Chapter Three

After having another coffee with Grace, while Dean slept, Sam made his way back to their room feeling more at home than he ever had in any of the motels they'd ever stayed at. Grace had a way of making him feel like he belonged. Even though she didn't know even half of what they did, he still felt that she would accept them no matter what.

Yet he still hadn't told her everything. Just in case.

They spoke about life, politics, history, love. Sam told her about Jess, Grace told Sam about Albert. Both connected in only a way those that had lost a loved one could. She treated him as an equal but at the same time could treat him with a mothers love. Grace really was full of grace. Sam knew Dean felt the same about her. Loved the attention and loved the feeling of being looked after. All his life he'd been the carer, never the caree.

As he approached the room Sam swore he could hear his name being called. He quickened his step and flung the door wide.

Dean was on the floor, trying desperately to make it to the bathroom before his stomach expelled every morsel of food he'd consumed. He weakly called for Sam again, unaware his brother was already in the room.

"Sammy!"

"Hey man, I'm here."

"Sick."

"I know." Sam grabbed Dean under his arms and lifted him upwards, slinging his brother's left arm over his shoulders and practically carrying him to the bathroom. Dean fell forward as soon as the toilet was in sight and his stomach needed no second permission to begin it's purge.

"Easy bro, easy."

Sam rubbed small circles on Dean's back, he felt the heat seeping through his t-shirt, could see that the sweat patches had consumed all the colour.

Dean held the side of the toilet weakly, his knees pulled under him as his stomach cramped repeatedly. He felt as though he couldn't breathe. Every time he thought the nightmare was over his stomach constricted and again he heaved into the toilet bowl. He was shaking and sweating. The only thing grounding him was the feel of Sam's hand against his back.

If he thought he ached before, now he felt the ache through his muscles and bones and into his mind, refusing to allow him to hide from his misery.

Just when he thought he could take no more the cramping subsided and he rested his forehead against the cool porcelain bowl. He felt Sam moving behind him, felt a cool cloth on the back of his neck.

"Well that was fun." He winced at the hoarseness of his voice.

"No denying it now Dean."

"I'm sick?"

"Definitely brother."

"Ah man."

"You think that's it?"

"I don't know. Not gonna move for a bit though."

"I'm not going anywhere Dean. Take all the time you need."

"You know I might not be sick."

"No?"

"I think it was Grace's soup."

"You think you have food poisoning?" Laughed Sam as sat down next to Dean.

"Yeah. I think this is Grace's fault."

"Maybe you should tell her so."

"No I think you should tell her."

"Tell me what?"

Both boys looked up as Grace came into the small bathroom. Dean grinned from his place against the bowl, Sam tried to smile his most innocent I'd-never-ever-do-anything-bad-ever smile.

Grace frowned at them both.

"Sammy has something he wants to tell you."

"What! No I don't."

"Sammy says you made me sick."

"What?"

"Sam is this true?"

Grace stared at the taller man as he cowered beneath her. Dean pointed to his brother and shook his head disapprovingly.

Sam gave up and nodded his head toward Dean.

"He's thrown up again."

"That I can see. How you doing honey?"

Dean gave a thumbs up and closed his eyes against another stomach cramp. His t-shirt was soaked through and Grace and Sam could both see the tremors beneath the cloth.

"Sam I'm going to go get a bucket, then we'll get him back into bed."

"Ok Grace. Thanks again."

"Sorry."

"What's that Dean honey?"

"I'm sorry."

Grace knelt down in front of the sick man and brushed his hair back. Dean cracked open his eyes and Grace felt her heart break at the pain and misery within the green depths.

"It's ok honey. It's not your fault and I'd rather you be here so I can look after you than out on the road moving from place to place. You have nothing to be sorry about. You hear?"

"Ok."

"Sam try to cool him off a bit more, I'll be back in a minute."

Grace squeezed Sam's shoulder reassuringly and left the room to gather her supplies from the main house.

Sam soaked the cloth in cold water and mopped the sweat from Dean's face. His concern peaked when his brother didn't complain as he ran the cloth over his neck and under his t-shirt.

"I need to get you into dry clothes Dean."

Dean weakly shook his head.

"You'll feel better man, come on, let me get you out of that t-shirt."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Can't move."

"Why?"

"Sick."

Sam was about to argue when Dean pushed himself back up and over the toilet bowl, giving in to the cramps and dry heaves that shook his body. Tears of frustration and pain ran down his face as his stomach clenched again. Every part of his body ached, his head he was sure would explode soon, and as his hands gripped the edge of the toilet he began to feel like he was slipping on the cold tiled floor.

Sam pulled Dean further upright as more heaves wracked through his body. He kept his right arm around Dean's chest and held on as the strength seemed to leave his brother.

Dean tasted the bile in his throat as his stomach clenched again. The acidic burning adding to his misery. He realised he'd let go of the toilet yet still his body was hovering above the bowl. He was vaguely aware of Sam's arm around him.

As the episode eased Dean allowed Sam to pull him back against his chest. Still upright but more comfortable and still within reach of the toilet. Sam wiped the now warm cloth around Dean's face and held his brother against him, trying to keep the tremors at bay with sheer force of will.

"You ok man?"

Dean didn't bother speaking, just shook his head against his brothers chest.

"You think you'll be sick again."

A weary nod.

"Ok man, we're not going anywhere."

Grace made her way back to room number four carrying a bucket , bowl , cloths and ice. She heard her name and turned to see Nicki making her way toward her.

"Hey Aunt Grace." Nicki leaned forward and kissed her Aunt on the cheek.

"Sweetheart, hope you had a good day."

"Yeah it was great, what's with all this."

"Dean."

"Ah shit."

"Don't swear."

"Sorry." Nicki took the bowl and followed her Aunt into the room. They found the brothers still in the bathroom, Dean once again heaving over the toilet while Sam did his best to hold him up. Grace could see Sam was tiring and that was the last thing she wanted. There was no way she was caring over two sick men. One at a time thank you very much.

"Nicki honey will you set that bucket by the bed and pour the ice into the bowl."

"No problem Aunt Grace."

"Ok Sam, as soon as he stops heaving we get him back into his bed ok?"

Sam nodded as Dean threw up bile once more into the toilet. He was choking a little and Sam knew it wasn't only from the acid in his throat but also the exhaustion and no doubt humiliation he was feeling.

"It's ok brother. I got you."

Dean responded with a choked sob. He felt as if he was on fire, his throat burned inside and out ,and as much as he needed the support , the body heat from Sam wasn't helping him any. He knew Grace and Nicki were in the room, knew they were seeing him at his weakest. But the fact Sam was here and looking after him like this? That was just wrong. He was the big brother. He was supposed to look after Sam. Not the other way round.

As the heaves subsided yet again ,Sam leant forward so he was face to face with Dean.

"Ok?"

"Shoot me." Dean croaked out.

"You don't get off that easily brother."

"Ok, but at least knock me out?"

"No." Laughed Sam as he pulled Dean forward in order to hook his arm under his brother's legs.

"No Sammy."

"Dean come on man, you can't walk."

Dean swore he was going for a heavy sigh, not a dejected sob.

"It's ok man, I got you. It's ok."

Sam hooked his other arm under Dean's shoulders and gently lifted him from the cold tiled floor and walked slowly toward the bed.

Grace piled the pillows up behind Dean and broke a piece of an ice cube off for him to wet his mouth. Dean was shivering badly as Nicki pulled the covers up to his shoulders. She ran her hand through his hair and began to hum quietly.

Dean struggled to get his emotions under control. He was only sick dammit, nothing more. No need to cry like a friggin' baby. He was a grown man for god's sake. No need to panic and sob like a child. And he'd been carried. Carried! Like a helpless infant. Great. Just friggin great. And to top it all off he felt worse than he'd ever felt in his life. Worse than waking up on a ventilator, worse than being tied up and beaten by vampires. All that he could handle. But this? He squeezed his eyes shut , willing the world to melt away, yet a gentle hum broke through his misery. He concentrated on the noise. The cool liquid from the ice cube easing his throat and taking away the taste of the bile, allowing his senses to focus on the sound. The soothing sound. Nicki. Humming….wait….was that…..?

"Nicki are you humming 'St Anger'?"

"Yeah I am man."

"Dude at least pick a classic."

He felt her swat his arm. The feeling of having people who loved him so close was both comforting and terrifying at the same time. He heard Sammy speaking, couldn't concentrate on the words. Not now Sam. I'm too tired. Not now.

"He's falling asleep."

"He's exhausted Sam."

"He's really sick Grace."

"I've called Doc Jones. He's about an hour away and has another call to make. He said as soon as he's done with that we're his next stop."

"Thanks Grace."

Grace reached for Sam's hand and squeezed.

"Sam will you take a break and go shower. We'll watch over Dean for now ."

"Yeah ok. Thanks"

Sam gathered his things and walked into the bathroom, he flushed the toilet and sat on the closed lid letting the day wash over him. He'd seen Dean injured, dying, fighting for his life on a ventilator. But this, seeing Dean sick. It just didn't seem right. His brother didn't get sick.

Nicki wiped more sweat from Dean's face while Grace gently wiped his arms down with a cool cloth. He was laying on his left side, breathing heavily and shaking slightly. They'd pulled the covers back over him. He slept fitfully, moaning quietly, stilling only when one of them shushed him and ran a hand through his hair. Reassuring him he wasn't alone.

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Again thank you all for taking time to read and review. All yours words are treasured.

Who knew writing about someone being sick could be so much fun !!