EDIT: Hi everyone, I had chapter three uploaded yesterday, but it has been removed. I'm hoping noone stole it, because then I can't finish the fic! If it is actually there and for some reason my computer isn't loading it, will you PM me and tell me please? I sent the site an e-mail, but if anyone has any advice I'd be grateful!
EDIT/EDIT: It's been fixed. What a scare. :(
A/N This chapter was inspired by and is dedicated to KKBELVIS, who wanted Sick!Sam stuck in the Impala. I know this is not exactly what you had in mind, but I wanted to stick that scenario in this story just because I couldn't figure out any other way to write it.
The Impala roared as she devoured the endless blacktop before her, and the trees whizzed by in burled masses of brown and dull green. Sam felt another shiver run down his spine and he twisted slightly in his seat in an attempt to relieve the stiffness creeping into his shoulders. "Guess sitting in that cage did more damage than I thought." There was an annoying churning feeling picking at his gut, but that wasn't the only thing that happened to be bothering the youngest Winchester at the moment. "Dean, would you stop staring at me," Sam said flatly as he looked over to the passenger seat, eyes landing on his brother who was leaning uncomfortably against the door.
"You alright?"
Frowning, Sam returned his gaze to the road. "Dean, you got the crap beaten outta you by some giant, cannibalistic hillbillies. You're asking me if I'm alright?" Sam didn't have to glance over at his brother to know that Dean was glaring at him.
"First off, smart ass, I wasn't the only one to do some wrestling with those bumpkins. 'Sides that, look at you: you're all scrunched up behind my baby's steering wheel, and that's about the tenth time in ten minutes that you've rolled your shoulders." Dean's voice was cut off when a gurgling sound vibrated from Sam's belly, causing Sam to slightly wince. "And that," Dean continued, "was gross."
"Yeah, well, I think it's disturbing that you've been keeping track of how many times I've stretched my shoulders. It was the cage, Dean."
From his periphery, Sam caught Dean rubbing below the burn mark on his collar again, and he heard the leather seats shift as his brother tried to find a more comfortable position to sooth his sides. Sighing, Sam reached into the back seat and held his hoody out to his older brother. "Put that between the door and your side, it'll help a little." Dean reached for the article of clothing but stopped when he noticed that Sam's hand was trembling slightly. Eyebrows pulled together, Dean didn't take the hoody; instead, he took in the sight of his brother. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath his eyes and his skin was beginning to get flushed.
"Sam, next decent motel we come by we're stopping for the day."
Sam automatically glanced over at the map he had resting on his lap. "Well, that won't be for a while; this is a long stretch of highway. Nothing but fields and cow pastures; civilization is a ways off." Sam paused, "I thought you were hell-bent on getting as far away from Minnesota as possible." Sam sent a worried glance over at his brother and added before turning back to the road, "Did the pain get worse? Want me to pull over so you can lie down in the back?" Sam's stomach chose that moment to voice its distress, and Sam quickly placed a hand on his belly, willing the weird feeling in his gut to die down.
"No, man, it's not for me," Dean said as he raised an eyebrow, watching his little brother cradle his stomach. "I mean, yeah: I'm still sore, but it wasn't as bad as it was yesterday," he lied. "Just pull over; you're the one getting in the back."
Sam's eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his shaggy bangs. "Dean, my back isn't that bad. I'm driving, you need to rest."
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's response. "Don't play dumb, Francis. I'm talking about your stomach. And your hands. I cranked up the heat as soon as we left the motel and you're still shaking. Pull over the car and let me drive. I'll find us a place to stay."
Sam sunk further into the driver's seat, indicating to his brother that he had no intention of pulling over and switching seats. "Dean, I'm not sick. My stomach just feels weird after drinking that coffee on an empty stomach." Sam punctuated his defense by tossing the hoody Dean had rejected onto his older brother's lap. He didn't say anything else, but the meaning behind the gesture had been clear: I'm fine, Dean; shut up and go back to sleep.
Dean chuckled to himself, accepting his little brother's challenge. Balling up Sam's hoody, Dean chucked it none too gently into the back seat. "Two can play this game, Sammy," Dean thought as he carefully slipped his leather jacket off. Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he watched Dean fold up the jacket. He knew that Dean was doing; when he was younger, Dean would stick him in the back of the Impala when he got sick, and he always let Sam use his leather jacket as a pillow. When Dean leaned back to place the jacket on the backseat, Sam rolled his eyes and stubbornly ignored Dean's unspoken command to pull over and lie down in the back.
The gloves were off.
Both sat there in heated silence as each man sought to out last the other, Dean glaring at his brother and Sam staring determinedly out of the Impala's windshield. The rumble of the Impala's engine stretched against the silence as she ate up one mile after another, and when the stubbornness level in the large car threatened to suffocate both brothers, Dean barked out, "Sam, pull the damn car over."
"No."
Dean gawked at him, "It's my car-."
"Yeah? But you're hurt and I'm the one driving it. So chill. I'm okay, Dean, really."
"Sam, you're sick. Get in the back."
The annoyance fairing in Sam's stomach wasn't mixing well with the prickly sensation churning within his gut. "Dean, I'm not sick." The exasperated sigh that bit into Sam's ear from across the Impala told him that Dean was losing his patience with him and fast, but Sam didn't want to give up his seat. He just wanted his older brother to relax while he tried to find a place for them to recoup: Dean had been hurt because he'd been careless enough to get abducted by those hunters; he wanted his older brother to rest, and he couldn't rest stuck behind the wheel of the Impala. "How can I take care of you when you won't at least let me drive?" Sam thought to himself.
"Sam. This conversation? Sounds suspiciously like the ones we had when you were four. Only then I'd be trying to get you to take a nap and you'd keep trying to convince me that you weren't tired." Sam opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Dean beat him to the punch, and bearing his fist to his brother he threatened, "If you say, 'I'm not sick,' I swear I'm gonna backhand you."
Sam shot his brother a threatening look of his own and groused out, "Because if I was sick, that'd make perfect sense. Don't hit the driver, Dean: wouldn't want to wreck your baby." A deadly look settled itself on Dean's countenance, but Sam didn't back down and kept himself firmly planted in the driver's seat, eyes glued to the winding stretch of highway in front of him.
A hand coming towards him caught in his periphery and broke him out of his concentration, however, and caused him to reel backwards in surprise, the back of his head colliding with the bench seat. The abrupt motion backwards flipped his already upset stomach and sent a burn ripping through his esophagus, and in seconds flat the Impala was lurching off the road. The sudden change in direction had Dean listing to the side and pain bit into his abused muscles. But when Dean saw Sam's shaking hands fumbling with the door handle he sprung forward, shoved the door open, and quickly folded his brother over. Head shoved between his knees, Sam could barely make out Dean's voice, worriedly calling out his name, as he proceeded to spill hot, acidic liquid from his stomach onto the shoulder. The ground spun in circles underneath Sam's feet and the space within the Impala began to shrink down upon him, suffocating him. Heart pounding in his ears, he slid down the driver's seat and leaned his back against the Impala, one hand steadying himself on the road while the other held back his bangs. Cars whizzed by the highway, sending heated waves of exhaust to puff against Sam's face.
"Sam?" Dean called out as he slammed the passenger-side door closed. The impact of the door hitting the frame rocked the car and Sam with it, causing more bile to spurt from his mouth. Sam felt more than heard his brother kneel beside him, and when Dean pushed Sam's hand from his hair and pulled back Sam's bangs himself, the younger man felt his muscles relax somewhat.
"Geez, Sam. Why'd you freak out like that?"
Sam took a deep breath, wincing when the smell of his vomit clouded his lungs. "I saw your hand. Last thing I thought, 'Crap, is he really gonna backhand me?'" he pushed out, attempting to joke with Dean despite the situation.
Dean gaped at his brother. "What? I wouldn't risk wreckin' my baby like that."
Sam's eyebrows pulled together as he tried to fight off the chills coursing through his aching joints. After a few beats he managed, "But you said…. I said-."
Sam's hoody falling over his shoulder's interrupted him. "And I said I was going to check for fever. And, for you, that somehow translates into me smacking you upside the head. 'Makes perfect sense." Another cramp twisted Sam's gut, and he could feel pieces of half-digested meat catch in his throat as he expelled more vomit from his sickened system. Dean felt his own stomach toss at the sight of the gore, but from disgust, not sickness. "You still bent on convincing me that you're not sick?"
Sam made an attempt to glare at his brother, but quickly gave up. Instead his gravely voice pushed out, "I didn't hear you say," he paused to motion to his forehead, "that you were gonna check for fever."
Dean gave his brother a "No Duh" look and proceeded to pat him on the back, "I figured, just like the ice; it's 'cause you're sick, bro. Now stop talking and get it all out of your system. I don't want vomit stains in the back seat." The firm taps to Sam's back sent more bile splashing against the asphalt, and Sam's stomach quickly clenched, reverting to dry heaving.
After a few retches and a couple of quite curses from Sam, Dean smoothed his hand up and down Sam's back in one slow circuit and said, "Alright, Sammy. Let's get you in the back." Sam's world tilted as Dean gripped his brother under the arms and hefted him up, sandwiching the younger man between himself and the muscle car. The burnt skin on his collar stretched and pain shot up his ribs, but Dean kept a hold on his brother, satisfied that, even though in pain, he could still pick Sam up. As Dean yanked open the back door, he looked over at the mass of bile and half-digested food littering the shoulder and said to his brother, "I thought you said you didn't eat anything this morning, just the coffee."
"I didn't," Dean felt Sam's breath ghost against his neck. "Must have been what they fed me while I was locked up."
"Best bet that that is why Sammy just spewed his guts everywhere," Dean thought as the image of the family's patriarch, hacking away at the remains of one of his victims, flashed in his mind; Dean didn't bother to tell Sam that he'd probably been consuming the leftovers of Jenkins."Sam?" Dean asked as he pulled his brother from the side of the car and guided him to the back seat. "Next time I say get in the back, just get in the back." Placing his hand on Sam's shoulder he pushed his brother onto the seat, but let up when his brother's face twisted in pain and arched his back.
"Ow…. Shit," Sam hissed through clenched teeth, stretching his arm behind him to claw at his back.
Pushing himself halfway into the backseat, Dean automatically brushed Sam's hand away and placed his own on his brother's back, "You're back seize up on you?"
The veins in Sam's arms bulged as he dug his fingers into the seat's leather, paling his knuckles to white. Letting out an unstable breath, he nodded, "Yeah. My muscles-."
Before Sam could finish, Dean had wrapped a hand just above Sam's knee and pulled it back; bringing both legs backwards, he gently pushed Sam's back with the other hand, leaving him lying down on his stomach. The movement sent white bursting in his vision; he tried to swat Dean's hand away, but the motion only tightened the muscles in his back and increased the stiffness in his shoulders.
"Dean, leggo," Sam's voice box shuttered out as he clasped the front's bench seat in order to brace against the pain spiking up his spine.
"Hold on. Hold on," Dean rushed as he pulled off his brother's hoody and slipped his hands underneath Sam's shirt, kneading the throbbing back muscles tormenting his brother. Sam went stiff instantly, but then relaxed just as fast as his brother ran his hands in soothing circuits along his back and shoulders. Dean chuckled when he heard Sam let out a relieved sigh. "Feel better, kiddo?" Sam's bangs stuck to the sweat on his forehead as he nodded against the leather, but he gritted his teeth when another shudder ripped through his form; and then he heard it: Dean's breath was hitching in his chest.
"Dean!" Sam barked out, placing both hands on the seat to push himself up, but Dean swiped his arms out from under him just as quick.
"Don't do that. You'll end up pullin' something, make it worse."
Sam's stomach rolled and more perspiration bled from his pores as a pounding sensation began to thump behind his eyes, but he didn't stop talking, "Dean, get off me: You're going to kill you're sides, or did you forget what happened yesterday?" Sam felt a grating mix of frustration and relief run through his system when his brother ran his hand against the aching joints in his shoulders. Dean was ignoring him. "Dean!"
"Sam! Chill out, it doesn't hurt."
Sam let out an exasperated sigh, "Bull. I know it does: You're hands are shaking!"
Sam felt the soft rustle of his shirts being pulled back into place. Dean gripped his brother's arm and gently turned him over onto his back. "No. You're shaking, bro," he said as he took in his brother's flushed, sweat-stained face and reddened, watery eyes. "And you'll probably end up with one bitch of a cough in a couple of hours."
Sam's face scrunched in confusion. "What? How do you know that?"
Dean's response was to tap his brother lightly at the base of his neck. "'Cause I can hear it." The look of confusion doubled impossibly on Sam's face. "Don't hurt yourself, there, buddy boy," Dean chuckled as he pressed his hand over Sam's forehead; the cool metal of Dean's ring pushing into his skin was satisfying to the younger man's heated flesh.
"You're full of it, Dean," Sam breathed the words in an exaggerated rush of oxygen. Dean was looming over him, and he was starting to feel claustrophobic; the air was too heavy, making it difficult to breathe.
"Yeah? And you're more of a bitch when you're sick," Dean said as he pulled back and stepped out of the car. "You know?" Dean started as he opened up the truck, and Sam sat up so he could better hear his brother. "I should have known last night that you were coming down with something," Dean shut the trunk with a loud clank, and continued talking as he walked back to Sam, "when you fell asleep on my bed."
A short disbelieving laugh escaped from Sam's lips, but when Dean just stared at him seriously, he blanched. "I did what? I did not-," but he stopped short when Dean started pushing him back down onto the seat.
"Save it; and don't piss me off 'cause you know I'll use that as blackmail," Dean grinned, but the smile morphed into a frown when Sam landed a hand on his shoulder, halting him from getting into the back seat with his brother.
"Dude, what's your problem?"
"One, you keep leaning over me and you will break something. You're ribs are bruised and you know it, so don't play dumb: I can see right through it. And two," Sam's eyes glanced at the cars speeding across the highway, "people are gonna get the wrong idea."
Dean immediately turned toward the road as if he forgot it was there; rolling his eyes he held out a glass thermometer to his brother. "Whatever, dude. Here, you know how those work," he said, unintentionally letting exhaustion seep into his voice. Clearing his throat, he recovered and added, "Let's just hurry up and get this done so I can find us a place to stay."
Something tinged inside of Sam's chest as he slipped the thermometer underneath his tongue. Dean was leaning against the door, hand sheathed into a pocket. To anyone else, Dean would have looked comfortable, relaxed; a man simply leaning against his car. But not to Sam; Dean was leaning against the Impala to rest his abused ribs, his hand in his pocket a masked attempt to cradle his sides. The tiny glass rod being slipped from Sam's mouth pulled him from appraising his big brother.
"How bad is it?" Sam asked, hoping that if it wasn't that bad he'd be able to convince his big brother to let him drive.
But that plan was dashed aside when Dean knotted his eyebrows and said, "Not so good. 'Think you caught the flu while you were locked in that cage, Sammy."
Sam's eyes bulged, and he thought, "Crap," before adding aloud, "You sure?"
Dean locked eyes with his brother before curling a palm around his neck, guiding Sam's head to rest against his leather jacket that he had pillowed against the seat. "After twenty-two years of experience? Yeah, I'm sure." With that, Dean shut the door, leaving his brother in the back. The car rocked as Dean opened the driver-side door; once he slipped behind the steering wheel, and before the older man could reposition the rear-view mirror to face his little brother, Sam caught the flash of pain crawl across Dean's face.
The sight caused the younger man's stomach to drop.
But quarantined in the back of the Impala, there was nothing he could do. Sighing, he pushed his face into the comfort of Dean's jacket.
"Damn it."
A/N: One last chapter to go; it's in the works, but not finished. I'm still trying to figure out how to fix them. Constructive reviews welcome.
