A/N Thanks for the amazing reviews guys! You really make it easier to carry on writing. Someone pointed out to me that this was similar to the fic 'Ruptured' by Faye Dartmouth which I haven't actually read so all similarities were unintentional, however I have now read it and it's a great fic so I guess I should be flattered. Anyway this fic definitely takes a different direction. So, hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think
Disclaimer: Kripke owns all, nothing for me..
Sam tried to blink back the hot tears that were coursing down his cheeks as his head pounded relentlessly. He had never had a headache this bad and his neck was also vying for his attention, throbbing with each movement.
Burying his face into his pillow and letting out a small, miserable sob he swallowed hard despite his aching throat. He had closed all the curtains and turned off all the lights after they had irritated his eyes and only made his headache worse and now he was lying in the dark desperately trying to sleep to escape the pain in his head.
He wished he hadn't told Dean to go.
Something really didn't feel right. He had tried to drink some water after being sick only to puke it up again five minutes later. He could barely stand.
He knew he was probably being a wuss about the whole thing and his Dad would only use it as another example of him needing to 'suck it up' and 'grow up' but he really didn't feel good. It felt like his head was going to explode and every five seconds he would switch between sweltering hot and freezing cold but the shivers and shudders just made his aching head protest even more.
Glancing up and grimacing at the pain it caused his neck he spotted his cell sitting on the nightstand.
He could call Dean.
Dean would know what to do.
But, Dean was at a party. He had told him to go. He couldn't ring him up complaining about being sick and make him come home. It wasn't fair and Dean would just think he was whining…
But Dean always knew what to do.
Making his fever muddled mind up Sam dialed Dean's number, hoping he could keep control of his stomach at least long enough to make this phone call. Holding the phone to his ear he listened as it continued to ring.
Sam's stomach flip-flopped again and he grimaced.
"Hey, it's Dean. You know the drill."
Sam groaned as the beep sounded in his ear and he considered hanging up…
"Um…hey Dean it's Sam…I…I was just wondering when…when you were coming home. I really…I really don't feel good. I…never mind. I'll see you later." He croaked, hanging up. He didn't want to whine to Dean's answer phone, he didn't want Dean to hear him whining. He was 14. Why was he being such an idiot? He couldn't remember the last time he had cried and now he was crying because he felt sick?
He sighed and closed his eyes, shivering again before he felt his stomach churn viciously…not again.
He tried to get to his feet but his aching limbs didn't want to co-operate. He weakly stood and as he tried to cross the room a wave of dizziness hit him and he stumbled. Desperately trying to regain his bearings but the room was spinning and the unforgiving pain in his head seemed to double.
Suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet him and he hit the floor with a thud, his limbs not even moving to protect himself. His chin hit the floor and teeth sank into tongue and soon warm copper was filling his mouth.
He wretched at the taste and his stomach revolted, wracked by paralyzing dry heaves a small amount of bile rushed up his throat and hit the carpet with a wet splatter.
Moaning he managed to roll away from the puddle.
His mind growing fuzzier as he tried to concentrate he felt his eyelids trying to tug themselves closed and he swallowed, still tasting bile.
His last conscious thoughts were wondering if Dean would get his message, if he would come home to get Sam…then everything went dark.
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Dean pushed his way through the crowd of people with a scowl on his face as the music thudded loudly through the packed house.
He wasn't having any luck with Stacie, she had spent the whole night with some jock loser and Dean wasn't pleased.
I mean sure there were other hot girls here but Stacie was…she was hot.
"This sucks." He mumbled. He couldn't even drink because he had to drive home and he didn't want to stay out all night, he didn't want to leave Sam alone all night, especially when he was sick.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time. Flipping it open he saw it was 1:30am and then he noticed the message sign flashing in the corner.
Dialing his voicemail he walked out the back door and into the garden, ignoring the couple making out against the tree to his right and trying to shut out the noise from the house.
"Um…hey Dean it's Sam…I…I was just wondering when…when you were coming home. I really…I really don't feel good. I…never mind. I'll see you later."
Dean frowned. This didn't sound like Sammy. The message was…muddled which was very un-Sam and Sam wouldn't have called for nothing. Something was up.
I really don't feel good
Sam also wasn't one to complain. The kid would break an arm and hardly say anything about it. Never wanted to 'cause a fuss' Dean blamed this on their Dad. So for Sam to admit he didn't feel good was basically him saying he felt pretty fucking awful.
He never should have left him.
Sighing he closed his phone with a snap and walked back through the house. This party sucked anyway he thought as he walked out the front door, trying to find his car.
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Dean pulled up at the house and killed the rumbling engine. All the lights were off, maybe the kid was sleeping.
Sure the party had sucked but he would be pretty pissed if he had come back and he was sleeping and absolutely fine.
Not that he wanted him to be…unfine, If that was a word.
Shaking himself from his random thoughts he locked the car and opened the front door, stepping into the dark house.
Shoving his keys into his pocket he began to climb the stairs. He knew he'd have to wash these clothes because even he could smell the smoke and drink on them and his dad would ask questions.
He came to their bedroom door and he opened it quietly, not wanting to wake his brother if he was sleeping.
Pushing it open he stepped inside and he could immediately smell the sour odour of puke. Nice.
He wrinkled his nose and frowned when he found Sam's bed empty, the sheets twisted and rumpled. Frowning he walked across. All the lights were off in the house, where was Sam?
Peering over his stomach wrenched and it felt like his breath had been stolen from him as he saw his brother.
Sprawled across the floor on the other side of the bed, a small puddle of puke next to him and he was lying perfectly still, face ashen. Shit…
Snapping out of it at once he rushed to his brother's side, avoiding the sick he crouched down next to him and turned him over so he was on his back. He tapped his face lightly and even with the brief contact he could feel the shocking heat radiating from him.
"Sam? Sammy, wake up!" He said sharply, shaking his brother gently and feeling sick as his head lolled lifelessly around his shoulders.
"C'mon Sammy, wake up. Open your eyes…Sam!" He yelled, tapping his face again. He heard his brother moan and he shook him lightly again.
"That's it Sammy, open your eyes. Talk to me." He said quickly as his brother groaned and slowly but surely his eyelids eased open revealing glazed eyes.
"De…Dean?" Sam rasped weakly but to Dean it was a beautiful sound.
"Yeah kiddo it's me…what happened? What's wrong?" He asked as his brother closed his eyes again, struggling to re-open them. He couldn't help but notice the grimace of pain on his face.
"Sick." He mumbled.
"I can see that." Dean remarked nodding to the puddle and Sam closed his eyes again.
"Hey, hey…stay awake." He said quickly. He placed a hand on Sam's forehead and quickly pulled it away, wincing at the heat. Something was wrong, really wrong.
"Dean?...Dad I…you're supposed to…school today…" Sam mumbled and instantly Dean felt panic grip at his insides.
He was delirious.
Shit.
"Sam, this fever's too high. I think you're really sick…I need to take you to the hospital." Dean said quickly but Sam already had his eyes closed.
"Shit." He swore under his breath. How was he going to get him to the car? He didn't have to time to fuss about it, he quickly slid his hands under Sam's limp form and picked him up with a grunt. Sam's t-shirt was damp and stuck to his gangly body with sweat.
Staggering slightly under his brother's weight Dean staggered out of the room wondering when he had got so heavy. Whether he liked to admit it or not it looked like Sam was catching up to him height wise.
Struggling down the stairs he tried to quell the rising panic as Sam flopped limply in his arms. This wasn't right. Something was very wrong with his brother.
He hurried as fast as he could under his brother's weight and reached the car.
How was he going to do this…his keys were in his pocket. Sighing, he gently placed Sam on the ground and leant him against the wall of the house where he sat limply, head resting on one shoulder, sweat glistening from his face in the moonlight.
He quickly unlocked the car and pulled open the passenger door before turning back to Sam who hadn't moved from his place. He eased his arm over his shoulder and supported him over to the car before sliding him into the seat. He fumbled with the seatbelt with shaking hands before clicking it into place.
Dad was going to kill him.
And he was going to kill Sam if he wasn't okay.
Firing up the engine he pulled sharply out of the driveway.
Sam was going to be okay. He had to be…