Title: Sick
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: none
Rating: Teen
Warnings: none Well maybe one: I'm new to fanfiction so please be kind and beware
Author's Notes: DISCLAIMERS... The characters don't belong to me and neither do the actors, but I sure as hell wish they did.
Sam squints his eyes in pain and lets out an exasperated sigh as he opens his eyes. He flings his too long legs over the side of the too lumpy bed and glances at the big red numbers on the alarm clock: 3:27. He leans over, arms hugging his stomach. He's going to be sick.
Hunching over, he stumbles into the bathroom, silently closes the door and kneels down by the toilet, resting his elbows on either side of the hole, and heaves.
Back in the room, Dean's eyes flutter open as he twists his neck around to get the kinks out. Propping himself up on his arms he listens a moment to the sound coming from the bathroom.
"Sam?" Dean taps the knuckle of his index finger on the bathroom door and it opens a little, "Sam?" He opens the door a little more and leans in the doorway.
"Yeah," Sam sucks in a breath and coughs as he settles back against the wall, knees pulled up and rests his head in his hands.
Dean grabs one of the cups by the sink and pours Sam a cup of water. He flushes the toilet and hands his brother the cup as he sits down on the tile floor, leaning against the sink cabinet so he can face Sam.
"So...? How's it going?" Dean clears his throat as he rests his arms on his drawn up knees.
"Go back to bed, Dean. I'll be fine in a minute," Sam mumbles and then moves back to the toilet to puke again.
Dean gets up and wets one of the guest towels and settles back down.
"Here," he hands the towel to Sam when he finishes.
They sit in silence for a couple of minutes.
"Well, make sure you brush your teeth. Those beds are too close together and I really can't handle the smell of vomit," Dean half-heartily jokes as he gets back up. He doesn't know what else to do.
Sam looks up at Dean through his eyelashes and quips, "Thanks, I appreciate your concern. Now go back to sleep."
"You wanna talk?" Dean asked without looking at his brother.
"I'm just sick."
Dean leaned against the doorway and looked off into the dark, shabby motel room, not really focusing on anything in particular.
"I don't think I can take it anymore." Sam's voice caught in his throat and Dean couldn't look at him. He knew his brother's eyes were wet with unshed tears. He eased back down into a sitting position and rubbed the back of his neck. 'What do you say to that?'
Sam rubbed his face in his palms and groaned. He couldn't cry, not in front of Dean, "How do you do it? How do you stay so confident and in control? How are you able to ... to keep fighting ... to keep fighting this ... this ... ugh ... what is this even? I just ..."
"I don't know, Sam. I don't know. I wish I could ..." He stopped. Emotional moments were not his strong suit and he knew if he went too far, delved too deep he might lose it, "... We're going to find this demon and kill it. We're going to do that much and then you can go back to school like you want to and ... and not have to ... "
"Dean, even if we kill this demon and the visions stop and .. and I go back to school, life won't go back to the way it was. I'll still have nightmares. I'll still go to sleep and see Jessica up on the ceiling ... or one of the "big bads" we've fought..."
Dean cut him off. "Wait a minute. You were so adamant about going back to school a couple of weeks ago."
"Yeah, well I've been thinking."
"Well, stop that."
A ringing from inside the room interrupted the tense silence that followed. Thank goodness for small miracles. Dean got back up and went to check the phone. He knew that ring well. It was a text message. Dad probably had another job for them. Yeah, thank goodness for small miracles.