Author's Note: I want to thank you guys for all your wonderful comments. They really mean the world to me and are such a comfort for me in this tough time. Thank you so much!

This request comes from Dina Spn, who asked for "I want hurt Sam, protective Dean set in S7 but non hunt or demons involved. Just getting hurt on everyday stuff like food poisoning, slipping on ice or even hangover Sam :) fluff fluff fluff. I'll leave you to it and if you didn't like them pick something else." Fluff, here we come! Thanks for the prompts!

"From that day on, I made a vow,

I'll be there when you want me,

Some way, some how."

—Marvin Gaye, "Ain't No Mountain High Enough"

It's quiet.

That's what hits him the moment he opens his eyes and glances upwards at the popcorn ceiling of the nameless motel room he's in. There's no dark chuckle by his ear, no figure leaning back against the wallpapered wall staring at him with mischievous eyes.

It's just silence that surrounds him.

"Sammy?" Dean stirs from the other bed, voice thick with exhaustion and Sam winces, wishing his brother's senses weren't so attuned to his. They've had a rough few weeks with late nights and too early mornings due to his hallucinations and various simple hunts. "Y'kay?"

"Yeah." Sam manages to say. Then, with a small smile gracing his lips, he adds, "It's a quiet day."

Dean's green gaze is suddenly focused on his own.

"Quiet?" He echoes and Sam grins.

"It's quiet."

The implication of those words sinks in and his big brother just grins.

"Go back to sleep then." Dean mumbles, tossing his pillow towards Sam's bed, causing his little brother to chuckle. "Or, dude," His big brother's voice turns excited, and suddenly, all traces of sleep are gone from his tone. He sits up, eager like a child on Christmas morning. "Dude," He repeats. "Let's go get breakfast."

They haven't gone to get breakfast for what seems like an eternity as their previous attempts usually resulted in disaster—Lucifer seems to know how to ruin everything. He knows Dean misses it though. Breakfast is one of the few times where they can talk about something other than hunting and just relax. Plus, he knows his brother enjoys the greasy food.

"Sure." Sam replies. "Let's go."

Dean just beams.

The diner is one with the same décor that Sam's seen in countless states all over the country. It's the one refuge for people like them—people always on the move, always searching for something—and the youngest Winchester can't help but wonder if it's done like that on purpose, almost like a beacon for those wandering lost.

They're seated in a booth with plush leather seats and Sam can't help but grin, somehow sensing that for once, things are going to go their way. They're going to have a wonderful meal free from whisperings from the Devil and other worries.

"Mornin' y'all." The waitress is a matronly woman with a warm smile and friendly demeanor who just chuckles while Dean just shamelessly flirts with her. She takes their orders and then brings them some warm, freshly brewed coffee.

Dean orders his usual—bacon dripping with grease and hash browns, along with a stack of pancakes that seems almost impossible to eat for there is so many of them—and Sam sticks to scrambled eggs and some ham.

"We haven't been to breakfast in a long time." Sam remarks and Dean nods.

"And everything is still . . ." His brother struggles to find the word to use before adding, "silent?"

"Yeah. Not a word."

"That's great." Dean says with a smile before taking another bite of his food. Sam wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Dude, I don't know how you can eat all of that."

"Should give it a try, Sammy." Dean replies, shrugging. Then, with a mischievous wink adds, "Might actually like better than your rabbit food."

Sam just chuckles, eating his eggs.

And the morning passes by uneventfully which just makes it even better.

The pain hits him in the middle of the night, like a lightning bolt striking his gut. Immediately, Sam's eyes fly open and he tosses the sheets off of him, practically falling off the bed as he rushes to the bathroom, barely managing to close the door behind him as the urge to vomit overwhelms him. His whole body seizes as he begins to gag and lowering his head by the toilet, he loses his dinner. He seems to gag for what feels like an eternity, but soon, it passes and Sam breathes a sigh of relief as the pain subsides. He flushes the toilet and slowly stands to the sink, turning on the tap to brush his teeth. He lets out a ragged breath after he's done, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Sammy?" Dean knocks on the door and Sam smiles softly, not surprised his brother is checking in on him. "You okay in there?"

"Fine." Sam calls. "I must have eaten—"

The pain returns and instantly, he drops to the toilet, gagging once more. It seems to go on much longer this time, until it feels like he's going to break in two. He's throwing up bile now and it burns his throat. When his body calms, he tiredly reaches up to flush the toilet.

"Here." It doesn't surprise him that Dean is there, a glass of water in his hands.

Shakily Sam reaches for the cup and brings it to his lips, greedily drinking the cool liquid.

"Slow sips, Sammy." Dean chides. Then, taking the cup from Sam, he runs his hand through his hair. "I guess I'll be making a Gatorade run." The jingling of keys echoes in the room. "You going to be okay—?"

"Just go." Sam dismisses, the urge to gag beginning to boil up within him.

"I'll be right back." His brother promises.

And then Sam begins to vomit once more.

"You don't have to stay." Sam manages to hoarsely tell his brother, his voice burning and barely above a whisper. He feels like someone is trying to rip his body apart. He has nothing left for his body to purge; yet still he finds himself vomiting almost like clockwork nearly every 30 minutes.

"Drink your Gatorade, Sam." Dean says instead, eyes brimming with concern as he regards his brother's disheveled appearance and pained expression. He leans over and places a cool palm to his little brother's forehead, frowning. "You're burning up. Think you can keep down some Motrin?"

Sam's body chooses that moment to begin to gag and a few minutes later, he slumps back, completely drained.

"M'cold." Sam whispers and Dean nods.

"You've got a fever going on. I can't let you cover up."

"Fuck." Sam swears, the pain stabbing his gut and he clenches his jaw, eyes screwed shut.

"You need to drink something." Dean informs him softly; Sam shakes his head, the thought totally unappealing. "You're going to get dehydrated."

"I can't."

"You need to try—"

Sam sighs raggedly.

"Okay." Dean finally relents. "Try to get some rest then."

"Dean, you don't have to—"

"Sleep, Sammy." He repeats, arms folded across his chest.

Sam just smiles, happy to not be alone.

"Sam."

He opens his eyes to see his brother's concerned face swimming into view. He blinks a few times, trying to get the vision to focus.

"D'n?"

"You've got a fever of 103." Dean informs him regretfully. "We need to get to the hospital."

That makes Sam's eyes go wide and a chill runs down his side. Hospitals have never led to anything good for them. He'd lost his father in one, almost lost Dean. He can't go back to the hospital, be sedated and held like he was in the Cage again.

"No." He gasps, sitting up. "No, I can't, not a hospital—"

"Hey, look at me." Dean's voice grounds him as does a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Look, if I could get an IV in you, we could stay here, but we don't have the stuff to deal with that. You're burning up, Sammy. I can't do this by myself."

That admission should be enough, but the fear is still running strong.

"No, Dean—"

"I will be with you the whole time." He reassures him. "I promise."

Sam forces himself to breathe. His brother has never broken a promise before. There's no reason to doubt him now.

"Okay."

"Alright." Dean whispers. "Let's get going then."

They get him set up in a room with a saline drip and a mixture of anti-nausea and fever reducer drugs. The doctor explains it as a routine case of food poisoning and says with a smile that he'll be good to go in the morning. Dean seems relieved and Sam wonders if he thought the worst—that maybe something supernatural was behind his illness—but it would seem that, for once, something normal has occurred.

"Only you could get food poisoning from your rabbit food." Dean mutters, seemingly amused. "Next time, you're having what I get."

The thought of eating food in the near future makes Sam's nose wrinkle in disgust. Dean chuckles at that.

"It could've been worse, Dean."

The unspoken Lucifer hangs in the room and his older brother's expression sobers.

"But, it's still quiet?" He questions.

"Yeah." Sam grins.

"Then, this is still a good day." Dean remarks.

And seeing his brother settle back into the well-worn chair by his bed Sam can't help but feel grateful.

"The best." He answers.

And as they turn on the TV and watch crappy reruns of sitcoms from days long gone by, Sam can't help but think that there's no place where he would rather be.

Here, by his brother's side, is all he'll ever need.

Author's Note: I hope that was enough fluff! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!