As Dean prayed to the porcelain goddess, offering his lunch as a generous sacrifice, he heard shuffling footsteps enter the bathroom, then someone settling down beside him on the floor.
Sam had been kind of suspicious that something was off about Dean from the moment he saw him at the top of the stairs upon his return. He had been just a bit too unsteady on his feet to be normal. Plus the fact that apparently, Dean hadn't heard the loud coughing ring through the halls as Sam approached and was startled by his presence once he had called his name had raised all sorts of alarms in Sam's mind.
Of course, that all could have been written off as exhaustion, which wouldn't have been odd with having a seriously ill brother to take care of, were it not for the gash on Dean's temple that he so adamantly tried to play off as nothing. Dean suddenly paling and turning all kinds of shades of green and running for the bathroom was the last clue the younger hunter needed to put the picture together finally.
His brain was half way to boiling itself, excuse him for being slower on the uptake than usual. But now that he was aware, he was going to make sure Dean was taking care of himself as much as he was taking care of Sam.
Damn it, the older Winchester thought during a small lull in his upchuck. He would have really wanted to hide this particular little predicament from his brother. That freaking vampire getting the jump on him was not one of his proudest moments for sure. Suffering the consequences of it should be his own problem too. Especially with his hunting partner being practically incapacitated too. But before he could say anything to throw Sam off the scent, another wave hit him so hard that for a moment he wished he was dead instead. This was utter torture. His head felt like it was splitting in half, starbursts dancing at the edge of his vision. And he was tired. So fucking tired. He just wanted this to end already.
"So which lie are you goigg to feed me?" Sam asked in a quiet, raspy tone after he settled down on the hard floor enough to know that he wouldn't topple over in the next minute. He had half a mind to rub Dean's back with a light, comforting touch but opted against it. Partially because he wasn't sure how Dean would react to the touchy-feely approach, secondly, he was almost certain that he wouldn't be able to keep his arm lifted for long enough to actually achieve his purpose. "Stombach bug? Had too mbuch to dringk?"
"Both?" Dean joked with a smirk once he got some reprieve again, though it was clear that this little episode had him utterly exhausted if the way he had laid his head down on the toilet seat was anything to go by. The older hunter was a bit of a germaphobe and would have never willingly made contact with something so repugnant with his face if he could help it.
"Nice try," he looked at Dean's pale, sweaty features unamusedly. "I mbay be feverish, but ndot stupidd. Recedt head traumba andd vombitigg still equal congcussiond…"
"Oh, shut up," the older brother jibed dismissively even though deep down he knew it was the truth. Being too caught up in pretending, he missed the way Sam trailed off, his breath catching just a little bit as a tickle in his nose made more and more a nuisance of itself.
"Plus… you'd ndever get… huhhh… hambbered out of your mbindd whilehehhh… while… I was... hihh... I…" the younger hunter to tried get through his sentence before he lost control. Clearly, that was an exercise in futility. His nose twitched, his eyes fluttered closed as he lost the battle of wills against the itch.
"Sam?" the older Winchester finally noticed that something was off, glancing toward his brother at the exact time when he buried his face in his palms, mouth already hanging half-open to accommodate the sudden intake of breath.
"Hehhhhh… hektcheew… huhEshshsh… hae'kchsheeewwww-uh…" Sam glanced back up with bleary eyes, fumbling with one hand in the pockets of his sweatpants for a tissue, while he covered his face and the snotty mess present there with his other.
"Okay, we are done sitting on the cold tiles," Dean declared once Sam was done with blowing and cleaning himself up, clambering up from the floor. Not without great difficulty but he managed to keep himself from hurling again as the change in altitude redoubled the nausea he was experiencing, and extended a hand to his brother to help him up too. He also tried to pointedly ignore his disgust at the grossness of touching Sam's hands that had just been blasted with a liberal spray of germs.
At least, there was the hand sanitizer… Oh, no. The hand sanitizer. He had totally forgotten to buy some between having his head bashed in and getting fake prescriptions filled, meanwhile internally worrying about getting caught in the fraud.
God, they were a complete and utter mess.
Sam didn't protest to the offered assistance to get him off the floor. Honestly, he wasn't sure he would have made it on his own without his brother's strong pull that helped against gravity. Though it was forceful enough that the younger Winchester even overbalanced a bit, almost falling against Dean, threatening to bring them both down again with a painful thud. Fortunately, he managed to catch himself on the sink, hanging his head to rest on Dean's shoulder for just a minute. The way up was just a tad too quick for his liking.
"Sammy?" the older hunter inquired in an almost panic, taking a step back to lean against the sink and have something to take the brunt of their combined weight while bringing an arm up hastily around Sam's side to make sure he didn't fall. Feeling the immense heat pouring off his brother's skin at the side of his neck was not helping with that sense of alarm either.
It had been eons since his brother had actively sought him out for any kind of comfort. Not that Dean hadn't done plenty to discourage him over the last few months. Ever since the whole Purgatory fiasco, Benny and Amelia, there were a lot of unsaid grievances between them that made the show of brotherly support kind of awkward – and sometimes even unwelcome from the other side.
There had been a short period of time when Dean had thought they had gotten past the mutual hurt. Then the Trials started, and it had become evident that Sam had retreated back into his shell again, shutting him out while he tried to shoulder all of the burdens alone in a misguided attempt to demonstrate to Dean that he was trustworthy. Committed to the family business, so to speak. Meanwhile, Dean was progressively getting more and more freaked out about losing his brother for real this time.
"I'mb goodd," Sam muttered breathily. "Just dizzy."
Tell me 'bout it, Dean groaned internally but wisely kept his mouth shut. Worrying his brother was not going to help.
"Think you done with the chick flick moment then?" the older Winchester said out loud instead, in a humorous attempt to get his brother to stay upright with his own strength because he was about five seconds from his knees buckling if he had to continue to bear both of their weight.
Despite everything, Sam chuckled at the very distinct Dean-ism that had left his brother's mouth. He had missed these lighthearted, bantering moments, to be honest. In general, everything had been just so freaking intense these past few years, they barely ever had time to just be in peace and be brothers. Unfortunately, he was given no chance to reminisce further about the good old times, since the air caught just the wrong way in his throat from the way his head was hung forward, eliciting an instant coughing fit. The younger Winchester quickly pulled away from his brother, finding support with one hand on the opposite wall, covering his mouth with the elbow of his other arm, not wanting to infect Dean and hoping he wouldn't hear how congested he sounded.
"That definitely sounds worse than before," the slightly shorter hunter remarked with furrowed brows, his concern for his brother clearing the growing fogginess on his mind some. Having a mission to focus on did miracles.
You had just shoved antibiotics down my throat, not much more could be done, Sam thought to himself on the inside, shrugging bone-wearily on the outside. At least no blood on this go around.
"Guess time for that bottle of cough syrup," Dean sighed as if reading his brother's thoughts and dead set on contradicting them.
Sam frowned and shuddered at the mere memory of the foul tasting syrup. Of course, the bodily reaction was interpreted as being chilled by the older Winchester, so he pushed himself away from the sink, happy to find that his balance remained intact for the time being and began to gently guide his brother towards the door to get out of the bathroom finally.
"Quit touchigg mbe," Sam huffed in half-hearted irritation, shaking Dean's hand off of his elbow with the ferocity of a butterfly wing flutter.
Wouldn't have been a challenge to keep his hold, but Dean let go anyway because he was aware of his brother's discomfort, and just rolled his eyes at his stubbornness when Sam had to instantly catch himself on the wall the moment the small support Dean had been giving was gone. The older brother had a lesson of his own to learn too. Concussion + Eye-rolling = Bad idea. It made the hallway swim a little, but he managed not to fall over or trip up over his own feet. With some more luck, maybe Sam hadn't even noticed a thing.
Or maybe he did because the first thing his freakishly tall younger brother did once they got to his room was to have Dean sit down on the sofa, while he pawed away with squinted eyes at the bandage at the edge of his forehead, assessing the damage.
Dean winced the second his fingers touched the tender area.
"You're an idiot you kndow that right?" Sam huffed, not articulating the rest of the monologue that was on his mind. You could have an epidural or subdural hematoma, bleeding into your brain, forming a dangerous blood clot… Have a stroke… Die… He thought alone almost made his breath hitch with panic.
"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean snapped back because he didn't want to go there. "Sit down before you fall on me."
Sam, despite his raging fever, was not giving up until he got to the bottom of the seriousness of Dean's injury. He was grateful to Dean though for having relocated their first aid kit earlier in the day into his room because now he didn't have to find the energy in himself to go hunt it down for a small flash light. Small blessings in an otherwise shitty situation.
"Look at mbe," the younger brother ordered, clear from his tone that he was not taking no for an answer. With some barely audible fuming about pushy brothers and his reluctance evident from his tensed shoulders aside Dean did oblige in the end without much fuss.
The fact that Dean's pupillary response was symmetrical when he flickered the light in front of his eyes eased Sam's mind a bit. Also the lack of slurred speech, unconsciousness, convulsions or seizures. Agitation was almost a guaranteed given where his brother was considered, so that didn't much raise a red flag. The vomiting and decreased coordination were worrying him though. Did he need to take Dean to the hospital? That was a daunting task in itself because he wasn't sure he would be up to driving at all, much less the Impala.
"Stop with that," the older Winchester grunted, pushing the light out of his line of sight, though there was significantly less bite to his bark. Sam was just worried. A feeling he was familiar with too, just the other way around. If he showed that he was fine, his brother would stop worrying. Yeah, right. When did Sam's reassurances ever stop Dean from worrying?
"Double visiond?... Weakdess ond onde side?... Deand, talk to be..." Sam rattled off symptoms he knew he was supposed to check for, desperate to make sure his brother wasn't dying. Meanwhile, he didn't even realize his own balance was wavering.
Dean noticed though.
"Geez, quit fussing, Sam, just sit the fuck down," he clambered up, pushing Sam back two steps until his calves met the edge of the bed, right when his breath started to hitch.
"I'mb… hehh'kshoum… haeh… hahkchshshsh… hahkchoum!" Sam's head bobbed up and down with each sneeze, pushing his precarious equilibrium over the edge, allowing Dean to finally get him off his feet.
"Glad we agree on that," Dean grumbled, measuring a dose of cough syrup out for his brother while he was busy blowing his nose. "Drink."
The younger Winchester threw him a dirty look, but accepted the little plastic cup and downed the medicine in one gulp, hoping that would lessen the inevitable shudder that would follow. It didn't.
"You cold?" the older hunter briskly asked, still peeved a little by the manhandling his barely lucid brother was able to put him through.
"Ndo, that stuff is just ndasty," Sam sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He was barely running on fumes, but he was fighting against sleep with all his might, holding onto the side of the bed with clenched fists.
"Just freaking lie down already, okay?" Dean pleaded, his tone almost desperate when a minute later Sam still refused to go down. His younger brother just shook his head. "Why not?" he quirked his brow.
So stubborn. Mules could take lessons from Sam. Seriously.
"Cand't sleep," the sick man offered the short and rather uninformative but obviously nonsensical answer.
"I beg to differ, you look dead on your feet… or rather… ass," the older Winchester remarked sternly, not amused at all.
With the slow and heavy blinks he was receiving as a response, he was giving Sam maybe a minute or two tops before he crashed. And Sam better be horizontal before then because Dean really didn't want to mop him up off of the floor. He wasn't sure he would be able to, quite honestly. The room finally just now stopped spinning for him, but he had a feeling that bending down would bring it back with a vengeance.
"Ndo. You cand't sleep with a fresh cogcussiod…. After vombitigg… Risk of aspirationd…" Sam explained drowsily, interrupted by a huge yawn of his own. "Gotta stay awake to mbake sure…"
"No, all you have to make sure is that you get better. Now go to sleep before I knock you out," Dean insisted, practically pushing Sam down by his shoulders. He was met with barely any resistance at all, and he would bet a hundred dollars that Sam was deeply asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.