Sam woke up later and immediately sensed something was amiss. As if an extension of his hand was missing, Sam realized he was no longer connected to his brother, an empty space left on the bed next to him. His eyes flicked over to the other bed, in case Dean had moved, but that bed was still perfectly made. Sam shot upright, now wide awake and found himself bolting for the bathroom. He didn't bother knocking, just swung open the door to find Dean curled in on himself near the toilet, banging his head somewhat lightly against the tile wall. The room smelled of vomit, and the candlelight gave Dean a ghoulish appearance. Even Dean's shadows looked miserable.

Sam grabbed a couple of towels from the rack on the wall and tossed them down on the puddle of sick Dean had left on the floor, then sat himself on the edge of the bathtub.

"I thought it went away." Sam said as quietly as he could, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"It did. New one." Dean grunted.

Sam wanted to ask, 'why didn't you wake me up?' but the answer was fairly obvious. That was just Dean for you.

"I thought they didn't make you nauseous."

Dean didn't answer, he didn't need to. College Boy already had it figured out. "The pain…it got too bad, didn't it? Shit, man…"

Sam squinted his eyes to see the time on the wall clock. "Three AM. I think you can take s'more pain meds. Hold on, I'll be right back."

Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Sam's wrist before he had the chance to stand up fully. "I can't,"

"Dean, look at yourself….yes, you can. You need to."

Dean had to dig in deep to be able to have an actual conversation, unaware how tightly he was still clutching onto Sam's wrist. "There aren't enough. Not until I get a refill. Need to make 'em last."

Sam gazed at his brother in disbelief as sobering reality caught up with him. How many were still in bottle? Four, five? Heavy duty narcotics weren't just handed out easily or called in over the phone.

"Sam…I still feel 'em from before. Not s'bad." Dean tried comforting his younger brother the best he could.

"Bullshit or you wouldn't be throwing up. Did you try another injection?"

"Running low on that too, dude." Dean wasn't about to say that he didn't have a prayer of getting himself across the motel room to get it on his own.

"That one will be easier to refill. We'll call it in this morning." Sam knelt down next to Dean, not caring as he felt the dampness seep through the towels and into the jeans he was still wearing. He gently pried Dean's hands off of his wrist. "We'll figure it out. Let's just worry about now, okay?" Sam gave Dean's shoulder an affectionate squeeze before taking off like a slingshot out of the bathroom and back again. He was busying himself loading the injector as he took his final steps across the threshold onto the tile floor. When he looked up he saw Dean coiled like a tight spring, swallowing convulsively as he used one hand to push himself off the wall. Knowing he only had a moment to spare, Sam put the injector on the sink before helping his brother lean over the toilet in time. Over and over, the horrible sounds of retching echoed against the walls as bile spewed forth from Dean's lips. Layered over the strained choking were intense moans of pain. Dean used the arm that wasn't wrapped around his brother to brace his palm against his right temple.

"My eye….fuck!!" His stomach empty, Dean gasped in between rounds of painful dry heaves. "Please, Sam, please."

Dean usually had only two settings in regard to illness or injury. If he was bitching about it, you knew it was more of a nuisance than anything else. There was that, and then there was the 'off' setting – where Dean wouldn't make a noise, wouldn't tell anyone that there was anything wrong. Sam was used to that being the serious mode to look out for. This uninhibited display, which could not be helped – it was new to Sam and frightening . And there was so much in that please. Please, make it stop. Please, kill me. Please, find dad, he'll know what to do.

Sam stretched one hand up onto the counter, feeling along until his fingers found the injector, careful that his other arm didn't lose its grip on his brother's shuddering form. Holding Dean up placed Sam at the wrong angle to be able to inject him.

"I need to sit you back for a second. Do you think it is all dry heaves for a bit?"

Sam saw Dean's head bob up and down in answer and moved quickly to brace his brother back against the wall. He viciously stabbed the injector into Dean's bicep, holding it there to make sure all the medication found its way in. Dean continued to gag painfully, the moan on the edge of becoming a scream, his voice grinding gutturally, and he began banging his head against the wall behind him.

And then, what seemed mere moments later, it stopped. The entire cacophony of Dean's pain came to a halt.

"Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly.

And holy-fucking-shit, was that trembling quirk of the lips a smile?!

"S'gone. It worked."

Sam's face crumpled. He didn't even realize he was close to crying until he felt Dean's hand snake up around his neck.

"S'okay, Sammy. You did good." Dean croaked out hoarsely.

Sam snorted, bringing a hand up to his eyes and wiping the tears away before they had a chance to fall. Unbelievable. Dean was actually genuinely concerned with how he was handling this. They sat there a few minutes, catching their breath. Sam unfolded himself and stood up, extending a hand to Dean. "You alright to come to bed? We can still get a decent night before checkout."

Dean let himself be helped up, briefly clutching more firmly on Sam's forearm as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"It's not another one, is it?" Sam's brow furrow in worry, his grasp locking on Dean.

"No, is just the meds. They do this." Dean met the panic in Sam's eyes with a full, steady gaze. "I'm good, seriously."

Dean didn't look good, but he sure as hell looked better. Sam nodded. "Okay."

Sam made sure Dean had a good grip on the sink so he could rinse his mouth out and got busy cleaning up the mess on the floor. It was ridiculous, Dean thought, Sam having to do that for him. It was always the reverse, Dean taking care of Sam, and should always be the reverse. And Sam was mopping up with such a stupidly intense look on his face, like painting the Sistine Chapel.

Dean spat out a mouth full of toothpaste. "You don't have to do that."

"You'd leave your puke for housekeeping? Dude, that's gross."

"No, I meant I would get it." Dean turned back to the sink and continued brushing for minute. "Beshydes, w'aways eave bud 'n'orse. 'Ow oo get fushy?"

Sam sat on the edge of the tub and turned the taps, rinsing out the towels as best he could. "First of all, I'm not fussy. Secondly, leaving blood behind when we're trying to ditch town is not the same thing as just leaving it. And thirdly, why wouldn't I do this? How many times did you have to clean up my puke when we were growing up? And you never once complained."

Dean tossed Sam a pointed look over his shoulder, before leaning over to rinse and spit.

"Okay, so maybe you groused a coupla times. We were kids. But if it makes you feel any better…I would like to lodge a formal complaint."

Dean immediately turned around, bracing his back against the sink, eyeing Sam seriously.

"Chew your food, Dean. I've found five whole beer nuts so far."

Dean's shoulders relaxed. "Oh, those? I was savin' 'em just for you, Sammy."

Sam screwed his face up in disgust. "No, thanks. I'll pass."

"We all set in here?"

"Yeah, I think so. We have extra towels in the closet for tomorrow."

The boys headed back into the main room, Sam walking behind Dean to make sure he didn't crash into a lamp. They managed to get out of their jeans this time before laying down, each in their own bed.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"If that shit happens again and you don't wake me up, I will beat your ass into next week."

Dean yawned. Whether it was because he was truly exhausted or just emphasizing how little Sam's threat scared him, neither of them knew.

"Duly noted. 'Night, Sammy."