Author's note: apologies for the late update. My school friends are back from University and I want to make the most of my time with them. I also haven't really been sleeping and am drinking far too much. Oops!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over anything.
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Sam awoke to the feeling of bile rising up his throat. He swallowed furiously against it, staring at the dim and flickering bulb of their shabby motel room.
When the violent urge to puke subsided, he gingerly sat up. He could hear the shower running and the familiar metallic click and slide next door that told him either his dad or brother were cleaning their guns.
Sam frowned, trying to concentrate and recall why they were at this motel. He was drawn from his confusion by the sound of the bathroom door opening.
"Sammy." His brother said, rubbing a towel against his cropped hair, making him look like a porcupine. "About time you woke up. Thought we would have to find you a prince to break the curse."
Sam rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at his brother. He missed completely, the world suddenly spinning before his eyes but he looked down to disguise it, not wanting to cause his big brother to worry and then inevitably deal with a pissed off Dean and a defensive Dad.
Dean frowned at his brother's poor aim. "You sure you're ok, Sam? Do we need to do target practice again?"
"M'fine. Just worried about why you know so much about Disney princesses." Sam grumbled, raising a quizzical eyebrow at his brother.
Dean chuckled, throwing his towel haphazardly against the motel's rusty radiator.
"You used to love that Disney crap. Never let me change the channel if one of them was on."
Sam groaned, falling backwards onto the bed.
"I knew you'd use that against me."
Dean had to stop himself from taunting his little brother more. He was secretly thrilled that Sam seemed better, but his worries weren't entirely gone. He didn't miss the distinctly green quality of Sam's face when he'd come out of the bathroom, as much as his brother might've liked to think he did.
Sam had to stifle a gasp as sharp shooting pains crawled up his legs. It felt like all the muscles were simultaneously cramping, and he bit against his bottom lip to keep from crying out. He turned his back on his brother, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and breathing laboriously through clenched lips.
"Aw, don't sulk with me, Sammy. I'll let you choose what shitty takeout we order tonight."
Upon getting no response, Dean's brows furrowed in concern.
"Are you sure you're ok, little brother?"
Sam didn't turn to look at Dean.
"Yes, Dean. I'm fine." Sam muttered through clenched teeth. He stuck a middle finger over his back in his brother's direction, hoping it would make Dean think he was angry and not in pain.
Dean smirked to himself and was about to retort when his dad walked back into the room.
"Boys," John grumbled, looking at his youngest son, who was turned away from him. He felt a flash of anger sizzle through him, and he had to fight to keep down.
"Look at me when I'm talking, Sam."
Sam inwardly cursed. He didn't know how long he would be able to mask the pain before his facade would crumble and his family would realise how weak he was. Again.
Sitting up and turning to face his dad, Sam blinked as his vision went hazy and the room seemed to spin before his eyes.
"What is it, Dad?" Dean asked, his eyes not leaving Sam as he watched him blink furiously. Something was wrong.
"Caleb just called. He thinks a wendigo, a couple of hours' drive away, has been snatching hikers. We are the closest hunters, and I told him we could manage it. Was I correct in saying that, Sam?"
John's pointed tone made Sam wince, and he hung his head in shame.
"Yes, sir."
Dean clenched his jaw to keep from shouting at his dad. Couldn't he see something was wrong?
"Dad… don't you think we should stay another day while Sammy recovers…. From whatever that was." Dean tried tentatively, waiting for the inevitable dismissal.
"Dean. Your brother got a minor case of sunstroke, and there's no point waiting around, so Sam can get some more beauty sleep."
Dean clenched his fists at his dad's words, but caught Sam looking up at him through his mess of hair with those puppy dog eyes. 'Leave it, Dean. Please.' Dean nodded slightly at his brother, then turned to his dad.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Get your duffles packed. I'll be waiting in the car." John nodded curtly and then left the room.
Dean sighed in exasperation once the motel door closed behind his dad.
He stopped when he saw the confused look on his brother's face.
"Dean?" Sam asked in a small voice.
"Yeah, bro?"
"Didn't we just get here to do a hunt?"
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Three days previously
The impala's low hum on the road was the only thing breaking the pregnant silence between the three Winchesters.
Dean had resigned himself to dealing with a seriously pissed off dad and a moody little brother- a combination that Dean was all too familiar with.
He could feel the tension, thick in the air and felt like he was silently suffocating. Dean started whistling Smoke on the Water to himself, hoping it might diffuse a bit of the tension.
"Dean." His brother and dad warned simultaneously.
Dean rolled his eyes and put his hands up in defeat.
This was going to be a fun drive back to the motel.
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Dean exited the Impala, turning to get his bag out of the trunk.
He heard the sound of his brother slamming the car door, and winced. Sam was pushing his dad; he knew the routine. Sam would rather talk it out than sit in silence, stewing in their resentments, and Sam knew the only way to get what he wanted would be to provoke John into exploding.
Sam stalked towards their motel room door, his shoulders hunched in anger.
"Sam." John's voice was firm, and there was a coldness to it.
"Get your stuff out of the trunk. Now."
Sam stood with his back to the car and to his family. He hesitated a moment, then kept walking towards the motel room door.
"Shit, Sammy." Dean hissed under his breath. Wrong move.
Sam was just reaching for the door when John caught his arm, more firmly than needed, and spun him around.
"Sam. I gave you an order." John said darkly. From where he was standing, Dean could see that Sam was looking up at his father defiantly, his jaw set and fire in his eyes.
Dean grabbed his own bag and Sam's too, and hurried to meet the warring Winchesters.
"Dad. I don't care." Sam spit out.
"Excuse me?" John answered, his voice rising with anger. "I'm getting a little tired of your insolence. You messed up on the hunt, and now you're acting like it's my fault. You need to smarten up, kid."
Dean felt utterly helpless, standing there like a broken arm.
"Do you know how crazy you sound? I'm 16, Dad. Yeah, maybe I should've been more on the ball, but god!" Sam erupted. "I don't want to do this! I've never wanted to do this!"
John went to interrupt Sam, but Sam was incensed, his cheeks burning and his hands clenched at his sides.
"If I'm such a failure, and I'm so insolent, then why don't you let me do what I want and go to school and be normal? At least then I'd stop disappointing you."
Dean's heart clenched at his brother's words. He hated the thought that Sam believed those things, and he wished his dad would put his pride aside for once and see that his youngest son was hurting.
"You lower your voice, boy. If Mary could see you talking to me like this-" John stopped himself. Dean could see that his dad had surprised himself with that, and Sam's bottom lip quivered.
The anger in his eyes was instantly gone, replaced by a look of intense pain and hurt.
"Dad, Sam, please. Let's just go inside and sleep." Dean said quietly, feeling his heartbeat rapidly in his ears.
"Mom wouldn't have wanted this for us." Sam said under his breath, turning away from his dad.
Everything happened before Dean could properly process it. John had grabbed the lapels of Sam's coat and slammed him against the motel room door.
"Hey, Dad, come on. Put him down." Dean tried gently.
"Stay out of this, Dean." John snarled. "Who are you to tell me what Mary would have wanted? You didn't even know her. She was my wife, Sam. You knew her for 6 months, I knew her for 10 years."
Sam remained silent, tears trailing down his face. They remained at an impasse, John breathing heavily and Sam saying nothing.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, John released his hold on Sam. Sam shook himself off, turned and walked silently to the bathroom, shutting it behind him and locking it.
Dean caught his dad's eye.
"What the hell, Dad."
John shook his head, wiping a shaking hand over his face.
"I know Dean. I know."
Dean knew that at that moment, John thought what Sam said was right. Mary would not have wanted this for her sons.
"Going for a drink." John mumbled and walked back to the Impala.
Dean stood there in silence, trying to even out his breaths. "Well, that's just great."
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Present Day
The impala pulled into a diner as the sun began to set behind the trees.
Dean had badgered his dad almost incessantly to stop for food. John had finally conceded when Dean began describing in great detail the burger he wanted: juicy steak, crispy bacon, stringy cheese. It was too much for John to take, and his stomach growled in protest when he realised he hadn't eaten since the day before.
Sam had been pretending to be asleep for the past hour. The pain in his legs was unbearable, and every time the impala went over a bump, he thought he would decorate the car, Jackson Pollock style. It was easier to pretend to be asleep than to force a smile on his face- Sam was sure it would come out looking more like a grimace.
Before leaving, and after Sam's revelation of his confusion, Dean had taken him to a spot behind the motel to tell him that if anything got worse, Dean was going to take Sam in the Impala and drive to the nearest hospital- John's rules be damned.
The panic Sam had watched pass his brother's face while he tried to jog Sam's memory of their latest hunt made Sam's stomach curl in guilt.
Sam struggled out of the Impala, and every movement of his legs made him feel weak and light-headed. Dean glanced at his brother as they walked towards the diner, taking in his pale complexion and the resolute clench of his jaw. Sam was walking like every step was taking all his effort.
They slid into a booth, Dean's gaze never leaving Sam. A few patrons sat at the other booths, but the place was quiet. A waiter, who looked to be about 17 and obviously hadn't figured out a skincare routine, came over to take their orders.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen." The waiter coughed between a voice crack. Dean fought to keep the grin off his face, and John kicked him under the table. Sam's vision faded, and he shook his head in an attempt to focus, the movement bringing bile to his throat.
"Toilet." He managed to mumble, sliding out of the booth and walking as quickly as he could to the bathroom sign without raising suspicion.
Sam slammed into a stall, hands shaking as he struggled to close the door behind him. His brain felt like it was pounding against his skull, desperate to escape.
The world went in and out of focus, and his legs gave up under him. He collapsed to the ground, unable to hold the bile in his throat, desperately holding a hand up to his mouth to try and catch it, and then consciousness flew from Sam, and his head cracked against the toilet bowl.
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Thanks for reading!