Sam was dizzy, not from too much to drink or a bump to the head. He woke up in the latest motel room, which – by the way – was easily one of the most disgusting dumps in which they had ever laid their heads. That was really saying something. Sam awoke and immediately the room started spinning. He groaned as he lifted his head trying to locate the bathroom. Sam slowly pulled himself up from the old, rickety mattress and used the wall to steady himself and make it to the bathroom. He made it just in time. Vomiting violently, he had to hold onto the ancient toilet so he wouldn't fall to the side. God this was miserable. Once he completed the disgusting task at hand, he slowly leaned back and rested his head on the tub. The room was still spinning, but he had nothing left to give.
Dean woke to the terrible sounds of his brother throwing up more than he thought was humanly possible. He looked at the cheap motel alarm clock, 3 a.m., and fumbled in the dark towards the bathroom. He knocked on the partially closed bathroom door and pushed it open. He found Sam moaning, propped up against the cracked bathtub. "Jesus Sammy. What happened? Didja take up drinkin' and decide not to let me join the party?" Sam kept his eyes closed but softly chuckled, "no, I wish I had something fun to blame this on but I guess I just have the stomach flu or something." Dean felt a pang of sympathy for his brother, "are you done dude? Cuz I can help you back to bed." Normally Sam wouldn't accept this kind of help, especially since he had been alone and without Dean for months. He let Dean pull him up by the arm, because he was just…that…miserable. Sam almost fell over once he reached his full height. Dean grabbed a hold of his waist while mumbling, "C'mon Sammy, don't fall over on me. You are a lot heavier than you think." Dean could feel that Sam was dizzy, barely holding on to his equilibrium. It was a struggle to get him back into bed, but they made it. Dean grabbed some gross, pink goo and forced Sam to take a big swig. "I know it's disgusting man, but it says here that it relieves… nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach and diarrhea. Just try to keep it down." Sam obliged, but attempted to go right back to sleep thinking he might be able to keep the medicine in his system if he was asleep and not moving around. Dean quietly observed his sleeping sibling for a moment, feeling bad for the kid, then went back to bed himself.
Dean woke up the next time at 7:30 a.m. Sam wasn't in bed. He looked over to see Sam sitting in the desk chair, fully dressed, head resting on his arms on the desk. Sam's bags were packed and he appeared ready to go, other than the fact that he was fast asleep. Dean quietly got up for his shower, packed his bags, then tapped Sam on the shoulder gently. "Dude, you wanna get out of here? I'm ready to go now." Sam blearily looked up at his brother and nodded his head, even though the motion made his stomach flip. Sam did his very best to walk to the car without falling over. He didn't want Dean to worry, he probably just had a nasty bug. Once he was settled into the front seat, he leaned his head against the cool window and drifted off to sleep just as Dean was pulling out of the parking lot.
Sam felt quite a bit better when Dean woke him up for lunch at some roadside diner. He decided to order something "calm" to eat just to make sure he could keep it down. Sam ordered a plain chicken sandwich and hot tea. Dean ordered the triple bacon burger with guacamole and onion rings. Although he had to prop a menu up between their plates, Sam did fairly well – eating most of the sandwich and drinking all of the tea. While waiting for Dean to finish his trough of food, Sam absent mindedly scratched his left ear and studied a book about various incantations. Once back on the road, Sam felt pretty okay and allowed himself to fall asleep to the sounds of Dean and his Metallica tapes. His itchy ear was annoying but he didn't think anything of it, instead leaning to the left against the seat back, as that position seemed to relieve any annoying tickling sensation.
When he woke up Dean was stealthily sliding out of the driver's seat heading towards the gas station. Sam sighed a short "hmph" and turned his head back toward the steering wheel. A slow realization came upon Sam. His head laid on the seat, his face was inches from the steering wheel, Dean exited quietly when… Dean never does anything quietly. "Oh my God!" Sam launched himself straight up into a seated position. I was sleeping… on… Dean's lap! Sam wanted to cringe, Sam wanted to complain, Sam wanted to curl into himself with embarrassment. Unfortunately, Sam's dizziness returned, opposing the sudden movement from lying down to jerking awake and he quickly opened the passenger door just in time to throw up his lunch onto the gas station cement.
"Uhhhh, eww dude" was all Dean could say to Sam as he came up upon the scene holding beef jerky, Pringles, and two cherry Coke Icee's. Sam wiped his mouth, closed his door and then repositioned himself against the passenger window all the while eyeballing Dean as if to say, "just leave it alone". Sam felt the car start and shortly the familiar lull of the open road put him back to sleep. It was only early afternoon when Dean woke him up to check into the latest motel. This one looked halfway decent, at least it had laundry facilities and a pool he mused as Dean returned key in hand. Dean opened the door to room 5, bags in hand as Sam slowly drug his ass into the room. Sam took the bed by the bathroom, flopping face-first on the mattress. At least this room doesn't smell of smoke and bad body odor, he thought gratefully. It smelled clean and looked clean, a small blessing. "Sam, I'm going down the street to the bar to hustle pool and get us some pocket change. You uh… stay put and try not to redecorate the room with your lunch." Sam spoke into the comforter of the bed, "very funny dude. My lunch already made an appearance at the gas station. Anything you see here is purely bonus material." "Funny guy, Pukey McPukerson. Now, get some rest. If you don't feel better tomorrow we look into a visit with an MD." Dean said, the last part with a serious tone.
Dean was pretty happy. Instead of having to hustle pool, within hours he had quickly become a paid billiards tutor to a gaggle of college girls. This was the life!!, he thought. Too bad Sammy isn't here to witness my mastery. Dean was leaning in behind Shannon, the blonde with the pool cue, showing her how to set up her shot. He really didn't need to be that close, but hey, she seemed to be enjoying herself. Right after helping Shannon to masterfully shoot the 7 ball in the corner pocket, Dean heard a commotion by the door. When he turned his head, he just saw a flurry of napkins and beer bottles up in the air and someone hit the floor behind the booths. Dean smirked a little at the sloppy drunk and went back to the business at hand. The hubbub didn't stop though, so Dean excused himself from the girls to see what was going on. There, across the bar, near the pinball machine was a big, sloppy, falling-down-drunk, mess of a man. Mess of a Sam, actually. "Sam! What the hell, man?!" Dean yelled as he slid onto the floor next to his brother. Sam couldn't hold his head up, he was covered in beer and he was attempting to stand up, very unsuccessfully. Sam wasn't looking at Dean. Sam wasn't looking at…anyone or anything. His wild eyes were glassy and watery, as if he'd been crying. He was staring at his hands and feet, willing them to work, urging them to get him in a standing position. Dean was dumbfounded. What the hell was Sam doing? He was sick! He shouldn't be in a bar, boozing it up, he should be in bed! "Sam! Sam! Dammit, look at me, Sam!" Dean called out to Sam, finally grabbing his face forcing him to look into Dean's eyes. Unfortunately though, Sam was having none of that. He was grunting, not making any sounds akin to words. His eyes were travelling in circles, never staying focused for more than a second. He pushed Dean's hands away and attempted to punch whoever or whatever was in his way at that moment. Dean caught the flying fist, without much effort, and in one fluid movement scooped Sam into his arms as he fell unconsciously towards the floor. Dean readjusted Sam into a fireman's carry and headed out the door, mumbling half-hearted apologies on the way out. Luckily the bar was only a block and a half away from the motel, which was a blessing to Dean as he carried his "bigger" younger brother into room 5. Instead of depositing Sam on the bed, Dean gently laid his brother into the tub, arms and legs hanging over the edge. "Dude, I don't know what has gotten into you, but you stink." Dean groused. He turned on the cold water, letting it fall all over Sam. Surprised when he got no reaction, Dean turned off the water and went about getting his brother out of those wet clothes with the intention of a real shower. As Dean removed the layers of clothing, he noticed that Sam seemed warm. Quite warm. Feverish really. By the time he had Sam down to just his boxers (and that is how he would stay, Dean thought) Dean realized that Sam had quite a fever and that he didn't really smell of alcohol. His clothes did, but not his breath. Dean decided to keep the shower brief and on the cold side, hoping his brother would wake up and explain himself. Dean wondered why Sam would come into the bar, not feeling well. "He must've needed me, dammit", thought Dean. Feeling guilty, Dean dried Sam off and put him into bed in his t-shirt and a pair of dry boxers. Dean sat up on his bed watching Sam for an hour until he saw some small signs of life. Sam's brow furrowed, something it had a custom of doing. Hot tears poured out of the corners of Sam's closed eyes as he began to groan. Dean was by his side, calling his name, hoping for signs of comprehension. Sam opened his unseeing eyes and within a brief moment, he was convulsing in a horrible seizure. "Sam!" Dean called, hoping his brother would come out of this. Sam's spasms didn't stop, in fact, small trickles of blood were coming out of the sides of his mouth. Dean had had enough. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911.
Dean sat in the ER waiting room, undoubtedly one of his least favorite places on earth. Give him a werewolf or even a coven of witches any day over this. It was 4am, he was alone in the small-town waiting room. He was starting to worry that he had been forgotten when an exhausted, harried-looking doctor in scrubs approached him. "Dean Johnson?" the doctor said wearily. "Yes, yes, please what can you tell me about my brother? Dean said with an unavoidable edge to his voice. The doctor pointed back over to the plastic chairs and they took a seat facing each other. The doctor ran his hand along his sweaty forehead and sighed. "You said you and your brother are on a road trip?" he asked wearily. "Um…yeah," Dean replied. "Have you been doing a great deal of camping?" was the next question from the doctor. "No, my brother and me aren't fans." Said Dean, wondering what in the heck this had to do with anything. "Have you been sleeping in… less than ideal… less than sanitary situations?" the doctor said slowly. Dean scoffed, "Look doc, we stay in some flea-bag motels sometimes, but never for more than a couple of days." "I see", said the doctor. That explains how your brother came across Blattella Germanica." "What?" Dean said humorlessly. He hated games and he just wanted to know what was wrong with Sam. "Somewhere in your um…travels, your brother had an unfortunate run-in with a Blatella Germanica… a German cockroach." The doctor explained. "What are you talking about? He was bit by one, he ate one? What?!" Dean questioned. "Somehow, a cockroach found its way to Sam's ear canal… and that is where … it died." The doctor said slowly. Dean's quiet shock paved the way for the weary doctor to finish his explanation, which Dean only heard in bits and pieces. "…common cockroach, caused an infection, fever and seizure, minor surgery to repair the damage and remove the uh… remains." Dean realized that he held his head in his hands and that the doctor had stopped talking. "Can I see my brother now?" Dean said quietly. "Of course, no problem. He is recovering from surgery and is still on quite a bit of medication, so he will be incoherent at best." Dean thought about how much incoherent would be an improvement over the last time he saw Sam, fevered and seizing.
Dean walked into Sam's dark hospital room and found his brother sleeping soundly. There was a bandage below his left ear, the only sign left of the unwelcome visitor. Dean eased his way into the hard, plastic chair beside Sam's bed and grabbed his brother's hand. "Dude, you freaked me out. You really scared me Sam. The only saving grace is that you will be completely disgusted by the truth of what happened to you, and I get to be the one to tell you!" Dean chuckled. Sam stirred a bit at the sound then opened bleary eyes toward Dean. "Hi Kiddo" said Dean, sounding as exhausted as he felt. Sam looked at Dean, looked around at the room and then looked down at the IV in his hand. "Whoa." Said Sam. Dean looked at him amused, "Whoa? That's all you got?" "Dean?" Sam said slowly. "'s that you? Why'r you unnnnder water?" High Sammy was always amusing. "Um, bro I am not under water." Sam waved his hands slowly in front of his face and clapped them clumsily together. "Mm hmm. We are under water. I can't hear much and everything is moving slooooow. And don't furgit the bubbles." Sam whispered. "Bubbles Sam?" Dean smiled. Sam returned the smile, his eyes drooping closed as he said, "dude you totally have buh.. bubbles coming out your nose." "Good night Sammy" replied Dean to an already unconscious little brother.
"Dean? Dean?" Dean slowly came to consciousness to his brother's voice. He raised his head, realizing that he had fallen asleep with his forehead on Sam's hand. Sam sounded weak and tired. "Why am I here, Dean?" Sam said to his barely awake brother. Dean ran his hands through his hair and cleared his throat. "Well, uh Sammy. What do you remember?" he replied. "Sick… motel… sleep… needed you. That's it." Sam said, sounding exhausted. "Easy Sam, I'll fill you in. How do you feel?" Dean asked. "M'tired, my head hurts, I can't… um, I can't really think straight." Sam whispered. "Am I… am I making any sense Dean?" Sam asked, sounding about six-years-old. "Dude, you are fine. I'll fill you in later. Just try and get some rest." Dean replied. Sam nodded clumsily, closed his eyes and said, "can I sleep on your lap again Dean?" before falling into a deep, medicated sleep. Dean smirked, ran his hands through his brother's messy hair and whispered, "I'll tell you everything Sammy… about carrying your drunk – or so I thought – ass back to the motel, about being underwater, nose-bubbles, everything… It's quite a story. I'll, um… put a bug in your ear… later.
Dean had a great time giving Sam hell for his actions for weeks to come. What didn't need to be said, however, was why from that night forward – the Winchester brothers both wore ear plugs to bed.