MAD SERVER…happy bday!!!
So…I'm 100% sure that YOU will understand this fic. Let's call it a practice shot, why don't we!? A practice shot that I failed miserably. LOL
I don't own anything! And the title of the fic is a title of Adam Green's (I never heard of him, seriously) song Morning after midnight. The song was on TV when I wrote the last sentence of this fic and I took the title of it. I don't even know what the song is all about shrugs.
Enjoy…
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It wasn't the horn of a truck that woke Sam up. It wasn't the sun rays that crept their way up his chest to land warmly on his eyes. It wasn't the soft hum of the fridge that made his ears tingle. It wasn't the odd smell coming from the little kitchen in the corner of the room. It wasn't the voice of a man that was hollering for his kid to get your ass back here. It wasn't the lazy noise of a radio turned on way to loud in the room next to theirs. It wasn't the soft dust that was tickling his nose, making him wanna sneeze. It wasn't the obvious things that pulled him to the painful edge of sleep.
No…it was something else. It was something hidden, something only he could recognize; only he could notice even in the deep sleep his brain forced him into. It crept into his dreams, one little thing, one noise that didn't belong in the room, in his dreams.
It was a hidden, harsh, interrupted breathing that woke him up. And it wasn't his, he knew that for sure. It was Dean's. Simple as that.
Sam knew Dean's breathing, like he knew his ABC…every missed breath, every hitch, every not fully taken breath, every well placed breath, every sigh, every snort, every pain filled gasp, every little note of the song that was his brother's breathing. And this…this one was missing a few of them.
Dean sniffed and left out a snore.
Scratch that…it was missing a lot of notes.
He untangled his right hand from underneath the covers, and put it on his eyes…trying to hide from the light and trying to ignore the fact that he needed to get up.
Sam sighed and Dean sniffed.
"Dean?" Sam whispered and groaned, not wanting to get up from his bed. It was so warm beneath the covers, so soft, so soothing. They both needed some rest…the past few days have been fast moving, and they were both feeling the consequences of six hunts in a row.
Sam groaned and Dean sniffed.
Sam removed his hand from his eyes, his forearm too heavy not to make his eyes bleary and watery. White spots danced in front of his vision, but when all that cleared, he could see the black screen of the TV and a shelf full of skin magazines. Dean sure knew how to pick their rooms.
Blinking, he rolled his head towards the other bed, scratching his stubble on the white pillow. He needed to shave…badly. His unruly hair made an obstacle before his eyes, and he raised his head to try and make them go away. And they did.
Dean was illuminated with the early spring sun, the covers pulled over his head, making his breath even lauder when the air hit the blanket. It was as if a broken ventilator would be whooshing air out like it was his dying breath.
Dean looked like he shrunk during the night. His body was a heap of shivering blanket, all his limbs pulled tight to his body. It was funny in a way, Sam thought. It looked like a small child made a blanket-fortress on the bed.
But the fortress was shaking, little shakes, too small for a naked eye to notice, but Sam's eyes weren't like that. His eyes were trained…eyes of a hawk. Eyes that saw when something was seriously wrong.
"Dean?"
His feet hit the carpet, the ugly red thing…but soft too. He moved his toes, wriggled them under the carpet's fibers…so soft.
Sam searched for his equilibrium and Dean sniffed.
"Dean?" he lowered his voice even more if that was even possible and stood up.
Only one step separated his bed with his brother's and he took it. Dean sniffed.
The carpet was still soft beneath his feet and he wanted to curl up and sleep right there, half way to Dean.
He crouched beside the spot where he thought Dean's face was, his knees popping with the sudden change of position and Dean coughed.
"Dean?"
He moved his hand up to grip the headboard. He needed to lean some of his weight on it; his mind was still in the grips of sleep and his body swayed a little, trying to wake itself up. His other hand went on a mission of its own…he raised it up in search of the blanket's edge. He wanted to see his brother; needed to asses his condition like a true hunter assesses his victim.
Grabbing the edge of the blanked he slowly pulled it down, making little particles of it fly around his head. They sparkled in the sun, and landed quietly on Dean's hair.
Sam swallowed and Dean sniffed.
"You sick?!" he asked over the congested breathing coming from the bundle that was his brother. He didn't expect an answer, but he sure wanted one. Just one word, it didn't even have to be a coherent one…just one word to ease his mind that this was just a cold. A simple 'a few days' cold. Sniffs, coughs, sneezes and grumblings…just that. Nothing more.
Please, don't let it be the flu…
Red nose and flushed cheeks, freckles standing out like someone painted them on. Slightly open mouth and sweat on upper lip. Hands in fists resting underneath a strong chin. Sick. Awesome.
Dean's forehead was covered with spikes of his short hair, glistering under the sweat that was gradually wetting every single hair on his head, making it look like he drowned it in hair gel.
Sam's hand sneaked up to touch, to feel for himself why Dean was like that; although he already knew, damn it. His palm, still hot from sleep, but getting cooler by the second, connected with Dean's forehead, the skin there hot, clammy, soft. His fingers rested on Dean's temple, feeling the long vain under the thin skin throb while his palm absorbed the warmth emanating from his brother's skin. A slight pressure on his palm that was not his doing, told him that Dean leaned his head into the coolness of his skin.
Sam smiled and a snot bubble that came out of Dean's nose burst.
Sam could feel a shiver go through Dean's body and he withdrew his hand like it was burned. Fever. Awesome.
"Dean...hey wake up." He kept his voice soft and hushed, maybe even a little whiny, but he didn't care.
Sam shifted and Dean's eyes fluttered open.
"'smmy, sguhleep…" a little trickle of saliva came from Dean's mouth and ran down his bottom lip to be soaked up by the pillow.
"Okay, okay, Dean, soon. Just…hey…look at me…" Dean's eyes opened, "…ah…how do you feel!?"
"Weeeeeeeeeeird." He breathed out, blowing a full breath on Sam.
"Weird?" Sam repeated feeling weird himself. Dean's breath smelled like something died in there plus coffee. Maybe something drowned in coffee.
Sam smirked and Dean sniffed.
Sam stood up and made his way to the bathroom. Looking himself in the mirror that was right above the place the toilet paper was kept, he saw that he was still half asleep. His hair was all over the place, his face all crimpled and wrinkled.
Whatever…
He took a roll of toilet paper and made his way back to crouch before Dean.
"Here," he offered Dean the toilet paper, "wipe your nose. I can see you making bubbles when you breathe. It's disgusting, man."
Dean raised his left hand and took the offered roll of white toilet paper and pressed some of it to his nose. He didn't even open his eyes while doing that, they were just too heavy.
"I hope," he blew his nose, and gasped when a tingling pain ripped his nose in two, "damn…'s multi layered."
"You just stuff some in or something, dude. Don't blow your nose all the time."
"Mhm."
Sam smiled and Dean made a bubble out of his snot when he breathed out of his nose. Again.
"Do you like…hurt?"
Dean opened his eyes at that. Shiny green eyes, covered with a veil of fever and Sam kneeled down. The carpet was soft, caressing his boney knees.
"Ya," a cough, "kiddn'? m dying…"
Sam smiled an awkward smile and blushed.
"I mean…flu hurt or cold hurt?"
"'s there a diffrnce'?"
Dean's voice was gentle like cat's footsteps and raw like he scratched his throat out.
He didn't dare to talk; his throat was sore. He didn't want to breathe; his mouth got dry really fast. He didn't want to keep his eyes open; they watered and everything was bleary. He couldn't move from his position; his muscles screamed and pulled at him. He didn't want to blow his nose anymore, no matter how disgusting he was; his nose split in half if he even touched it with the rough toilet paper. His head was pounding in the rhythm with his heart; he could feel something deep in his ears burn when he swallowed. He was cold, hot, sweating and sleepy. The fever was taking its toll; he could feel reality slip away from him, Sam just a low buzzingsound somewhere near his face.
Dean's glazed green eyes made Sam sigh. All questions were off, Dean's coherency slipping away from him and it was up to him to see what the deal was.
Dean sighed and closed his eyes again when a spasm ripped through his head making a path trough his body all the way down to his toes.
"Are you gonna throw up?"
No answer.
"Are you gonna be sick?"
No answer.
"Hey Dean?" he raised his voice and Dean opened his eyes. Sam could see that the answer was 'not yet'.
"Okay, okay."
He warmed his hands up, rubbing them together, making heat form and spread up his arms.
"Just don't drool on me." Sam said, moving his hands to Dean's sweaty, drool covered neck, checking his brother's glands. He wasn't disappointed to find them swollen. Awesome.
If Sam would be making a list, it would go like this:
Fever; one look at Dean's sweaty face and neck, the way his body was trying to cool itself… check.
Coughing; he only heard Dean cough once, but…check.
Sore throat; if swollen glands were any indication…check.
Runny nose; another snot bubble burst…check.
Headache; the throbbing vain in Dean's temple…check.
Muscle ache; the way Dean was locked up on himself…check.
Fatigue; not even being able to keep his eyes open…check.
Suma sumarum; flu. Crap.
"Okay, okay. You sleep and I'll get you some pills or somethin'."
"Yeah…"
Sam rose up on his feet.
"And bring sm' tissues; I don't think this toilet paper 's multi layered."
Sam looked back at Dean and saw a soaked up, torn into pieces, green snot filled toilet paper in Dean's hand. Dean's eyes were like a child's one, when he knows he did something bad. Dean was so out of it, Sam had to laugh. Dean sniffed and another bubble burst.
"Sammy…" Dean groaned, closed his green eyes and covered his head with the blanket, leaving Sam to the bright, noisy spring morning. Awesome.
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The End