not that far off from the truth.
The only reactions Dean offers is to settle back into the pillows, still holding Sam, perhaps more relaxed than he had been.
"I swear, if you get me sick…" Dean's voice trails off, and Sam laughs brokenly, yet it gives away into coughs.
"'S okay." Sam croaks, before falling into a sleep that comes with the sickness.
Dean decides that if Sammy gets better, they should do the kissing part more often.