Just a random story that popped in my head.
I hated my luck. Between nearly getting killed by a vengeful Ghost, which resulted in me breaking my leg in three places, and getting hit in the face with a shovel plus dirt by Dean I woke up throwing up on the bathroom. I glared up at the ceiling in the bathroom wishing for a quick death. Something to stop the pain that was residing in my chest as I continued to heave. I knew my dad was upset with Dean as he worried he caused more harm then not but I didn't. I just hated my luck.
I was never a lucky kid. It all started when my mother died on my six month birthday, something dad and Dean refuse to tell me. But I knew it was something awful by how protective my dad and brother have been. But now at sixteen I was struggling with something a lot worse. The Flu on top of the bad luck sundea I call life.
"Sammy, you okay in there?" Dean's voice though muffled by the closed bathroom door was full of concern. He had been told to stay with me while our dad went on a hunt in Little Rock Arkansas. "I got you some chicken noodle soup and tomato. With Saltine crackers."
"Not..." I felt my stomach roll as I placed my face back into the commode and heaved more bile from my mouth. "...hungry..." I weakly spouted as I continued to extract the vile substance out of me.
"Come on you have to eat." Dean said pushing open the bathroom door and stepping in. "It would help you out I swear." He continued to look at me full of pity and concern. I was his baby brother and he felt powerless when I was sick. At twenty years old he was like a spitting image of dad with small difference in his features. "Come on, Sammy." He said helping me to my feet as he half lead half dragged me to the bed. He grunted as he plopped me on the bed and went back into the bathroom. I heard the faucet turning on and off and he emerged holding a small washcloth in his hands.
"I'm...okay..." I said weakly pushing my brothers hand away from me. But he moved back quickly placing the cold washcloth on my forehead. I shivered slightly but almost instantly felt my body heated up to the point I felt like I was melting.
"Say you're okay one more time. Maybe I'll believe you." I glared at Dean, or attempted to as my eyes closed on their own. "Look Sammy, at least Dad's not making you go hunting. So You better get used to being in bed."
"I hate...this." I said feeling another wave of bile resting at the top of my neck. Dean must have sensed it as I heard the wastebasket being placed next to my head on the floor.
The bile stung greatly as I let it explode out of my mouth. After I was done I lay back down closing my eyes and hating the headache that was creeping into my full sinus. I didn't have to open my eye to know Dean was just standing there looking at me like a mother looking at her sick son. I hated it when he did that. I hated it more when Dad would look at me like that.
"Sammy I want you to suck on these crackers. I'll be back in a few minutes." I heard the bag being placed on the nightstand next to my bed and I opened one of my eyes and saw that he wasn't standing next to my bed. I moved my head to see him standing next to the door putting something into his jacket. Most likely some salt after he placed it next to the door and windows. "I'm going to buy you some medicine and some more ice packs for that wounded leg of yours." I glanced down at my elevated leg and sighed. Dad reluctantly had to take me to the hospital and told a fib that I had broke my leg on a four wheeler when we went "camping". "I'll call the phone and let it ring once. That would let you know I'm here and about to come in okay?"
My mind couldn't comprehend what my brother had said but I nodded my head anyways letting himself out of the door and shutting it tight. I closed my eyes and felt myself slowly sinking into dreamland. Before I knew it I was fast asleep and didn't hear Dean calling the hotel. Didn't hear him letting himself in or heard him giving me medicine with a baby syringe while I slept.
Like I said before I hated my bad luck. I hated being sick with the flu. But most of all, I hated hunting.