Chapter Five:

It's been fifteen minutes and neither one of the brothers Winchester have said a word. Not one word.

Sam still sat at the closed toilet seat, hands on his thighs, eyes scanning the small bathroom like it were very interesting yet his gaze never seemed to settle on Dean, who still sat on the floor, for longer then a millisecond or he simply just looked elsewhere all together.

It occurred to Sam that this particular Super 8 Motel's bathroom smelt of bleach and sulfur and it also occurred to Sam that the anger he was experiencing towards his brother was rather irrational. Sure, Dean was an asshole tonight but something didn't feel right about this fuming bitterness inside of him –– not right –– Sam couldn't put it any other way.

Why was he even mad, really? Because Dean was being a stubborn idiot? Better question is... when wasn't Dean being stubborn idiot? Was he upset with him for having a fatal asthma attack?

Christ, he couldn't help it, Sam. He doesn't want this anymore then you do. You think you were scared? Imagine how he felt.

Yet, here the younger Winchester sat on a fucking toilet, so angry he couldn't even see straight let alone bring himself to look at his own flesh and blood. This person before him was his brother... his brother who always took care of him, who practically raised him. His brother who would die for him. His brother...

This was all wrong.

All the shivering was really starting to make Dean's ribs twinge, so he finally acknowledged the comforter Sam had brought him earlier to his right and pulled it across his shoulders, nuzzling his icy feet inside as well. Dean realized as he fingered the cloth of the blanket that he and his younger brother's harmless bickering went a little far then usual. And why? Sam had saved his life, if he weren't so reckless to begin with none of this would have happened. Why the hell was Dean even mad again? Because Sam was treating Dean like a child... because Sam had slapped him like a bitch?

He was scared, Dean. He didn't know what else to do. Fuck, you'd probably do the same thing if you thought it would help.

It was as if neither of them refused to move from this damn bathroom. Was Dean planning on camping out here? Was Sam planning on staying?

Water from the faucet was pinging in the same fashion as the coffee machine, making Sam cringe and the fact that the room was suddenly stuffy had Sam on his feet, stepping over the blanket to the small window and with much effort he managed to open it. He took in a generous amount of the fresh air seeping in and then flopped back down again.

This two-way silent treatment was getting ridiculous. Both searching for the right thing to say. Forming monologued apologies in their minds that always sounded a lot more fumbled and half-assed when actually spoken. And suddenly, like a gift from the angels, blaring music entered the bathroom from the distance, the paper thin dented walls making it all the more louder.

Both brothers ventured a glance to the small window where the music was leaking in from and then countered back to each other with a shared looks of disbelief.

Sam spoke first, dumbfounded yet amused. "What the hell?"

They both allowed a small smirk to tug at the corners of their mouths at the realization of what was playing.

Sam started, "Is that..." –

"Styx," finished Dean.

"But it's like five in the morning..."

Dean shrugged lightly, biting his lip to keep from smiling too much, he looked back up to the window as the gentle piano intro played. "Admit you love Derek DeYoung."

"Dennis," corrected Sam.

Dean pointed an accusing finger at his kid brother, smiling like a giddy child, "Ha-ha, you knew."

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. So what if he knew the lead singers name? Didn't mean he was obsessed or anything.

Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, Dean nodded to himself ever-so-slightly as his hazel eyes lit up with a new found purpose. He smirked lazily and looked directly at Sam with teasing adoring hazel eyes and began,

"I'm... sailing away..."

Sam's head shot up. Good god, no.

"...set an open course for the virgin sea..." He continued, singing along with an terrible impersonation of Mr. DeYoung, his voice strangely high pitched and slightly and also purposely off-key.

"Dean, stop."

"'cause I've got to be free..." He looked so serious, eyes closed as if he were trying to hit the notes just right, " ...free to face the life that's ahead of me."

"Dean–"

"On board, I'm the captain," He gestured to himself, "so climb aboard," then mockingly motioned with his hand for Sam to 'climb aboard'. "We'll search for tomorrow..." He threw a prone hand across his brows, "...on every shore"

Sam stook his head, lowering it so his growing smile was hidden from Dean. He so did not want to humor him into keeping this up.

"And I'll try, oh lord, I'll try..." Dean smiled widely this time, giving Sam a look to follow along who just gawked at him like he was insane.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. This is totally your part."

Sam let his eyes met his brother's and noted the glint of hope in Dean's hazel orbs. Suddenly, Sam understood what his brother was doing. Dean needed this – hell, Sam needed this just as bad. If they both couldn't find the right words then this would be how Winchester boys say their sorry tonight.

He turned his head away from the window to weakly chime in, "to carry on..."

"That's my boy!" Dean hooted.

Sam rolled his eyes and closed his mouth now, his arms crossing in protest. Neither of them could sing. This was just silly.

Dean pouted briefly at his brother's 'don't wanna' posture but then just carried right on. "I... look to the sea," He gave a faraway look, "reflections in the waves spark my memory," then tapped his temple. "Some... happy, some sad." Dean frowned, stating jokingly, "So sad."

Sam chuckled lightly, cheeks flushing with mortification. He still couldn't believe Dean was doing this and was shocked he actually knew all the words so far.

"I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had,"

"We didn't have childhood friends, Dean." Sam piped in good-naturedly.

Dean was the one who rolled his eyes this time, waving a hand in dismissal at his brother before forming a fist raising it up with fake passion. "We live happily forever, so the story goes. But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold. But we'll try best that we can..." His eyes widened with anticipation, throwing out his arm, pointing to Sam for his cue.

"to carry on!" Sam joined Dean singing a little louder now.

The guitars finally kicked in and Sam couldn't stop his head from bobbing to the beat. They both listened to the chorus start and before Sam and Dean knew it they were leaning in toward each other, hands balled up at the mouth with imaginary microphones shouting,

"...Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me, lads. Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me"A breath, "Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me, babe. Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with meeeeee."

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up!" A women shrieked from the motel on the opposite side.

They froze at her command, realizing the track had ended midway through the chorus and that lady screaming to shut the fuck up was, in fact, referring to them.
Slowly, they met each other's gaze and soon broke into childishly laughter that was awfully amplified in the room they were in but they didn't stop until Sam's ears picked up on Dean's laugh mutating into a deep ugly cough.

Sam drew in a breath, his smile fading quickly, his eyes softening to his brother's crumbing form. He sounded horrible.

Sam pushed himself off the toilet seat, down to his knees shifting onto the uninjured one. Hardly recalling the action, Sam's hands have made their way to Dean's back, rubbing gentle circles as his brother continued to cough and wheeze. "Easy..." Sam cooed, patting his back with one hand and wrapping the blanket around Dean with the other.

When Dean's harsh breathing calmed down, Sam slowly stood, hovering over Dean with opened palms extended out to him. "Come on, I'll help you into bed."

A bed did sound awesome, a lot better then the cold, most likely fungus-ed bathroom floor but Dean had other plans. He smiled a bit, his cheeks flushed then shook his head, eyes flickering toward the tub. "I'm gonna hit the shower first," He paused, reaching out to grip the edge of the porcelain for leverage, then joked breathlessly, "I feel icky."

Sighing, Sam dropped a hand down to Dean's to halt his action. "Later," he puts firmly, "you need some rest."

Dean snorted, amused at Sam's sudden sense of authority and ignored his brother's offer and order. He wiggled his arm free from Sam's hold, he began to lug himself up with the aid of the tub.

"Dean–"

"You are far from a mother hen, okay?" He stated flatly, as he pulled himself up with much exertion. Dean gingerly stood, wavered when his legs gave out, stumbled back, and then crashed down with an oof.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam saw the movement out of the corner of his eye but was too late to catch his falling brother. He immediately crouched down at Dean's side, panic and concern owning his face. "Are you okay?" He all but shouted, one hand grabbing at Dean's bicep, the other on his shoulder.

Frustrated, Dean jerked, using his extended leg to pushed him back and away from Sam."I'm fine. I slipped–"

"Last time I checked swaying wasn't slipping," Sam pressed, grabbing ahold of his brother's arms again only for Dean to pull away once more.

"Piss off, Sam. I'm fine," he retorted sharply and when Sam rushed back to Dean like a fucking boomerang, Dean reeled back and pushed him hard, unintentionally yet almost wittingly knocking his kid brother on his ass.

Sam tumbled back, eyes widen, jaw hanging and holy shit, that just about did it.

Dennis Fucking DeYoung himself couldn't save them now.