Zana Zira's Prompt: Dean and Sam on a boat - preferably with Bobby and Cas (who can either be human or cut off from Heaven, but for some reason has no healing powers) - either for a hunt or on a cruise as a reward from some rich guy they saved on a hunt. And it turns out that Dean can't handle boats any better than planes. He isn't scared, but he gets sick as a dog, and because he's too stubborn to admit to anyone that he isn't feeling well, they're already way out on the water before the sickness really kicks in and by then it's too late to turn back or do much about it. Cue frustrated but caring Sam (and maybe Bobby and/or Cas) taking care of his seasick brother until they get back to shore/finish the hunt/etc.
Dean surveyed the crowd as they waited in line, mentally tallying who'd ultimately be bait for this ghost ship they were hunting. Fortunately, there were several options to choose from, which meant the odds for a sighting were high.
Sam threaded his way through families and tour groups, waving their tickets as he approached his brother. "I got 'em. Looks like this'll be a full boat - there's a tour group of seniors, several families, and a middle school field trip."
"Awesome," Dean muttered, wiping a hand down his face and surreptitiously checking the weapons he had stashed in various pockets and elastic bound clothing parts. "Where's Cas?"
Sam bowed his head, before raising it and nodding behind Dean. "He found one of those guys selling churros out of a cart. Hasn't left it since we got here."
Eyebrow raised, Dean turned, and sure enough, there was the angel, brow furrowed and cheek bulging, talking to the vendor who stared at him like he was batshit crazy. Sighing, Dean walked over and tugged on Castiel's sleeve. "Hey. Donut boy. C'mon, we board soon. Say goodbye to the nice churro man."
Cas quickly swallowed. "Hold on - I'll take three more, please." He paid the vendor then followed Dean back to Sam, who was getting in line at the boat's entrance.
Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. "Cas, you ever been on a boat before?"
Cas licked the sugar off his fingers, eyes rolled upwards, as he pondered over the many years of his life. Dean was beginning to regret his question, when Cas answered, "I visited Noah briefly, but that was before the flood. So technically, yes, I have been on a boat, but no, not a boat actually on the water, if that's what you really meant." He hastily added the last part when he saw Dean's nostrils flare at Castiel's technicality.
"That's what I - wait. In your whole existence, you've never been on a boat in the water? Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be serious?"
Sam sighed, pointedly staying out of it. This was going to be a long hunt.
"Okay...nevermind. Look - lay off the fried bread. As delicious as they are, and trust me, I know they're delicious, the boat ride can get choppy, we'll be pretty far away from land, and you can't use your mojo to fix things up."
Cas gave Dean the look all teenagers give their parents when they're being lectured on something stupid. Because, of course, they're not stupid. "I'm not stupid, Dean. I'll be fine."
Sam snorted to himself.
Dean shook his head.
Cas sighed through his nose, and gave Dean a little smile. "Dean Winchester. Always worrying about everyone else." Sam bit his lip and turned away.
"Oh, JesusChrist," Dean swore. "Don't start with that. Just...shut up."
Sam's shoulder shook with silent laughter, and harder yet when Cas shoved half a churro into his mouth when he thought no one was looking.
xxxxx
Contrary to Dean's warnings, the ride was rather calm. The boat glided through the waves, bobbing gently, making good progress. The guide blathered over the speakers about various landforms, marine tidbits, and the occasional comment on a passing bird.
The boat consisted of three decks, so there was plenty of room for the numerous passengers milling about, pointing and oohing and ahhing at the scenery. The hunters split up, each on a different deck, eyeballing the water in different directions. The reports of the ghost ship were sketchy at best, but the missing tourist reports made it clear that something took those people, so there they were.
Dean was on the bottom deck, one hand gripping the railing, the other massaging the back of his neck. A headache started not long after they left the dock, but he was trying to ignore it, because there were over fifty people he had to protect on this boat, not to mention an angel who couldn't use his powers and a brother who was still a little off from two weeks with the flu. Dean didn't have the flu, but he was tired as fuck from constantly keeping Sam's head above the toilet more than in it.
This was their first gig in a few weeks, and Dean was itching to keep these people safe.
The further they got from shore, however, the worse it got. He'd been sure the open air would fix it, but it wasn't. The breeze came in spurts, depending on how the boat rocked. The inconsistency of it all started being frustrating, because all Dean wanted was a steady stream of cool air against his face. Said frustration only increased said headache, perpetuating the cycle of fantastic.
Sam walked up, immediately noticing the tightness around Dean's mouth, and the pain lines at the corner of his eyes. Frowning, he said, "Hey...you okay?"
Dean jumped a little. "What? Yeah - I'm fine." He gestured at a gaggle of middle schoolers being obnoxious. "All that noise plus the screechy tour guide is giving me a headache, that's all. What's up?"
Sam shrugged, resting his elbows on the railing and staring out at the water. "Nothing. I'm bored as fuck, that's all."
Another breeze swept by, this time with a hint of seaweed and algae. Dean swallowed heavily, looking for a distraction. "Your mane is flowing quite freely there, Rapunzel." Focusing on making fun of Sam apparently helped alleviate the pressure in his head..
Sam rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist. "It feels fabulous, too. We have three more hours of this. You really think we're gonna find it?"
Dean shrugged, turning his back to the water and leaning against the rail, only to discover, oh right, there's open water on the other side, too, clearly outlining the boats up and down movement. "I dunno, Sammy. But if it shows, we gotta keep these people safe." He glanced at his brother. "Why'd you come down here? You feelin' okay?" Dean knew the irony of asking when he was the one currently a little off center, but Sam's always the priority, and Sam was just sick, and Sam -
"I'm fine. The fresh air's awesome." He blew out a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'll go back to my perch." He pushed himself off the side and walked back down stairs.
Dean sighed with relief. For a second, he thought Sam would notice he didn't feel well, and then would insist Dean sit down, yadda yadda yadda.
Fifty people to keep safe. No time to sit down.
xxxxx
Over the next hour, that phrase became Dean's mantra, forcing him to push through his increasing discomfort despite reason and logic.
Fifty people to keep safe. No time to sit down.
Cas and Sam each checked in with him twice. Each time, Dean hid how sick he felt, unwilling to take a knee. Each time, the others knew something was up, because contrary to what Dean thought, he sucked at hiding his feelings.
Still, Sam allowed him the space to make these choices. He warned Dean that being around the flu for two weeks was a good indicator that he'd catch it, but Dean just rolled his eyes and flapped dismissive hands, claiming "I don't get sick" which Sam knew was total and complete bullshit.
Eventually, Sam perched on the top deck, at a spot where he could study both Dean and the sea.
Win-win.
Over the next hour, he watched Dean's progression, or rather, deterioration, into utter misery.
For starters, Dean pulled his jacket tight, even after zipping it closed. Despite appearing chilled, there was a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, which he wiped away every now and then with a sleeve.
Sam's jaw set.
Dean alternated between massaging his temples, forehead, and stomach, accompanied by frowns, sighs, and pursed lips.
Sam sighed, leg bouncing.
When the heavy swallowing started, Sam'd had enough. He purposefully strode down the steps, careful not to bowl over a herd of seniors in his haste, and made his way to Dean's side.
As he approached, Dean straightened, passing a shaky hand over his mouth and forcing a grin on his face.
Right, because that'll work.
"Hey, Sammy, what's - "
"Drop it. Time to sit down."
Dean's mouth fell open, and both brothers geared up for a battle of the wills, when the boat dipped. Not a lot, but enough.
Dean gripped the railing, and actually whimpered, eyes clenched shut. Sweat sprouted all across his forehead and nose.
Knowing his brother couldn't be moved, Sam leaned close. "Be right back. Stay put." Dean snorted, confident that if he let go of the railing, he'd faceplant on the deck.
Sam dragged a couple chairs over. "Okay, tiger...sit down." He guided Dean's ass into the seat, and had the decency not to laugh when Dean's audible sigh of relief left his lips.
Sam sat too, shaking his head. "I told you, man, you were gonna catch it."
Dean cracked open one eye. "Sam, I - "
Sam held up a finger. "Nuh-uh. Lookit you - fever, chills, headache, upset stomach. It's the flu."
If Dean could roll both eyes, he would have. He settled for a one-eyed glare. "Sam. I don't think - "
Sam threw his hands in the air, anger whispering. "Of course, what would I know, right? Sammy always needs to be taken care of, Dean always needs to push through. Well, not this time, Dean. As soon as we get back, you're swallowing some Tylenol, and - "
Dean hiccuped, covering his mouth with a closed fist. He took measured breaths through his nose, slowing reaching out to grab Sam's jacket, twist it in his fist, and yank Sam close. "Don't say swallow." He then swallowed, lowering his fist and wiping his forehead. "I don't. Have. The flu."
Sam stopped. He stared. Tilting his head, he pressed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. Then pulled it away with a grimace.
Cool. Clammy. Gross.
The tour guide's voice crackled through the speakers. "We're circling the Island of Nantoo, where native tribes once thrived. When the Americans took over their land, the entire tribe was wiped out…"
The boat leaned a little to the left, as she began to circle around. Dean's cheeks welcomed a faint green to their hue, and he gripped Sam's jacket harder.
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
"You don't have the flu," Sam stated, his tone flat, yet full of I Get It Now.
Dean slapped Sam in the chest. "Thanks for catching up."
Sam frowned hard. "You've never had problems before. What's the deal?"
Dean carefully inched forward until his head touched the cold metal bars of the railing, almost crying out at how good it felt. "I dunno." Dean never was one for words, but right now, he wasn't capable of offering more than a few at a time.
Sam glanced around. "Shit...we're only halfway done, Dean. We're stuck here for another - "
"I'm aware."
Huffing, Sam placed a hand on Dean's back, gently rubbing up and down either side of his spine, the way Dean comforts Sam when he's sick. In a gentle voice, he admonishes, "You should've said something."
Dena managed a shrug. What difference would it make? We still have to help these people.
Sam wanted to say Fuck these people, you're more important. But he's fairly sure Dean would kick his ass for vocalizing his true feelings, seasick or not. "Look, maybe...maybe Cas can - "
"No mojo." Dean squints at him. "They'll find him. They'll kill us. No mojo."
Frustrated, Sam ran his fingers through his hair, looking around for anything that could make his brother feel better.
"There's nothin', Sam. It's fine. Keep lookin' for th'ghost."
A swarm of twenty-somethings hurried by, students, from what Sam could tell. They were chattering excitedly. "There's even an exhibit downstairs! With an actual vase!" Sam rolled his eyes.
Dean nudged him. "Sounds like you."
Without any heat, Sam muttered, "Shut up," but blushed at the memory of a museum trip while at Stanford.
Dean knew he struck a chord, and ventured a chuckle, just as the boat bobbed a little. "OhJesusChristmakeitstop..." popped out of his mouth, past his filter, before he could stop it.
Sam scooted his chair a little closer, hovering protectively, keeping the pressure on Dean's back. "I'm sorry…"
Dean waved a hand at him, like he didn't just beg for help a second ago.
Sam looked up and spied Castiel, shoving the remainder of a churro into his mouth as he walked over. He noticed Dean's posture immediately, and wiped his hands on his coat. "Is everything alright?"
Dean gave him a thumbs up, which Cas stared at all of a second before turning to Sam. "Is everything alright?"
Sam shook his head. "Dean's seasick. Never happened before, but for some reason, this trip got to him." He felt Dean giving him the middle finger against his thigh. Being the bigger person, he ignored it. "Hey, Cas, would you see if you can find some Sprite? Or...7-Up? Some kind of clear soda with bubbles in it?"
Nodding thoughtfully, Cas shook a finger. "I remember seeing some below. I'll be right back." He takes two steps before turning back, looking sheepish. "You know, I could...um…"
Muffled against his sleeve, Dean barked, "No Mojo!"
Holding up his hands in surrender, Cas turned on his heels and went in search of the soda.
Sam wisely chose to stay silent during Castiel's absence, preferring Dean's agitation to be directed towards the clueless angel than the easily insulted baby brother. Dean's hand now held tight on Sam's knee, and he was pressing a little closer than a minute ago. Sam knew that for Dean to behave this way, in public no less, he had to be miserable beyond miserable.
Finally, Cas returned, triumphantly waving a green can of soda at them.
"Oh my God, he's shaking it," Sam murmured. Dean breathed a laugh.
"I found some. They also had churros, but I have to wait until the oil heats up, then they'll fry them and roll them in cinnamon sugar!" He crouched down. "I'm not having any trouble on the boat, Dean, so can I get some churros when they're ready?"
The talk of food made Dean whimper again, so Sam stepped in. "Cas - would you open the soda? Uh - preferably away from us? And then sure, you can get some of those...things. Just don't bring them here, okay?"
Cas stood up, comprehension dawning on his face. He winked. "I understand, Sam." He pointed at Dean. "We don't want someone getting jealous." Sam just stared, as Cas gave him another wink followed by a thumbs up.
He took a few steps away to open the can, and Dean whispered, "I wanna kill 'im, but it doesn't seem fair…"
Sam patted Dean on the back in agreement.
The soda might have helped, no one's sure, because it never made it to Dean's lips. There was a scream, followed by a rush of footsteps toward one side of the boat. Dean's grip on Sam's leg intensified, as he lifted his head, trying to focus on whatever was happening.
There, on the starboard side, was indeed, a ghost ship, floating and shimmering on the water. Cell phones and cameras were out, flashing pictures amidst a flurry of muttering and cries of exclamation.
The boat lurched.
"Fuck…" Dean croaked, pulling himself to his feet.
Sam leapt up as well, meeting Castiel's gaze from across the deck, which was now all serious and ready for action. Between them, a figure flashed into view, an ancient tribal native from the look of him, fully armed and absolutely pissed off. Wonderment turned to full-on freak-outs, as people screamed, clambering away.
The spirit roared, pounding his chest and waving a weapon in the air. The ghost ship began circling the tour boat, and Sam was trying to keep his brother upright. How could they salt and burn a fucking ghost ship?
The boat lurched yet again.
"Downstairs…" Dean grunted. "Artifact…"
"What?" Sam asked, starting to pull his salt-loaded gun.
Dean's eyes were a little unfocused, as the entire world spun before him. "The exhibit, nerdboy…" He was grinding out words between his teeth, struggling to keep control.
Right - the artifact in the basement the students were gushing over. Propping Dean against the railing, Sam gestured at Cas to keep the spirit busy. Cas nodded, catching the spirit's attention, and keeping it away from the others.
Sam bolted down the stairs, three at a time, pushing past both frightened and thrill-seeking passengers, to get to the small display case bolted to the wall by the bathroom. He was about to smash the glass, when he noticed that the door to the case was ajar. Yanking it open, he grabbed all three pieces and frantically searched for a way to burn clay.
That's when he spotted the microwave. He quickly shoved everything inside, cranked the timer, set it on High, then ran back upstairs, hoping no one would turn it off.
Cas appeared to be in a verbal stand-off with the spirit, trying to communicate in its native language. Dean had collapsed back in his chair, jacketless.
Cas seemed fine, so Sam made the decision to sprint towards his brother. The second Sam reached his side, the spirit started to flicker. It froze, staring at its feet, crackling in and out of sight, until a bright light latched onto his ankles, shooting upwards like a flame crawls across paper.
It was over in a matter of seconds. The ghost ship disappeared, the spirit disappeared, and Sam wondered why Dean's jacket disappeared.
Ignoring everyone else, Sam sat back down, like he'd just stepped out to go to the bathroom, and set his hand against Dean, who was shivering now, goosebumps all along his arms and neck. "Dude...what the fuck…"
Then...he smelled it.
"Oh. Okay."
Dean's head was pillowed on his arms, again using the railings for support. He was breathing heavily, swallowing often, and groaning. The sighting caused some hubbub in the bridge, and while Sam's not sure what happened up there, he knows the boat swayed a lot.
"So...ghost's dead…"
Dean waggled his fingers in the air. Hooray…
Cas came over, pulling the can of soda out of his pocket. "You still want this?" He asked casually, as if he hadn't been sparring with a ghost a minute ago.
Dean made Gimme Gimme motions, so Cas turned away, popped it open, then handed it over. Dean shook so badly, Cas had to help him connect it to his mouth.
Sam looked at his watch. "Awesome, we still have well over an hour."
Dean thunked his head against the metal.
Cas thumbed toward the stairs. "I'm gonna see if the oil's ready."
xxxxx
The voyage back seemed to take forever. Dean got progressively worse, although he kept the contents of his stomach inside. Unhappy with the chair arrangement, Sam sat on the deck, making his brother sit in front of him, between his legs, so Sam could easily keep Dean upright, and Dean could grasp onto Sam for dear life. It also helped keep Dean warm, since his jacket got dumped overboard when he got sick.
For an hour, the only thing Sam could do, was mop up Dean's sweat, help hold the can of soda when Dean was able to take a sip, and wrap Dean in his limbs to stop the trembling, to steady the rocking, to provide stability.
Dean's cheek stayed pressed against Sam's arm. Shallow pants and the occasional moan were the only sounds he made.
Once, Cas returned with a handful of churros, but one look from Sam made him turn right around and eat them somewhere else.
At last, the boat docked, and after the majority of the passengers disembarked, Sam and Cas helped Dean to his feet, slowly walking him off the boat, not making eye contact with the crew. They staggered to the Impala, upon which Dean flung himself. "You're my only transport from now on, Baby. Jus' you 'n me."
Sam sighed. "Gimme the keys, Dean." Dean cracked open one eye and glared. "Don't even - are you fucking crazy? Give me the Goddamn keys." Sam held out his hand in a huff, while Dean reluctantly tossed them over.
As Dean crawled into the passenger seat, Sam grabbed a hoodie from the trunk. "Hey - put this on, okay?"
Dean's eyes swiveled up at Sam, then at the shirt. Sam held it out again, and slowly Dean reached for it, eyes glassy and unfocused. Confused, Sam flashed a look at Cas, who leaned forward. "He has a temperature."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's get back to the motel."
Cas nodded, opening the rear door. Before getting in, he asked, "Can we stop for food on the way?"