Writing on the Wall
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Supernatural. (Though I do wish that I did :.
Summary: Season 7. Bobby, fed up with his boys, decides to take matters into his own hands when Sam gets sick. Sick!Sam Protective!Dean, Bobby.
Circa Season 7
It had been a long week.
Dean was out getting information on their latest case, leaving Sam home alone trying to get some research done. If you could call a sleazy, moldy motel "home".
Sam hasn't slept good for weeks, maybe months (heck, he was lying to himself, he never really slept good), but it was getting worse. After Bobby and everything with Lucifer, he was too stressed to sleep for more than an hour. It was hard to go from 60 down to 0 to fall sleep.
He could feel the effects. His entire body hurt. His head was killing him, and now that he thought about it... So was his throat. Great, all he needed was a cold to finish off his sucky week.
He got up to grab the Advil container off of the nightstand when he saw Bobby's flask. Dean must have forgotten it when he left. Sam's eyes floated around the room, but he couldn't see Bobby.
Sam suddenly sneezed into his elbow, hurting his head even more. He groaned softly, rubbing his temples.
Bobby watched the whole thing silently. Instinctively, he wanted to care for Sam himself, but since Dick he didn't have enough energy to appear to do just that.
He has known for a day or two that Sam was getting sick, but both boys were too in their heads to notice. Sometimes Bobby wanted to smack their thick heads together.
Bobby suddenly had an idea. When Sam went to the bathroom, Bobby followed. (After, of course, Sam had flushed the toilet because Bobby was not messing with that.) When Bobby walked in, the mirror fogged up from the temperature shift.
Sam looked startled. "B-Bobby?" He called before breaking off in a hoarse, racking cough.
Bobby took the opportunity to write on the mirror.
"Sleep," was the first thing he wrote. "Temp." If Bobby couldn't do the things himself, he would at least watch over and make sure Sam did everything to take care of himself that Bobby would.
"I'm fine," Sam lied to the open air, a chill racking his body. The hotel heat was sketchy anyhow, plus Bobby was freezing the fever-ridden Winchester.
"Idgit," Bobby wrote and then underlined.
"Thanks," Sam grumbled, sounding utterly exhausted. He looked like an over-grown kid when he was sick. With everything he had been through, he grew up quick, but deep down he was just a kid. A tall, shaggy-haired kid.
"Who are you talking to?" Sam heard Dean ask him from outside the bathroom. Sam quickly erased Bobby's writing about him being sick before emerging.
"My stupid phone," Sam answered. "It's not cooperating."
Dean shook his head. "You know, talking to inanimate objects is the first sign of insanity."
"So is hearing voices," Sam mumbled, but Dean heard him.
"That was different," Dean told his brother sharply. "And it was a voice."
Because that makes so much of a difference, Sam though bitterly.
Bobby watched the two bickering, Sam barely remaining on his feet.
"Sit down already! Dean, make him sit down," Bobby tried to instruct his boys, but they didn't hear him.
"I'm gonna hit up the bar, see if I can hear anything about these murders, okay?" Dean grabbed Bobby's flask, much to Bobby's disappointment, and left. It wasn't that Bobby didn't want to be with Dean too, but he was just worried about Sam.
Once in the car, Bobby tried again for Dean to be able to see him. He calmed himself, channeling his energy before...
"Bobby!" Dean gasped, jumping.
"You can see me?" Bobby asked, relieved.
Dean nodded.
"Turn around."
"What? Why?"
"Sam's sick."
That was all Dean needed to hear. He pulled a quick U-Turn before heading back to the motel. Bobby, satisfied with his work, disappeared and simply observed the brothers. They could take care of each other from here.
A/n: Chapter 2?
Stay Gold lovelies,
~ Alee XxX