When I wake up the sun is shining through the window above my bed, I roll over and look at the clock on my bed side table, 7 am, I slept for almost three hours. Despite the fact that I had those three hours I feel even worse now than I did before I went to sleep. I'm so hot, I feel like I'm on fire. And I need to throw up again. I swing my legs over the side of my bed and stand; I sway a wave of dizziness crashing over me. I close my eyes waiting to find equilibrium. My head pounds in rhythm with my heart beat, and I let out a moan. I slowly sink back down on the mattress. Once the room stops spinning I stumble down the hall to the bathroom and purge what little I had left in my stomach. Unfortunately it doesn't stop there I wretch and dry heave only bringing up spit and stomach acid.
I hear someone stomping upstairs and Dean appears in the doorway, sweaty and red faced clearly he just got back from his morning run, "Ah, Sammy," he sighs, looking down at me kneeling in front of the toilet. I feel tears begin to well in my eyes as he crouches down next to me placing a hand on my back, I turn away I'm so embarrassed. The moment his hand touches my bare skin his brow furrows. "Fevers gone up." He informs me reaching for the kit that's still on the counter and pulling out the thermometer. "You gonna be okay for a few minutes or-" before he can finish my stomach lurches and I'm back to spitting milky bile into the bowl. "Never mind." He mumbles, because he clearly has the answer. This bout is really bad I don't even have more than a beat to catch my breath.
"Dean," I swallow, "I feel awful-" I gag, and Dean hovers ready to comfort if I have another episode, but I keep things down. And eventually I go back to bed and fall back to sleep.
When I wake up dad's sitting on Dean's bed books scattered around him and Dean is just pacing back and forth with all this nervous energy from not leaving my side, he's making me nauseous. "Dean please stop." I plead, after watching him go back and forth for a few minutes, trying to keep my stomach in check.
Dad shoots me a look before turning to Dean, "Son why don't you go grab us some coffee and maybe another Gatorade for Sam." he suggests to Dean who's stilled under dad's stare. Maybe Dean's trying to figure out if this is an order or not, after waiting dad out Dean nods and heads to the Kitchen. Dad shifts his position on the bed; I imagine he's stiff from sitting on that hard mattress, but my thoughts are only on dad's stiff joints for a minute before the need to puke hits hard and fast. I still and try not to lose what little I have left in my stomach. "Dad, I need to go to the bathroom," I gasp careful to keep my sentences shot. "I'm gonna throw up," I moan "I don't think I can," I swallow thickly, "make it to the bathroom." I gag and dad shoots up looking for something for me to throw up in. All I can think about is please don't let me vomit on dad, but to my dismay that's what happens, I gag again this time bringing up a little bile, that dribbles down on my shirt. I cough and then the worst thing possible happens just as dad brings me a bucket my stomach gives a mighty heave, not only do I soak myself with vomit, but I puke on dad.
"Son of a bitch." Dad mutters looking down at his vomit stained clothes, and I whimper weather from being sick or from being embarrassed I'm not sure. "It's okay Sam." he murmurs handing me the bucket. "Well let's go get you cleaned up again." I nod as Dad reaches over and feels my fore head and grins "Yea your fever's down I think you'll be feeling better real soon." he assures helping me to the bathroom and even though I'm still queasy and in desperate need of a shower, for once dad and I are bonding over something not related to a hunt. And to tell you the truth it's actually really nice. A memory I hope I can keep for years down the road.
The end.