Sam and Dean were sitting on the couch, side by side.

Sam let Dean take over the remote because he hadn't found anything worth watching on Bobby's old television set. It seemed like every channel was on a commercial break. Plus, he was feeling nauseated again and was doing everything in his power to keep down the little food he'd consumed at dinner.

Dean finally struck gold and settled on a college basketball game. Minnesota vs. Nebraska. The game had just started.

"The wind is really picking up out there," Bobby commented as he returned to the TV room from the kitchen. He was holding a large mixing bowl in his hands. He set it down on the end table between the couch and his armchair. "That's for you, Sam, in case you need it."

Sam nodded his thanks, eyeing the bowl wearily.

"Basketball fan, huh?" Bobby asked Dean as he sank into his armchair.

"I like it enough," Dean answered with a shrug. "Sam's the real basketball fan of the family."

"No kiddin'?" Bobby asked, and Dean nudged Sam in the ribs in an attempt to get him to elaborate.

But Sam merely nodded. He really did love basketball, and if he hadn't been resisting the urge to gag, he would have told Bobby that.

He was mostly interested in Jayhawks games - John tried to keep up with KU's team because they had lived in Lawrence for good chunk of time and it was also Cousin Lou's alma mater. John would have a game on every now and then when they were winding down for the night.

Sam loved those moments because watching basketball was what normal people did. What normal families did.

And he loved the thrill of the game. Fans got so into it. It fascinated Sam that people could get so hyped about something so trivial, how they could come together over something of such little value in the real world.

It must be nice, he thought, to care about something fun. To invest time into something for pleasure. Sam wished he knew what that felt like. He'd always wanted to go to a game so he could experience the raw energy in person.

"Cat got your tongue?" Dean asked his brother, studying his face carefully. "Normally he'll talk your ear off about basketball," Dean explained to Bobby. "Still not feelin' good, huh, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, swallowing hard.

"Yer dad said you've been hit with quite the bug," Bobby commented.

Dean snorted. "That's putting it lightly. I still can't wrap my head around the sheer amount of liquid this squirt has spewed in the last 24 hours."

"Dean!" Sam groaned, horrified by his brother's description of his gastrointestinal revolt.

Dean smirked as he reached over to palm Sam's forehead. "You don't feel as warm as before," he murmured. "Maybe you're finally on the mend."

Sam could hear the hope in Dean's voice, and gosh, he wanted to believe that was true. But his stomach hurt so badly. It wasn't just discomfort anymore; now it was closer to pain. Sam managed to give his brother a half-hearted smile. "Yeah," he breathed, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder. "Maybe."

xxx

Sam was not on the mend.

That much was clear.

By halftime, he'd lost his dinner into the bowl Bobby had fetched and now he was curled into himself, desperately trying to quell the pain in his gut.

Dean was next to him, rubbing his back.

"You gotta reel this in, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I don't like seein' you like this."

"M'sorry," Sam breathed. "I just— I really don't feel good, Dean."

"I know, dude. Doesn't take a detective to see that." He brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes. "What can I do?"

"You don't have to do anything. I'll be okay." Sam truly hated when people fretted over him. Besides, this was just the stomach flu. An every-human occurrence. Surely he could handle something as pedestrian as that. But glory to hell, he'd never felt so sick in his life.

Bobby had gone upstairs to set the boys up in the guest bedroom, and Sam was grateful. He was exhausted and he hoped lying down would help his stomach feel better. Now it was just a matter of getting up the stairs…

xxx

"Here, son." Sam reluctantly opened an eye to see Bobby sitting on the foot of the bed, dangling the thermometer in front of him. "We need to see how hot you're runnin'."

Sam couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. He was so tired from climbing Bobby's steep staircase, and now he just wanted to sleep. But he opened his mouth anyway and let Bobby slide the thermometer underneath his tongue.

"D'n?" Sam asked, noticing his brother wasn't in the room.

"He's making a phone call," Bobby answered. "Seeing if there are any leads on his little girlfriend's whereabouts."

Sam's heart tightened. He'd almost forgotten about Michelle.

Since Sam couldn't talk with the thermometer in his mouth, he and Bobby sat in silence until enough time had passed.

Bobby removed the thermometer just as Dean walked back into the room.

"Any news?" Bobby asked.

Dean just shook his head and let out a shuddering breath. "Temp?" he asked, nodding at Sam.

Bobby held the thermometer up to the light. "101.8," he answered.

"It's gone down some," Dean commented to nobody in particular. "Think you can handle some water, Sam?"

Sam felt his stomach tighten at just the suggestion. "I don't think so," he answered weakly.

Bobby sighed. "Well, you better hope you can hold some liquids down tomorrow, kid. Otherwise we'll be takin' your scrawny ass to the hospital. Get you an IV."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Especially if you can't shake that fever."

Sam wanted to protest, because he wasn't a big fan of hospitals. Who in their right mind would be? But he saw the determined looks on both of Dean and Bobby's faces, and he knew it wouldn't do any good to argue.

"How long has this been going on?" Bobby inquired.

"He started ralphin' last night," Dean answered. "But he's been worn out all week."

"Well, hopefully a good night's sleep will do some good," Bobby said, patting Sam's leg as he stood up. "You hittin' the hay now too, Dean?"

Dean nodded. "Might as well."

"All right. You boys wake me up if you need anything, you hear?"

"Sure, Bobby. Thanks."

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder on his way out, closing the door softly behind him.

Dean hovered by the door for a while, seemingly lost in thought. Sam knew he was miles away - worrying about John and especially Michelle.

"Get in bed, Dean," Sam said softly. "You look beat."

Dean nodded vaguely as he went to sit down on the twin bed across from Sam. The bowl Sam had used earlier had been cleaned out and placed on the nightstand in between them.

Dean began his 'big-brother' speech as he got under his covers. "Sam, you wake me up if—"

"Yeah, Dean, I know the drill," Sam interrupted.

"You say that, and yet you still wound up in a heap on the motel floor last night," Dean reminded him in his no-nonsense voice.

Sam's hip and elbow throbbed at the reminder. "Touché," he said with a yawn. Exhaustion was starting to pull him under…

In a haze, he saw Dean flash him a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Get some sleep, bitch."

Sam let his eyes close.

"You too…"

The "jerk" was lost on his lips.

TBC...