'Sam, dinner!' Sam hears the muffled sound of his father's voice through the latter's closed bedroom door. Closing the science book he was reading and shuffling the rest of his homework into some sort of pile he then heads back to the lounge.
When Sam steps into the other room he sees Dean rising up off the couch. 'Hey Sammy' he manages a small smile for him, but his voice is deep and gravely. Sam smiles at him as he walks over to the table. Dean ruffles a hand through Sam's hair as he overtook him, Sam feeling the heat of his body temperature from his hand.
Dean was definitely a better cook than John who did the bare minimum, Sam thought to himself as the family sat at the table eating toasted sandwiches. They ate mostly in silence with nothing much to say apart from the odd burst of small talk. Aside from Dean who didn't speak, but instead sat picking at his food and coughing lightly into his sleeve every now and again.
'Not hungry son?' John asks, noticing how Dean hasn't touched his food in a while. Dean shakes his head, squinting his eyes like he has a headache. Suddenly a loud and chesty cough rattles itself out of him and he flings up his arm to cover it. Sam's chest hurts in sympathy as his brother struggles for breath, it sounds worse than he'd imagined.
Dean sniffles quickly into his fist before lowering his arm, eyelids beginning to droop out of exhaustion. From the seat next to him at the table, John reaches his hand out to feel his forehead. 'You're getting a fever' John warns gently, brushing some of Dean's hair away from his face as he removes his hand. Dean nods slightly like he's not surprised. 'Go get ready for bed. You've had a rough couple of days' John instructs to which Dean obliges slowly getting out of his chair and making his way to the bathroom.
Sam is shocked to say the least. Dean must be really worn out to go to bed at just past 9:00 without complaint or any hesitation. 'You should get ready to turn in as well. It's getting late for you' John's voice brings Sam back to reality. It's really not late but Sam knows he's going to get bored without Dean up to keep him company, so he follows along anyway.
Sam wakes up to a seemingly empty motel room. Lifting off his covers and swinging his legs off the bed he hears sniffling coming from the bathroom. Quietly padding his feet along the ground to the door he sees Dean braced with both hands on the edge of the sink. His face looks so pale and his nose his red from his near constant sniffling. Sam watches him as he studies his reflection in the mirror before dropping his head with a sigh.
Sam remains quiet as he studies Dean in what he thinks is a moment alone. Able to gain insight into how Dean really feels, like hell. His mind focuses on his brother again as he intakes a sharp breath then stifles a sneeze, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, 'hip'ngtt!' before removing his grip to sniffle into the back of his wrist.
'It's more than just a cough isn't it?' Sam speaks out not even needing the confirmation. Instead of being startled by Sam's sudden appearance Dean takes it all in his stride, straightening up and smiling like his moment of weakness never happened. 'Just fine Sammy' Dean states as he brushes past Sam on the way out of the bathroom.
'Dad's gone to meet an old friend from the town over, he should be back around lunch' Dean tells Sam as they walk into the lounge. Sam doesn't miss the quick rub Dean gives his nose when his back is turned to him. 'There's breakfast on the bench for you if you want it' Dean nods over to the bench where a muffin sits in a paper bag.
'What happened on the hunt?' Sam asks plopping himself down next to Dean on the couch with his muffin in hand. 'Nothing much' Dean admits shuffling over to make more room for Sam, 'just a simple salt and burn.'
'Come on, it has to have been more exciting than that' Sam edges on taking a bite of his muffin. 'I got caught in the rain while digging out the grave, if that's what you mean' Dean shivers at the memory.
'And that's how you got sick?' Sam asks swallowing his mouthful. 'Actually, I was feeling a bit off before that' Dean admits a slight mumble to his voice.
'You mean you went on a hunt, by yourself, when you were already getting sick?' Sam reprimands his brother, he's more worried than he is angry, but he can't say that he's surprised. 'Okay, yeah Sam, it happened' Dean raises his hands up in surrender, 'but let's just move on' he gestures swishing his hands away.
Sam would have liked to discuss the topic further, but he knew it was pointless to argue about something that had already happened and was now out of their control. Also, something his brother undoubtably didn't want to talk about.
'Fine' Sam fixes his brother with one last unapproving glare, 'but only if you tell me more.' Amused by his brother's bargaining tactics, Dean sighs before launching into a more in-depth story of the hunt.
Dean did his best to retell the story succinctly, all through which is interrupted by varied symptoms of sickness. The unconscious need to sniffle doesn't bother him, that can be dealt quickly with a sniff into the back of his hand. The increasing number of sneezes is manageable but the constant tickling in his nose is an absolute bitch.
Most of all it was the coughing that got to him. The constant threat of choking yourself if you talked too long wasn't a welcome prospect, and many times he found himself leaning away from Sammy coughing into his elbow just trying to get his much-needed air back. He was however thankful that Sam never pressed him about it, his brother knew him well enough to know that he didn't like having those types of conversations.
When the story is over he coughs lightly into his fist leaning back on the couch. His eyes slipped closed for a moment before he felt more staring at him. Blinking them back open he saw Sam looking at him, his forehead scrunched together in a worried expression, knowing that his brother was worse than the night before.
Dean swallowed thickly against more coughs, 'don't tell dad.'
John came home to finds both his boys reading. Sam at the table notably doing his homework, Dean on his bed leaning against the corner of the wall and the window. Even with his back to him John can tell how Dean is feeling, although he chooses not to bring it up since it would only lead to denial.
John remembers back to when Dean had come home the previous afternoon. It had been instantly apparent that something was wrong with him as soon as he'd walked through the door. It had taken a minute or two of pressing from John to get Dean to admit that he was tired from driving. But his father had known it was more than that. It wasn't until Dean had erupted into a long coughing spell that there had been no room left for argument, but still Dean had tried.
It was a further five minutes for Dean to concede into getting some rest.
Dean still sat on his bed, not registering any of the words he was reading. The only reason why he kept the book of magical lore with him was because if he put it down John would get suspicious over why he wasn't doing anything. So unbeknownst to his father, Dean sat with the book in his weakening grasp staring out the window.
He feels his throat convulse rhythmically as the coughs he's been with holding are starting to catch up on him. Holding his breath as his stomach muscles contract as his lungs prepare to spasm. He hopes that he can continue to at least hold them off until John goes out to find something for dinner, hopefully within the hour.
The coughs explode from him without any further warning before he has the chance to swallow them down. He raises his elbow up to his mouth holding it in place with his other hand, the book dropped on the bed. His body rocks back and forward with the shuddering of his chest and he closes his lips to try and quieten the sound. Only to quake more violently and cause more pain in his chest when the air flow is restricted.
'Come on, Dean-o give it up' John calls out from across the room. Sam hasn't heard Dean be called that in years. John sets down his book looking over at Dean, tired of him trying to make it out like he's fine, 'you sound miserable, son.'
Dean eating dinner in the corner of the room sitting at the small desk table, distancing himself from the rest of his family. Ever since he gave up all pretendences he'd become a sniffling, sneezing, coughing mess. Working his way through devouring John's kitchen sink stew, swiping at his running nose from all the spice.
The repetitive miserable sounds aren't overlooked by Sam who keep glancing up to check on his older brother every so often. By the time Sam has finished his dinner, Dean is still working away at his. Head down in his hands, still sniffling quietly.
After putting his plate on the kitchen bench, Sam walks over to Dean grabbing the box of tissues on the way. Setting them down in front of his brother, he put a gentle hand on his shoulder. At the touch Dean looked up at him gratefully before taking a tissue and blowing his nose. Punctuating the end with a few wheezy coughs.
Sam wished that he could make his brother feel better, but for now just being there was something he felt he needed to do for him. Even if it was just a little thing.