AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote most of this a few weeks ago, and I've been wanting to update Zan's story for a while, so here's what I have for now.
CONTENT WARNING: description of vomiting.
~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~ spn ~ ~
"Oh geez!" I heard Sam saying, "what th—Dean? DEAN!" he shouted, and I looked over to see Sam diving over to the driver's side of the seat, and then he pulled Dean up.
Dean groaned and slumped back.
Sam got out of the car and hurried around to the driver's side. "Move over, Dean," he said, shaking Dean's shoulder, "C'mon, man, wake up and scoot over a little."
"Huh?" Dean startled, and tried to sit up.
"No, don't sit up, move, so I can drive."
"M'okay, Sammy, I c'n-"
"No, Dean, move it!" Sam pushed Dean's shoulder. Dean finally moved over to the passenger side, and Sam got into the car. He turned to me. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hazel eyes looking me over with concern.
"Cold," I shivered, even though I'd been hot when I had started throwing up.
"Damn," Sam muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hey, Dad, we've got a problem. Dean and Zan are both sick. I mean, puking sick. Yeah, I don't know...we need to find a place and stop. Where are you now? Okay...The Willow Tree Motel? Yeah, I'll find it, we're like an exit or two behind you. Okay, see you."
The phone beeped. "Dean?" Sam asked quietly, "you gonna be okay if I drive, or do you feel like you need to puke some more?"
"M'okay," Dean slurred.
Sam looked back at me. "Zan? How are you?"
"M'okay for n-now," I shivered.
"I'll turn the heat up," he told me.
I woke up when the car door slammed. I looked out, and saw Sam standing next to the car with Mr. Winchester. Sam pulled out his wallet and started to go through it, and then he walked into the building we were parked in front of.
The front door opened and Mr. Winchester leaned in. He saw that I was awake. "How you holdin' up?" he asked.
"I'm cold," I said, and my voice was a whine.
"Well, after we get the payment squared away we'll get you all tucked into bed," he reached over and touched Dean's shoulder, "Dean?"
"M' up, Dad, jus' gimme a minute," Dean rubbed his face with his hand, "Sammy awake yet?"
Mr. Winchester shook his head. "Just relax, son," he said. Sam came out of the building with keys in his hand.
Mr. Winchester got out of the car, and they talked for a moment. Then Sam got in, and drove around to a long row of rooms.
"Hey, Dean? Dean, we're here, wake up so we can get you into the room," Sam said.
The back door of the car opened, and I whimpered as cold air flowed in.
"Sam, go and unlock the door, I'll bring her in, and then we can bring Dean in," Mr. Winchester intructed.
Sam got out of the car, and Mr. Winchester reached in and picked me up, carrying me into the room. Sam had walked ahead of us, and he pulled the covers down on one of the beds, and then walked over to the closet.
Mr. Winchester laid me down on the bed and took my shoes off, then he unzipped and removed my coat. He pulled the covers up over me, and walked away, and was back in a moment with a trash can.
"It's right here by the side of the bed if you need it," he told me.
I dozed as I heard them bringing Dean in and getting him settled in the other bed. Sam got the trash can from the bathroom and set it next to Dean's side of the bed while Mr. Winchester brought in some of the duffles.
I felt a hand on my forehead and jerked away, waking up. Mr. Winchester was standing by the side of the bed. "I want to check your temperature," he told me, holding up a digital thermometer. I opened my mouth, and he placed it under my tongue.
"You said she threw up too?" he asked Sam, who nodded.
"She asked to move over to the other side of the car because she said she was hot, but then after she threw up she said she was cold," Sam told him.
The thermometer beeped and Mr. Winchester pulled it out of my mouth and looked at it. "It's 101. Zan, how are you feeling? Did your stomach start to feel bad before you threw up, or was it sudden?"
"I...I felt kinda...yucky earlier when I was eating breakfast, my tummy didn't feel right, an' then in the car, watchin' the road was makin' me dizzy. My tummy started to feel...like it had pressure in it, and I burped and it tasted gross. And then when Dean—when he started, it made my tummy feel worse, an' I threw up. Then I felt real dizzy after that, an' cold."
He nodded. "You and Dean both had pizza with sausage on it, didn't you?"
"Uh, yeah, I had a piece with sausage an' pepperoni an' then half a slice of cheese," I said.
"Dean had a couple slices of the sausage and pepperoni. What are you thinking?" Sam asked.
"Probably food poisoning," Mr. Winchester said, "we're just going to have to stay here and ride it out until they're better."
Sam sighed. "Okay...what are we going to need?"
"Probably soup, Gatorade or something similar, to make sure they don't get dehydrated. Do we have enough Children's Ibuprofen left?"
"I'll check," Sam walked away.
From the other bed, Dean groaned, and then leaned over and started to throw up again. Mr. Winchester hurried over to him, and held the trash can up for him.
"We're going to have to go to the front office and probably ask for more trash can liners and possibly more towels," he said.
"You want me to do that?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, and ask for some extra blankets too," Mr. Winchester said.
"Ohhhh God," Dean groaned, "My stomach-" and then he started to throw up again.
"I know, buddy, it's all right," Mr. Winchester said reassuringly.
Suddenly the smell hit me, and my stomach clenched up, and then I could feel something coming up my throat—I sat up and leaned over, and began to throw up.
Then Mr. Winchester ws next to me, and he picked up the trash can and held it in front of me.
"I—I threw up on the side of it, I'm sorry-" I blurted between heaves.
"It's all right, I'll get it. You're okay," Mr. Winchester said soothingly.
When I was finished, I laid back down. He picked up both trash cans and took them into the bathroom, and I heard the water running. When he came back out he had two wash cloths, and he handed me one.
"What's this for?"
"Wipe your face, might make you feel better, and wipe your mouth," he said, going over to Dean.
"Dean? Hey, I want to check your temp. Open up for me, champ," Mr. Winchester's voice was gentle.
"What is it?" Dean rasped, after I heard the electronic beeping.
"It's 101.9," his Dad told him.
"What d'you think this is, Dad?"
"Food poisoning. You and Zan were the ones who had sausage and pepperoni pizza."
"Ohhhh don't talk about that," Dean moaned, "Dammit."
"It's all right, we'll stay here until it's out of your systems."
The door opened and Sam walked in carrying a stack of bedding.
"Got some more trash can liners and an extra set of towels. Two blankets was all they'd give me. The manager wasn't too happy, said if there was vomit on the rugs or anything they'd charge us extra."
Mr. Winchester made a 'hmph' noise, and took a blanket from Sam. He spread it over Dean, and Sam came over to me and placed the other blanket over me.
"How you feeling?" he asked me.
"They both threw up again," Mr. Winchester reported, "If you're okay here, I'm going to go out and get some supplies."
"Do you need some cash?" Sam asked.
"No, I should have enough." Mr. Winchester took his keys out, and then he left.
I drifted off to sleep, waking up when Dean started to throw up again. Then I dreamed about the Black Dog, and I woke up with a loud cry.
Sam was next to the bed. "Zan, you're okay, you're safe," he said calmly. He placed his palm on my forehead, and frowned. He reached over and got the thermometer, and said, "Open," to me.
When it beeped, he took it out of my mouth and looked at it, and frowned again. "It's higher," he said, "How are you feeling?"
"I—I feel all achy," I whimpered. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You're drenched in sweat," he said. He put his hand on the sheets.
I started to shiver again. "M' cold too."
"Let me check-" he walked over to the closet and looked inside. Then he walked over to the phone and dialed.
"Yes, I was wondering if I could get another set of sheets. Room 304. Yes, I did...no, no-one threw up on the sheets, my- sister has a high fever and the sheets are all sweaty. Look, I'll wash them myself if you want me to—why is this such a big deal?" Sam's voice was irritated. He huffed as he hung up the phone.
The door opened, and Mr. Winchester came in on a gust of cold air.
"How are things going?" he asked, walking over to the table. I heard the crackling of a plastic bag and the sounds of him setting things out.
"Well, Zan's fever is up, and her sheets are damp with sweat, and that idiot manager gave me crap about wanting an extra set of sheets. I even told him I'd wash them."
I propped myself up on my elbow and looked over at them. "M'okay, I don't- need more sheets."
Mr. Winchester looked angry. "No, it's not good for you to be laying in sheets that are damp when you're sick. The motel should be supplying us with whatever we need. I'll go talk to the guy," he said, and his voice sounded forbidding. He left the room.
Sam came back over to me and chuckled.
"What?" I asked.
"Well, I think the manager is in for a 'John Winchester Verbal Beat-Down'," he shook his head, "He's not gonna know what hit him. When Dad gets pissed like that his military training comes out, and he lets you have it."
I looked up at him. "You-you said I was your—your sister," I said shyly.
He smiled at me. "Yeah, I figured it was easier to say that than go into a while explanation of, y'know, we took this girl in and she's traveling with us."
"That was- nice of you."
"Well you know, you're just about an honorary Winchester anyway now. Hey, let's get you into some dry clothes, okay?"
He went over to my duffle, and brought over my plaid flannel pajamas. I got out of bed, moving slowly. Everything hurt, my joints ached and my stomach muscles were sore. Sam helped me undress and then put my pajamas on.
Mr. Winchester came back in with another stack of bedding. "I got an extra set for both beds," he said with satisfation.
I sat down on the end of Dean's bed as he pulled the blankets off of the bed and began to remove the sheets.
"I c'n do that," I said.
"I've got it," he said, "Do you feel like eating or drinking? I got soup, and Gatorade."
"Uh-uh," I shook my head.
"I'd like you to at least try and drink something. I don't want you becoming dehydrated."
Sam brought a bottle of Gatorade over to me, twisting the top off. I took it from him and took a small sip. Suddenly, I felt thirsty, and I started to drink more.
"Hey, slow down," Sam said after a moment, "Not so fast," he tried to pull the bottle away from me and I resisted.
"M' thirsty," I said.
"Drink slower," Mr. Winchester stood next to me, "You don't need to throw up again from drinking too fast."
I took a couple more swallows, and then he took the bottle out of my hand. "Back in bed now," he said.
I laid down in bed again, and he leaned over and pulled the covers up. I felt tired now, and I turned onto my side and started to drift off to sleep.
I woke up hearing Dean throwing up again, and listened to Sam and Mr. Winchester talking to him as they helped him change his clothes and put clean sheets on the bed. After they got him settled again, I fell back to sleep.
I startled awake late at night, hearing a shout. "I got you, Sammy, I got you, baby bro," Dean said, gasping. I sat up and looked over- Dean was tangled in the bed sheets, and I could see that his t-shirt was wet with sweat. His forehead and neck were beaded with sweat too. Sam stood by the bed, trying to help untangle the sheets.
Mr. Winchester came out of the bathroom carrying some towels. He walked over to the bed and began to wipe Dean's face off with a wet washcloth.
"It's so hot," Dean whimpered, and his voice sounded very young, "the fire's so hot."
"All right, shh," Mr. Winchester said, "You're all right, you're safe."
"Dad!" Dean cried out, looking up at him, "Where's Mom? What's wrong? Where'd she go?" He grabbed onto Mr. Winchester's arm.
"Shh, Dean, shh, it's okay, buddy," Mr. Winchester said soothingly. He looked over at Sam. "Let's get him in the shower, this isn't working."
"What's wrong with Dean?" I exclaimed.
"His fever's really high, and he's delerious," Sam said over his shoulder. I watched as they got Dean up out of bed, and then took him into the bathroom. I could hear the shower running, and Dean would say something in a high-pitched voice every once in a while. Sam came out of the bathroom and walked over to the duffles, getting clothes out and taking them into the bathroom. He came out again and changed the sheets on Dean's bed, and then went back to the bathroom. They brought Dean out, and put him back to bed. Mr. Winchester sat on the edge of his bed talking quietly for a while, until he fell asleep.
