Not mine, don't own. For once, I think Sam and Dean would be relieved.
My sincere thanks to Fanpire101 for her fast and enthusiastic beta. :) Any remaining errors are mine.
Set during Season 1. AU.
Note: I am not a doctor. Any illness depicted here is subject to error.
Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.
It came on suddenly, the way these things often do. Sam tried shifting in his seat, twisting his long legs back and forth fractionally, so as not to disturb his brother. Dean had been in a foul mood ever since they'd received the call from Bobby, and Sam knew he wanted to get to their next hunt before nightfall. The last thing Sam wanted to do was pick another fight with his big brother.
A hunter friend of Bobby's needed their help in tracking an elusive werewolf. The man been injured by his latest encounter with the monster and couldn't keep up the hunt.
Sam had a bad feeling about this job. He and Dean had just gotten over a nasty cold and neither was feeling quite up to par. But it was time to jump back on the horse and Sam couldn't quite put his finger on his reticence.
His reluctant attitude had pissed Dean off. They hadn't spoken for the last fifty miles - ever since they'd stopped at the diner for lunch - the place where Sam had eaten that questionable salad with the soggy croutons and rotten tomatoes. Surely, it couldn't have made him sick so soon?
He shifted in his seat again as another cramp rocketed its way across his abdomen. Or maybe it could. Placing a hand on his stomach, Sam clamped a hand against the painful spasms. For once, he wished his older brother's super-protective streak would kick in. Leaning toward the window, he tried to angle his body toward the Impala's passenger side window. "D'n?" he mumbled. "'m gonna be sick."
There was no reaction from the driver.
"D'n?"
Sam raised his head fractionally and turned to look at his brother. He expected that Dean would be wearing headphones while driving. This was something Dean rarely did since it was illegal and besides, he liked to inflict his music on Sam, but if he was annoyed and trying not to pick a fight, the headphones came out.
But no. Dean was simply ignoring him, staring resolutely ahead in silence with a deep scowl.
Sam crinkled his forehead in confusion at the man beside him. This wasn't like his brother. "D'n?" he tried again.
The hunters locked eyes briefly, and Sam saw Dean's green eyes pop in surprise. "Sam?"
Sam, not Sammy. The younger brother swallowed down the saliva that was rising in the back of his throat. "D'n. Can't hunt tonight."
It was the wrong thing to say.
Dean's hands tightened against the steering wheel. "You don't want to go, fine. I'll dump your ass at a motel and come back for you, Samantha." He flashed a brief look of irritation at the younger hunter. "Kids are dying out there. Sometimes you've got to pull your shit together even when you don't feel up to it. If we miss tonight we'll have to wait another lunar cycle. I promised Bobby that we'd be there no matter what." Dean rubbed the side of his neck and frowned.
Sam knew something was off about this conversation, but he couldn't identify what. Just like there was something off about this whole trip. If he only felt better, he might be able to figure out what it was.
But Dean had told him to suck it up and some habits are ingrained. With effort, Sam swallowed down the nausea, and thankfully, the cramp subsided.
When they stopped for dinner, Sam ordered something bland from the menu and then promptly excused himself from the table to go out to the Impala in search of the med kit.
Weird. Instead of finding it tucked behind their duffles, like usual, the bag of medical supplies was near the front of the trunk. Maybe Dean restocked it recently.
Sam's fingers gripped the bottle of pink goo as he chugged the disgusting, chalk-like liquid. Dean was right. Kids were dying and he shouldn't let a simple stomach ache get him down. He'd eat lightly for dinner, they'd hunt this thing and kill it, and then he'd collapse at the motel. If Dean still wanted to keep going after that instead of taking a few days off, they could fight about it then. Right now, people needed them.
Another searing cramp ripped through his abdomen and Sam felt like he might black out. They were creeping through the woods, shotguns at the ready, when he had to stop and wrap a hand around his gut before he fell over from the pain. Dean didn't seem to notice his absence and kept moving forward.
Sam frowned as he contorted. It wasn't like Dean to leave Sam, especially not when he was acting like this. It was as if Dean's big brother radar had simply gone off-line.
"Dean!" he hissed. As before in the car, his brother didn't turn around or acknowledge that he had spoken. A second plunging sensation roared through Sam's gut. This one had nothing to do with his stomach and everything to do with his brother. Something was wrong with Dean. Ignoring Sam in the car was one thing. But ignoring him on a hunt? Dean would never do that.
Sam tried to push past the pain that was causing the edges of his vision to flicker. "Dean!" he hissed loudly.
The older man continued his slow walk into the woods, and now, far too late, Sam knew exactly why he'd felt reluctant about this hunt. Dean was off his game. Still sick or maybe injured, Sam wasn't sure which, and he must be trying so hard to fight through it that he was oblivious to everything else. Shit!
That was when he heard it, a low growl off to one side. He barely registered the sound before the beast was on top of him, knocking the gun away, rancid breath in his face, snapping its jaws perilously close to his neck. If only Dean had stayed by his side!
He rolled around on the forest floor, fighting against the giant creature, trying to grasp a rock or stick that he could use for self-defense.
Sam had no idea where his brother was as he squirmed and dodged the snapping, slobbering jaws. Normally, the man had a sixth sense about monsters and turned up right when he was needed. Not this time.
He had to find some way to alert Dean. It wasn't standard practice but desperate times called for desperate measures. Sam opened his mouth and screamed.
"Like a girl," Dean said. He was tucking gauze into the gash on Sam's forearm, and added a dollop of antibiotic cream before wrapping the whole injury in a thick bandage. "You were screaming like a girl." He shook his head and put their supplies back in the med kit.
"You left me," Sam pointed out, wincing as he hobbled his way back to bed. His stomach still didn't feel all that great, and he hoped another trip to the bathroom wasn't in order.
Dean frowned and rubbed the side of his neck. The gesture pulled Sam away from his own misery and he focused his attention back on his brother.
"What's the matter with you?" Sam pressed. "You've been acting weird all night."
Dean lips flattened into an ever thinner line, almost as if he was afraid some truth might pop through them. "Get some rest," he ordered his brother, turning away to place the med kit on the table.
"No, Dean," Sam said quietly, his voice firm. "We need to talk about this. You could have gotten me killed out there."
Dean didn't reply. He pulled out a clean pair of sweats, underwear, and a reasonably clean T-shirt from his duffle. He turned to look at Sam. "You need in the bathroom before I start my shower?"
"I need you to talk to me!" Sam's voice was incredulous.
Dean crinkled his brows. "'Bout what?" he asked.
Understanding registered for Sam. He turned his face away from Dean's. "About why you can't hear me," he whispered.
The quizzical expression didn't leave his brother's face. "What?"
Sam turned back to Dean and repeated the words, noting that his brother's eyes were tracking his mouth. Reading his lips.
"You need to talk to me, Dean," he said at a normal volume, and Dean's eyes dropped to the floor. Sam watched as his brother's posture slowly curled in on itself, arms wrapped protectively around his waist.
"Lemme shower first," Dean managed and Sam nodded. Having caught his brother in such a vulnerable position brought him no joy. If Dean needed a few minutes alone to collect his thoughts, so be it.
Sam spent the time Dean was in the shower puzzling over his brother's recent behavior. Hearing loss, check. Fever? Maybe. It might explain the med kit being out. Pain? Possibly. Dean kept rubbing beneath his ears, right in the locations on his neck where the Eustachian tubes drain. Dizziness? Vertigo? Sam wasn't sure. As for how long Dean had been suffering in silence, Sam wasn't sure about that either. He'd never spent much time honing his little brother radar. He sighed. He'd have to wait for more information from Dean to piece this puzzle together.
Sam huffed in frustration as he waited. Dean still hadn't emerged from the shower. He padded over to the door and knocked.
"Dean?" The door wasn't properly latched, and the small force of the knock was enough to open it. Steam billowed out of the small room, carrying the fragrance of lavender mixed with vanilla. "Dean?" he asked again.
Sam found his brother standing under the spray of the shower, eyes closed, tears streaming down his face. It was such an unguarded moment that Sam had to blink back the wetness that overtook his own eyes. He snuck out of the bathroom as silently as he could, heart pounding.
Okay, Sam thought. I can do this. I can be the big brother.
He whimpered slightly at another cramp, wishing desperately that his stomach would just stop with the torture already. Dropping onto his bed, he called the front desk and extended their stay, and asked for directions to the nearest drugstore. When the answer grew too complex for his addled mind to follow, Sam shifted tactics and asked for the nearest convenience store. It would have to do.
Pulling himself together by stages, Sam crept toward his duffle and found a warm pair of socks. He didn't like going out in sweats and a ratty T-shirt, but redressing was too much effort. Whatever Dean was dealing with, his brother was clearly at the end of his tether. They both needed some food and rest. Well, at least some saltines and Gatorade, thought Sam.
He left a hastily scratched note for Dean, grabbed the keys to the Impala, and headed out.
By the time Sam had returned, Dean was sitting propped up on his bed, legs outstretched, head tipped back, a wet washcloth over his forehead. Headache posture.
Sam dumped the supplies on the little table, thankful the dingy room at least had a microwave. He waited until his brother was looking at him before he spoke. "Got you some instant stew, but I'm not making it for you. My stomach's a mess." Sam swallowed hard at the thought of food. "Gatorade and crackers, Sprite for me, Coke for you, and just about every over-the-counter medicine they had."
"Beer?" Dean asked, a hopeful lilt to his voice.
Sam walked over and handed him one. Sitting beside his brother on the bed, he took a sip of Sprite. He waited until Dean's bottle was almost empty before he nudged his brother. "So?"
Dean shrugged and blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he said in a small voice. "I didn't ... I don't ..." Dean faltered.
Sam placed a tentative hand on his big brother's shoulder. When Dean didn't flinch away, he hid his surprise and rubbed circles of comfort on the man's upper back.
Dean cleared his throat and took a long pull from the bottle. Jumping up, he walked across the room to grab a second beer. Draining half of it quickly, he looked across the room and locked eyes with Sam. The pleading expression on his face made Sam's heart hurt. He wished he could simply read Dean's mind to save him the trouble of recounting his problems.
Dean ran a hand over his face and sat back down next to Sam. "Dad left," he whispered. "When he found out. That's why we weren't together when he disappeared."
A familiar sensation of rippling anger at their father coursed through Sam. He fought it back with effort and focused on the trembling man seated beside him. "Dean, whatever you have to say, I'm not going anywhere."
Dean nodded, eyes closed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did ya get more Advil?" When Sam nodded, Dean walked over to the dinette table, which now served as an impromptu medicine cabinet. Sam watched as he dry-swallowed three caplets along with an anti-nausea tablet before dropping back on the bed to sit beside him. Sam handed Dean the half-drunk beer, knowing his brother would need fortification to get through this conversation.
"I have a problem," Dean admitted, his voice rough. "With my right ear. The first doctor thought it was just an inner ear infection, gave me some drugs. It cleared up for awhile." The older hunter glanced at the younger. Sam wore an expression of pity mixed with tenderness. When he noticed Dean watching him, he tried to drop the look in favor of brotherly concern. Dean would clam up instantly if he thought Sam pitied him. But his heart was breaking in stages for his older brother, who was clearly suffering at recounting this.
"I thought things were okay for awhile." Dean shook his head. "Then I had a night hunting with Dad. Almost got us both killed. A lot like tonight." Dean stopped again, his breath coming in hitching gasps. He rubbed both eyes before jumping up to pace around the small room. Sam noticed a slight lurch to his steps and frowned. Dean hadn't had that much to drink and the medicine wouldn't have had time to kick in yet. He walked to his brother's side and guided the jumpy man to sit beside him again. Once Dean was seated, Sam sat directly behind him and began to massage the tension from Dean's neck.
"Second doctor thought it was Ménière's disease. But I don't have a typical case. Vertigo's never the worst symptom when I have a bout. But my hearing comes and goes in my right ear when it happens. Drives me up a fuckin' wall. Can't stand music when it's like that. Add in the migraines and it's hell." Dean's head drooped.
Sam spoke toward Dean's left ear, continuing the massage. "Do you have permanent hearing loss?"
Dean's shoulders shrugged beneath Sam's long fingers. "If I don't now, I will eventually," he admitted softly. "If it's Ménière's."
"You should see an ENT," Sam said.
"And pay for that how?" Dean turned to look at Sam. "Next step is an MRI and whole crap pile of audiology testing. Need a credit card that'll work for a month or two to get that mess straightened out. Besides, my hearing's not too bad unless I'm sick -" Sam's hand immediately flew to Dean's forehead, registering the fever there before Dean could bat it away. "Whenever I get a head cold, it tends to start another attack."
Sam shook his head and dropped his arms, regarding the man in front of him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Dean shrugged, arms folded, and stared at the floor. "Hoped it'd go away." The eyes he turned to Sam were luminous green, and so sad that Sam found himself wrapping his brother in a bear hug before Dean could protest.
When the trembling subsided, Sam released his brother. "So," he said, making sure that Dean was looking at him. "How're you feeling?"
His brother shrugged and broke eye contact. "Fine."
"Dean." Sam grabbed his brother's forearm and pinched him. When Dean looked up, anger flashing in his eyes, Sam continued. "I don't want the Dad answer. I want the real answer."
Dean swallowed hard. "Like shit," he admitted, rubbing the space between his eyebrows.
"Okay," Sam said. "Can you elaborate a little?"
Dean stared at his brother.
"I'll go first," Sam said, eyebrows lifting. "I'm Sam and I've got stomach cramps and diarrhea."
Dean's look of horror was priceless. "Eww."
Undaunted, Sam continued. "I feel lousy but not too bad. Got plenty of toilet paper and Gatorade." Dean winced and Sam grinned. "I extended our stay here another two nights so we could get some rest." He looked at Dean meaningfully. "Your turn."
Dean shook his head. "I'm headed to bed," he said, but when he stood up, he lurched sideways, nearly toppling over.
Sam was in his feet instantly. "So, vertigo," he said, using a strong arm to guide his brother to the other bed.
Dean nodded fractionally. "Gonna hurl," he whispered, and Sam had the little metal trash can under his brother's mouth in a flash. Once Dean had finished, Sam carried the puke-filled can to the toilet and dumped it out, trying to hold his nose against the smell. As he rinsed the can in the bathtub, his own stomach lurched violently, and Sam soon found himself heaving into the toilet. He sat on the floor for a long time after he flushed, the twin smells of vomit combining with the sour thoughts in his mind.
Can Dean continue to hunt? Sam was reasonably certain they could get past his brother's hearing loss, especially since they'd apparently been hunting together successfully for months and he'd never even noticed. But vertigo was another story entirely. Sam had experienced exactly one bout of vertigo, during a severe inner ear infection at Stanford, and it left him flat on his back for a week. He knew a little about Ménière's disease, and what he did know wasn't compatible with the hunting life. Maybe Dean could rest during bouts and I could pick up an odd job here and there?
The idea of Dad abandoning Dean at the mere possibility of Ménière's angered Sam more than he'd care to admit. Dean could barely talk to Sam about it, and for them to continue to work together, Sam had to know exactly what was wrong.
"Sammy?" Dean stood on unsteady feet in the doorway to the bathroom, gripping the door frame with both hands.
Sam lifted his head from the toilet seat. "Dude, you shouldn't be up."
Dean's green eyes tried to focus, but the effect of the glare was lost when he couldn't keep his vision trained on Sam. "You're sick. You should be in bed. Came here to give you a hand." Dean staggered forward and reached a shaky arm in Sam's direction, and the younger brother had to laugh.
"Dean, you're going to fall over. Why don't we help each other back to bed, okay?"
As the two brothers left the bathroom, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, Sammy clutching the dirty trash can, it struck Sam that they could do this. It might be hard, but he and Dean could survive anything, as long as they stuck together.