A/N: This was quicker wasn't it? Yay! :D I am really pleased with myself :p.

Thank you for all the wonderful response on this! You guys are really spurring me on! :)

Still only working on this fic and some random one-shots. I have posted a new anthology, and you'll eventually find all my one-shots there. They're Sam-centric hurt/comfort fics from various prompts over at LJ, and then some ideas I have, and it's open for prompts from readers as well. It's got one story right now, also from a prompt at LJ, and the collection is called 'Family Forever'. Go have a look. :)

Right. End of self-pimpage.

Many thanks to my wonderful, wonderful beta BohemianMoose for being a ninja with this one. :)

This particular chapter contains spoilers for Harry Potter — DH Part 2. I hope all you guys have watched the movie (it did come out more than two years ago), but it will make sense even if you haven't. The spoiler isn't so much for the book, though, just the movie and scene from there.

STAND STILL AND BREATHE

9. Just a Headache

"Okay, so here goes!"

Charlie inserted the Blu-ray disk into the player and settled back as Dean pushed a few buttons on the remote control. Beside him, Sam was curled in a blanket, face peeking out pallidly from the warm material. Dean gave him occasional concerned glances, but Sam pretended not to notice those.

He had woken up after the incident with Abaddon, sore all over from being flung, and only to find he didn't remember anything that happened between him getting attacked. He felt like he was waking up after a really long time, but he was assured that it had only been a couple of hours. Dean and Charlie were wounded too, but they had tended to themselves. Dean had popped in a few Tylenol for his back, and begrudgingly promised Sam that he'd get help if the pain didn't go away. He had, however, asked Sam to talk the moment his eyes had opened and bewildered, Sam had obliged. Later, Dean had explained how Sam was slurring during the brief period that he'd woken up, which had caused his brother to think that he might've had a concussion.

Sam ate, took another dose of the anti-viral, and then Charlie had waved her Harry Potter movie at them, which Sam had agreed to watch immediately. Dean and Castiel had agreed too, and few minutes later, they were sitting on the couch, three sets of eyes at the screen and one pair darting towards Sam every thirty seconds.

The movie went by uneventfully — Sam and Charlie seemed to be the only ones interested enough to gasp at the right places, and Sam could swear there were parts where Charlie was practically whimpering. Soon, they were at the part where Harry was about to go to the Forbidden Forest in order to let Voldemort kill him. Sam watched as the character descended the stairs of the war-struck castle and reached his best friends. They spoke, and Hermione seemed to figure out what Harry wanted to do.

"I'll go with you," she said, her eyes filling with tears, and Sam heard Dean take a sharp breath beside him. He turned and he grinned at his brother.

"Getting too involved in the movie, are we?"

Dean looked back, but he didn't retaliate. Sam didn't think much of it until they finished the movie and sat in the library for a while. He had opened his book on spells as Dean, Charlie and Castiel opened other books to look for ways to cure Sam.

Castiel hadn't breathed a word about his expedition, which made Sam realise that none of the angels were ready to help him. This meant that if no one found a cure for him, he'd probably die. He licked his lips. It felt so… final. His heart fluttered. They had run out of one more option, and he, Sam, was a step closer to dying. Dean had figured it out too.

That was when Sam understood his brother's reaction to the dialogue from the movie. No, he thought, horrified at the implications. Just… no. He wouldn't let Dean do that. And he was about to let Dean know right now.

Sam cleared his throat. "Hey, Charlie, you know what Hermione told Harry when he was going to get himself killed?"

She looked up and smiled. "Yeah. Adorable, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't in the book," Sam shrugged, fingering one of the frail pages on the leather-bound tome in his hands, "they shouldn't have added it. Hermione wouldn't do anything so stupid."

"It wasn't stupid," Dean replied to this in a low voice, as he looked up from his own text. Their eyes met, and Sam realised that Dean had understood his context. The older man continued to talk. "Harry was like a brother to Hermione. She didn't want him to be alone."

"If Harry wouldn't have come back, she and Ron would've had to finish off Voldemort," Sam pointed out, "so she was better off staying back and fighting. Plus, she had a future with Ron. She had a lot to live for."

"There were plenty others to finish off Baldie," said Dean. "It wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't stayed back."

"Wow, you guys are getting analytical," Charlie commented, but Sam interrupted her.

"It would have mattered, Dean. It would have made a difference to Ron. He would have lost his best friend and the love of his life if Hermione had gone along."

"So I guess she had a better reason to stay back. There isn't always a Ron in everyone's life, you know. It isn't all the same."

"What isn't the same?" Charlie asked the brothers. "What are you two talking about?"

Sam ignored her again, anger rising up in him. Why wouldn't Dean understand?

"Damn right, it isn't the same, Dean," Sam snapped at his brother irately, "because that's fiction. Harry isn't always going to come back. Sometimes, Hermione has to realise that there's only so much she can do to keep her friend. She can't be so selfish — she can't stop fighting the war just like that."

"Yeah? So after being selfless all this time, she doesn't get to be selfish this once?"

"Not for such a reason."

"Fuck you, Sam," said Dean, standing up from his chair. "You can't just sit there like that, and expect it all to be okay, all right? You have no say in this. You don't get to decide for others!" Dean's jaw clenched and Sam thought he saw a slight, wet glimmer in his brother's green eyes before the elder Winchester took his book and stormed out of the library.

There was silence. Charlie and Castiel were both looking at Sam, and the spot that had been occupied by Dean, a moment ago. Castiel shut his book and made to get up. "Should I talk to him?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Cas, you stay. I should probably—"

"Is he serious?" Charlie whispered, before Sam could complete his sentence.

"Yeah," Sam replied to her quietly. He licked his lips. "Yeah."

"Sam…" her eyes widened. "He can't…!"

"I know," Sam replied. "I'll talk to him." He shut his own book and stood up. "I should probably do it now."

"Should I come along?"

"No, no, thanks—" Sam said to Charlie. "I think I should talk to him alone."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Sam was leaving the library, when he heard Castiel's voice. "Sam?"

He turned around. "Yeah, Cas?"

"Were you referring to me when you were talking about the redheaded boy from the movie?"

~o~

"Dean?"

There was a loud thump on Dean's door but he stayed where he was, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He didn't want to talk this through with Sam. He didn't need to. Sam had no say in Dean's decisions — not when Dean had so recently promised Sam that he wouldn't push him to do anything — that Sam wouldn't be forced into more treatments or pain just because Dean wanted so desperately for him to live. So if Dean wasn't allowed to persuade Sam to live, Sam wasn't allowed to do it either.

The knocks came again. "Dean! Open the door, dammit!"

"Why don't you just go away, Sam?" Dean called out crossly.

"We need to talk—"

"No, we don't."

The knocks stopped. "Please."

"No, Sam."

There were footsteps, and Dean heard Sam sigh. "Okay," he said, his voice still determined, "I'm not letting this go, so you can decide when you want to talk about it."

"Try me," Dean muttered, and that was when he heard Castiel's voice.

"Should I do it?"

"That's probably not a good idea, Cas."

There was a knock anyway. "Dean." It was Castiel this time.

"God, why don't you two go match your period dates and leave me alone, huh?"

"He seems to be angry," Castiel was telling Sam.

"Go, and I won't say it again," Dean replied, frowning at the door.

"We should leave," Sam said from outside. "I'll talk to him later."

"Yes."

Dean sat where he was, listening to the footsteps recede. He then sank into his pillows, letting out deep breaths and eventually falling asleep without realising it.

~o~

Dean never came out of his room, and later when Sam knocked, he could hear Dean's muffled snores, so he let his elder brother be. God knew — Dean needed his rest. He had been injured enough in that fight with Abaddon, aside from fighting a nasty flu of his own.

Soon, it was time to go to bed, and Dean still hadn't come out. Before he retired to his own room, Sam knocked again at Dean's door — loud knocks this time, and his brother answered the door groggily. "If you're going to—"

Sam interrupted him by holding up the bowl of soup that Charlie had made. "You need to take your medicine."

"What are you, now, my caretaker?"

"Just your brother."

Dean's lips curled into a smile at that and he took the bowl from Sam's hands. "Go, sleep."

"Yeah." Sam's headache from earlier was back, but he needed to know that Dean was taking his medicines too.

"Go, bitch."

"Fuck off."

He headed to the next door, to his room — or Dean's room — or whatever, it didn't matter, and he lay down on the bed. The headache had changed from a pounding type of pain to aching pressure behind his eyes. Sam threw an arm across his forehead, hoping that the slight weight and pressure of it would help ease the pain. It helped and he dozed off. Until it got worse.

He got up in the early hours of morning with one side of his head pounding thoroughly in sync with his heartbeat — or so it seemed. Anyway, it didn't matter if it had a rhythm or not. He couldn't have cared less if it was an erratic pounding because it was just too painful.

He sat up, the movement feeling only worse, but the weak tendrils of light creeping in from the hallway through the small gap were just too bright and he needed to shut the light off. He felt sudden nausea rise in him and he swallowed it down, relived when it disappeared, because the last thing he needed was to puke. There'd be plenty of time for that during his second chemo cycle in a few days.

He tried to lie down again but his head hurt too badly. He grit his teeth against it, his breath coming in sharp gasps. At one point, it escalated and his hands fisted the bedspread while his socked toes curled underneath the blankets. God, what was happening? He started to sweat in pain and he tried to breathe again but that didn't help.

Another sharp bout of pain shot across the existing agony — pressure over the pounding — as though something was pressing against his meninges and his skull. He let out an involuntary yelp, bringing a palm to his mouth immediately after that, hoping that he hadn't been too loud. He hissed, his ears ringing as he felt terror run through him. What the hell was happening? Was he dying? If he was, he hoped it would be over soon.

"Sammy?"

Someone opened his door and Sam hissed again as it hit against the wall, the sound shooting more pain through his head. His body was arched and rigid from agony, and he hadn't realised that until he felt Dean's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, take it easy. Relax. Tell me what's happening." The sudden burst of light flooded through Sam's clenched eyelids and everything lost meaning again. Dean had opened the door to let all the hallway light in, not knowing that it was a bad idea.

"L-Light…" Sam grit his teeth, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and he felt Dean move again, so the light was gone. He felt better after that, though the pain didn't decrease. His teeth ground against each other, locked and clenched, and his body was taut — rigid. He could barely move from the torture in his head alone.

"Sam, talk to me." Dean's hand was squeezing his forearm. "Where does it hurt?"

"Head… eyes… everywhere…" A tear slid out of each of Sam's eyes from the sheer pain, and he felt Dean's hand squeeze him tighter.

"Hey, what can I do?" Another tear fell out and Dean patted Sam's forearm. "I'm right here. It's okay. Just tell me."

"'M n-n-not crying, j-jerk," Sam managed, before hissing again. He didn't know what he needed. He wasn't sure what was to be done. "T-Think… migraine." There was no other explanation for it.

"A migraine? Did you have a vision?"

"No… actual… m-migraine." Because the headaches from visions weren't really migraines. They were very bad headaches, yes, but not real migraines. Sam knew what a genuine migraine was. Jess used to get them. He knew all the classical symptoms. And this was a migraine. But… how?

"I thought those were genetic," said Dean, mimicking Sam's thoughts. "And don't they start earlier in life or something?"

Sam just groaned. "I don't know… oh G-God…" Something was amiss. Even apart from the whole headache thing, Sam didn't feel good.

"Okay… I don't… would Tylenol help?"

"Advil."

"You can't take that, man. No aspirin or ibuprofen, remember?"

Sam gritted his teeth another time, frustrated at that. He was definitely dying. He wasn't sure he could survive this. He turned to his brother with pain-filled eyes, his breath still coming out sharp and erratic. Dean bit his lip. "Will a head massage help?"

"N-No…" Jess had never let him touch her head during her migraines. Now he knew why. He practically shuddered at the thought of anyone laying a finger on his head. It hurt that much.

"Tell me something, Sam — help me here, man… please."

"Just need to sleep."

"But you can't?"

Sam shook his head, biting his lips through more pain as another tear fell out of his eye. Dean rubbed his forearm briefly. Sam could practically hear his brother thinking. He let out another gasp, feeling Dean rub quicker, in a more fevered pace, and then some of the pain left, but it was still bad.

Dean's hand suddenly left Sam's forearm and the younger man felt his brother stand up. "I'll be right back." He left the room as quietly as he could and Sam tried to sleep, but he couldn't.

It was ten minutes before Dean came back, and when he did, he patted Sam's shoulder. "I need you to open your eyes and sit up for a bit."

Sam obeyed, finally opening his eyes, though it was far too bright in the room. Dean had a small pill in his hand along with a glass of water.

"What…?"

"Alprazolam," Dean answered. "I called the doctor. It won't fuck with any of your chemo stuff, and we still had some in the medicine kit."

Sam remembered the pills. They were from the days of Dean having disappeared off to Purgatory. He'd had trouble sleeping and had grudgingly visited a doctor under Amelia's insistence. The pills were apparently mild and non-addictive, which was why the doctor had prescribed them without much hesitation. And they'd helped Sam sleep. Dean had questioned their presence once, but Sam hadn't really replied.

"Are they still good?" he asked his brother.

"Yeah, I checked."

"Thanks."

He took the pill and popped it in, gulping down all the water with it. Then he lay back down on his bed as Dean went about shutting every sound and light source that was bound to hurt Sam. The headache was still there, and it was still bad, but Sam felt a calming sensation come down on him like a blanket as he yawned and fell asleep.

~o~

"Dean, we need to talk."

Dean had been standing at the library, staring at a heavy book and wondering, simultaneously about Sam's migraine, when he heard Castiel speak. He looked up and gestured for Castiel to come over.

"I'm fine, Cas," he said, knowing what the former angel wanted to talk about.

"Sam thinks otherwise. Charlie and I agree."

"Cas…"

"Sam won't die, Dean. And neither will you."

Dean sighed. "Thanks, but—"

"You are a pessimistic son of a bitch."

Dean almost dropped the book he was holding, as he looked up at the former angel. "What?"

"You heard me," Castiel said, and he looked almost angry as he said it. "And you are selfish, Dean. Very selfish."

"Okay, Cas—"

"You have no right to throw away your life like that!" Castiel folded his arms, his eyes narrowing at the other man. "People — angels have worked hard for you! I brought you back from perdition, fought my way through, along with the garrison, for forty years to do so and this is how you're repaying me!"

Dean wanted to remind Castiel that he'd died once even after that, but it didn't seem like the best moment to do so. "Cas, listen—"

"No!"

"Wow, you're hormonal."

"Stop it!" the other man snapped. "I don't care what happens to me after that, but if you take the step you're willing to take—"

"—you'll do what, Cas?" It was Dean's turn to interrupt him. "Kill me?"

Castiel's eyes widened. He swallowed, sharp breaths coming out of him. Then the pools of blue sank, below Dean's eye level, down to the ground. "Dean. Please."

Dean didn't know what to say. Castiel raised his eyes again, pleadingly. "Even if the worst were to happen, that isn't what Sam would want."

"Sam doesn't want a lot of things—"

"For me."

Dean suddenly realised who 'Ron' was supposed to be from his and Sam's argument earlier that say. But Castiel was anything but the love of Dean's life. The elder Winchester sighed. "Cas…"

"Dean. I'm begging you." Castiel's eyes were bright, and he tilted his head. "I'm begging you."

Dean took a deep breath. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? Right now, I'm not going to let Sam die. Are you?"

"So you don't promise."

"No." It was Dean's turn to look down now. "I'm sorry." He licked his lips. "But Sammy isn't going anywhere either. Not on my watch."

"I know that."

"So why are we having this discussion?" Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel looked away, a tongue wetting his pale, dry lips. "I'm in the danger of losing one friend already. I don't want to lose both."

Dean was silent. He opened his mouth, then shut it and pressed his lips into a line. Then he spoke again in a voice that was stronger than he felt. "It's going to be okay, Cas."

Castiel nodded. "If you say so."

"I mean it."

Just then there were footsteps from down the hallway and Dean's head automatically turned towards the war room as he caught Sam make his way towards them. "Hey," said the younger Winchester.

"Hey," Dean replied to him, smiling. "How're you feelin'?"

"Better," Sam shrugged, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, "headache's almost gone. You?"

"I'm peachy as always," Dean shrugged. "You hungry?"

"Kinda. Yeah."

"Good. Charlie went into the kitchen about half-an-hour ago and refused to let me inside, so I'm guessing food should be ready soon."

"Oh. Sure."

Dean lifted the book and seated himself on one of the chairs. Castiel followed him after he'd retrieved his own book. After a few moments, Sam sat down too, without a book, though from the corner of his eyes Dean could make out that his younger brother wanted to talk about something. Oh God, not again, he thought.

"Dean—"

"—Sam." It was firm and final, and Dean indicated to Sam that they didn't need to talk about it.

"No, listen."

"I've heard all I wanted to hear."

Sam licked his lips. "It's not about that."

"Then what is it about?"

The younger brother sighed. "I was just thinking—"

"—and that's always a bad thing, of course…"

"Shut up and let me talk."

Dean gazed at him exasperatedly. "What?"

"I just — why don't you go out tonight?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Okay. Why?"

"Hit a bar. Meet some girls. Take Cas with you."

The elder brother shook his head. There was something off about this. "Again, Sam. Why?"

Sam looked at him earnestly, his long fingers interlacing with each other as he rested his hands on the table. "Ever since the chemo began, you really haven't had time to yourself. And I want you to have that."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah," Sam stood up, crossing his arms. "Yeah. I just — the second cycle is beginning in a few days."

"And?"

"And you'll be stuck taking care of me again, which is basically what you've done ever since the entire thing began."

Dean made a sour face at his brother. "Don't be an ass, Sam."

"Yeah, right. I'm an ass for wanting you to have some fun."

The other sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

"I told you."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever, man."

"So you'll go?"

He bit his lip. "Fine. But… you're okay, right?" His gut had suddenly begun to tingle. Something was wrong with Sam. He had never spoken like this before. Not even when he'd planned to jump into Lucifer's cage.

"Yeah, of course," said Sam, smiling at him. The smile looked odd to Dean. "I'm as good as I can get."

Dean nodded slowly. He'd weasel the truth out of Sam before he would have to hit the bar. "Okay."

~o~

Charlie left soon after lunch, though reluctantly. She had to report back to work and she couldn't miss another day, but she didn't leave before making the Winchesters promise that they'd stay in touch about Sam's condition. Dean promised her that he would keep her updated and after squeezing both the brothers in tight hugs, and a goodbye handshake with Castiel, Charlie left.

Sam, Dean and Castiel then headed back to the bunker and Sam was reminded of the times during the Apocalypse when it would just be the three of them, sitting up, plotting, planning, and thinking of ways to try and stop all the shit that was happening. They were doing the same now. Except this time, it was very different from the Apocalypse.

Truth be told, Sam far preferred the Apocalypse. But then again, at least he and Dean didn't have trust issues now. It had all come at a cost, but they were brothers again.

Dean let Sam go back to sleep after that. The younger brother didn't have much of a headache anymore, but he was tired anyway. The flu wasn't completely gone — he was still sniffling and sneezing here and there, and was slightly warm, though nothing above a hundred degrees. Dean was better — like he'd said, but he didn't have a busted immune system, so the first few doses of anti-virals were enough to get him all better.

Apart from feeling tired, though, Sam felt something else. The same irrational panic from the migraine that morning had lodged in his stomach when he'd woken up. He didn't know what it was, but he felt all wrong. And that was why he had asked Dean to hit a bar and enjoy in the evening, because he had a feeling something was going to happen very soon, and that wasn't going to be good. He just didn't know what it was. He knew that Dean had smelled a rat, even if not immediately, and he hoped that Dean's instincts wouldn't keep him from enjoying an evening, because his brother truly deserved that.

Sam had a disturbed sleep once he retired to bed for the afternoon. Dean had told him that he couldn't have more than an hour — yet again, but something was coming. Something ominous. He opened his eyes in just forty-five minutes, unable to sleep anymore, but also due to a wave of nausea making its way through his body.

He sat up in his bed and swallowed against the nausea. It went away in a minute, but not before cold sweat had broken all over him. His head suddenly began to spin and the nausea was back, and then gone again. His vision blurred slightly. Sam blinked. This didn't feel good in the least. Something was terribly wrong.

"Dean?" he called out. Except, it didn't sound like 'Dean' at all. It didn't sound like…anything.

"D-Dean?" he called out again, but all that came out was something that sounded like 'jaan'.

"Dean!" Sam called out, louder, and his brother's name still didn't come out right. Waves of panic travelled through his fibres, hitting against him again and again. Why wasn't he able to speak properly? What was going on with him?

"DEAN! HELP!"

It just sounded like he was yelling gibberish, but he was yelling… he was…

"SAM?"

He heard his brother's voice, the sound transmitted thoroughly even through the ringing in his ears, and then, everything was blissfully black.

~o~

At first, Dean wasn't sure about the sound he heard from Sam's room as he entered the hallway from the war room. He was certain, though, that Sam was fast asleep, and these days, his brother rarely woke up halfway through his naps.

There was another noise, and Dean frowned. He didn't know if Sam needed to be checked on, because his brother would holler if he needed Dean and it didn't sound like he was calling out to him — just as though he was sleep-talking. His younger brother was never one to do that, but sickness made everyone do weird things…

… And that was when Dean heard Sam yell. Properly. It wasn't Dean's name, it wasn't anyone's name, but somehow, he knew. Something was wrong.

"SAM!" He called out and rushed to his old room, throwing open the door, only to be met by a horrible sight.

Sam lay on the bed, body thrown in a slight arch, going up and down frantically, beating against the mattress while his arms were splayed on either side, doing the same. His eyes had rolled upwards and his breath was coming in erratic gasps.

Sam was having a seizure.

A/N: Whoops. Another cliffie.

So, what do you think? Reviews would be amazing! :D

Guest review responses

Alyshia: Yay! So glad you liked the HP reference! I tend to draw so many lines between Sam and Harry, I couldn't help it this time. :p Aww, and thank you for those kind, kind words! I'm sure there are fics out there that balance out Sam and Destiel, though. You've just gotta look for them ;). And the Destiel - haha, you'll have to wait and watch! That's still building. Very slowly, though. :p Thank you so, so much! You are very kind. :) And thank you very much for the review because my muse beckons when response is there, and I love that all you guys are interested. :) So you guys are keeping the story going, really! :D I should update again within the next week! :) Thank youuuu! *hearts*

Jesse: Meep! I am very, very happy that you're enjoying it. Thanks for your review! :D