Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.

AN: Written in kinda a rush, so please excuse the spelling/grammer errors ^^;;

AN(1): Slight OC-ness expected as per usual...

AN(2): Set sometime during Season 1…

ENJOY!

.

.

.

Abrupt

.

.

Dean rubs absently at his side with the palm of his hand, a habit of late. His other hand still fiddling with the keys, he's been stuck on opening the trunk of Metallicar for a while now.

Sam grunts and shifts the wooden box in his arms. By now he'd probably collected seven splinters in his arms, in addition to the several scratches from the corners. Carrying around a box full of ammo and rock salt isn't as lightweight as they always made it out to be in the movies.

"Anytime would be good, Dean," Sam seethes through his teeth.

The older Winchester brother growled and rattled the keys in the lock, "It won't OPEN!" he snaps.

"It might help if you TURN the damn keys," Sam says, trying to balance the box on his lifted knee, not helping when the leg he's balancing on is wobbly.

Dean starts tilting the keys, he blinks, "It's not … working… " he says and lets out a breath. He leans heavily on the trunk, by now his right hand started gripping his side.

Sam's instincts kicked in at the sight and he set the box down on the ground, "Are you alright?" he puts an arm around Dean's shoulders, earning a slap from his brother.

"Get off me!" Dean growls wringing himself from his brother's grasp. He jabs at the lock again in frustration. By now his breathing had made a solid migration from relatively normal to downright staccato rasps.

The youngest Winchester's eyes narrows. He'd seen this coming. For a couple of days now. He checked off the glossy eyes and fever just two days ago. Yesterday the trembling in the fingers started along with the stooping posture. He was pretty sure the flu would've hit his brother full force by now, but Sam chalked it off to Dean's excessive sleeping. It happened whenever Dean didn't feel 'normal', his brother would start sleeping…. A LOT. His normal four hour sleep maximum would be upgraded to ten –and that was when Dean actually started setting his alarm to wake up.

Sam frowns, "Dude, where'd you stash the first aid kit?" he says, rolling up his sleeves for effect. "I think I got like twenty splinters in my arms."

"Baby skin, Sammy, I've been telling you that for years," Dean says and grins, he walks over to the open backdoor, reaching inside.

Sam subtly turned the key, popping the trunk open. He was about to pick up the box again… until…

"OOooff-" Dean's muffled voice was followed by a groan.

Sam's head popped up. "What happened?" he asks, walking over to the side of the Chevy.

The sight of Dean's jean-clad legs flailing about outside the door made Sam chuckle.

"Shut up, bitch, I CAN hear you, you know!" Dean snaps and tries to haul himself out of the Impala. He gratefully took Sam's hand, only to suddenly drop down as if someone punched him in the gut.

Sam watched wide-eyed as his brother gasped for breath and contracted, "Are you okay!" he asks. He hates how close to hysteria his voice is sounding.

"UGH! I knew this was going to happen!" Dean grunts and rolls onto his right side, drawing his knees up, "Should've taken this thing out the first time!"

An inventory of supernaturals scrolled in front of Sam's eyes, only to have him realize that it wasn't something supernatural at all. And worse, it wasn't just 'The Flu'.

It was something Dean would get struck down by every few years since he was twelve. It was something that was passed down from Mary to her oldest son. Something John had thought could wait while they were out hunting werewolves in Jericho. And even then the matron at the hospital had warned that it would be a recurring event and would be best to deal with right away. John had smiled, nodded and wheeled a morphine-doped Dean out of the ward.

Aspirin and rest works wonders. Just like a good 'ol bar of soap can disinfect a Chupacabra bite. And if that doesn't work, J&B or Bells on the rocks can disinfect you from the inside.

'cause a Winchester can't be taken out by such a girly pinprick, right, Dean?

Oh yea. Fricken' kickass appendicitis.

.

.

.

I'm not too sure about completing this…. I'll see how it goes review/fav-wise :)

Thanks for reading!