Nothing's Ever Simple - (18 Parts) (complete!)

[W.I.N.]

It's longer than I thought. There might actually be three more parts, including this one. Apparently I am wordy. Who knew?

Very little sneezing in this one, I am sad to report, but I will try to be better in the future.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 13

One-two-three-four-five. Two breaths. Sam counted, repeated the mantra in his head as he worked. He couldn't keep up the CPR for long, not at this rate. He'd hyperventilate, run the risk of passing out, and then Dean would have no one. He couldn't remember how long it had been. One minute? Three? A few more moments and there would be brain damage.

“Come on, Dean!”

One-two-three-four-five. Kept going to fifteen. Two breaths, watched to see if Dean's chest was rising. Was about to start over when Dean coughed, gasped, choked, and Sam turned him on his side while he spewed river water onto the muddy ground, heaving convulsively. “Thank God!” he breathed. “That's it, Dean. Deep breaths. You're okay, I've got you.” Dean jerked beneath him, coughing, flailed out with one hand, and Sam caught it, holding it tight. “It's okay, I'm here. Just breathe for me, okay?”

Dean coughed, shivered, muttered something Sam couldn't hear. He made out “Jill,” and squeezed his brother's hand.

“She's gone. It's okay. You're okay, it's going to be fine.”

Dean kept coughing, trying to suck in air to his tortured lungs in painful gasps. Finally he rolled onto his back, gave a small groan of pain. “Bit me,” he said finally, sounding faintly indignant, and Sam laughed in spite of himself.

“Dude, I thought you liked it a bit rough?”

To his relief Dean's lips quirked in a half-smile. “Not the happy kind of biting,” he rasped, coughing again, and his face contorted with pain. It was too dark to check his injuries, and Dean was freezing, probably to the point of hypothermia. He wasn't even shivering.

“We have to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

“Think so.” Dean managed to lift his head a fraction of the ground, then fell back with a painful-sounding thump, eyes unfocused. “Feel weird.”

“Okay,” Sam slid one hand under Dean's shoulders, the other under his knees. “Up you go.” He lifted Dean as though he was a child, ignoring his brother's slurred protests, his earlier fatigue forgotten in his new-found sense of urgency. “It'll go faster if I carry you. We have to get you warm.”

He cradled Dean against his chest, set off at a jog back toward the Impala. Dean's head lolled against his shoulder, but Sam could hear him hissing with pain with each step, as gently as he tried to move. The Impala wasn't far, but it felt like an eternity before he reached the car. Dean jerked in his arms, nearly making Sam drop him.

“Woah, easy Dean.”

“Blanket,” the word was strangled, weak.

“I'm getting one. You'll be warm in a minute, I promise.”

“No... for th'seat,” Dean said, flapping a hand weakly. “All wet.”

Sam snorted. “You're hypothermic and bleeding, and you're worried about the car?”

“'riginal l'ther,” Dean slurred, said something else Sam couldn't catch.

“Fine,” Sam couldn't keep the exasperation from his voice, but it was a stupid thing to argue about. Dean kept a blanket in the back seat anyway. He laid him down as gently as he could, but Dean still jerked and gasped. With a muffled curse Sam rummaged in the trunk, pulled out one of the emergency blankets and tore open the plastic with his teeth. Gently he wrapped Dean up in it as best he could, then jumped in the front seat, threw the car in gear, and with a squeal of tires that had Dean muttering an incoherent protest from the back seat, he took off for the motel.

Dean's teeth started to chatter in the few minutes it took to get back to their room, his lips dark blue from the cold, and for a moment Sam felt fear clamp like a vice around his heart when he couldn't rouse him. “Dean! Stay with me!”

With a low moan Dean forced his eyes to flutter open, and Sam carried him inside, laid him on the bed, switching on the lights. He winced when he saw the extent of the damage the nixie had done to his brother. Dean's arms and torso were covered in blue marks that looked almost like bruises, set in semi-circular patterns where the nixie had bitten him. She'd hit Dean when she'd thought herself cornered, lashing out with all her strength, and there was a nasty laceration in his scalp, and several larger gashes in his side, all of which were bleeding, though not as heavily as they could be.

Sam turned up the thermostat as high as it would go, hoping it would be enough to keep Dean at least a little warm while he got him stitched up. He stripped off Dean's soaking boxer shorts, piled all the blankets in the room over his legs, which had miraculously escaped injury. He shone a small pen light in Dean's eyes, holding his head still when he tried to jerk away.

“You really can't go through a fight without getting a concussion, can you? I'm amazed your brain isn't jelly, after all the head trauma.” He sighed, putting down the light. “Okay, let's get you cleaned up.” He started with the head wound, dabbing gently at it with an antiseptic wipe. Dean hissed through his teeth and flinched. “Sorry,” Sam winced in sympathy, “I have to do it. Try to hold still, okay?” Dean mumbled something that sounded acquiescent, but it was hard to tell. He lay with his eyes closed, propped against the headboard, one arm draped over his ribcage protectively, as though it pained him. “Dean? Stay with me, now.” Sam shook him gently by the shoulder.

Dean stirred, eyes half-open. “Tired.”

“I know,” Sam kept his voice gentle. “You can't sleep just yet. Just talk to me, okay? Anything you want to talk about, just so long as you talk.” He inserted the needle in one edge of the cut, began stitching

“Porn?”

“Okay, not porn,” Sam rolled his eyes, smiling just a little.

“... think th'bitch broke my ribs.”

“Damn,” the comment was sympathetic. Dean got battered around a lot, was used to bruises and sprains and broken bones, but rib injuries were the worst: there was nothing to do but let time take its course. Gently he cleaned out the slashes over what was probably the broken ribs, began stitching as quickly as he could, trying to get it over with.

As Sam finished taping gauze over the stitches, Dean stirred under his hand again, breathing hard. “Feel weird,” he said softly, and under Sam's horrified gaze his eyes rolled back in his head and his back arched away from the bed, his whole body shaking convulsively.

“Oh, God, Dean!” Sam forced himself not to restrain his brother, knew the worst thing possible for a seizure was to try and hold him down, but it took every ounce of his self-control. Instead he grabbed Dean's hand, made sure he couldn't fall off the bed and hurt himself more, murmured soothing nonsense in his ear until the seizure passed and Dean collapsed, exhausted, against the bed. “You okay?” It was a stupid question.

Dean's mouth worked for a moment before he managed to choke out a single word. “Sick...”

Sam grabbed the trash can and propped him up, just in time. Dean retched, ridding himself of more of the river water, then kept dry-heaving until there was nothing left but bile, couldn't quite stop the gasping moans of pain caused by his broken ribs. Sam rubbed his back ineffectually, sick with worry at how cold Dean was, and yet it was the least of their worries. Was it just that the concussion was worse than he'd thought, or had he missed something? Dean had never had a seizure like this before, not unprovoked.

“I have to call Bobby, see if he knows anything about nixie bites.”

Dean didn't answer, and Sam kept an anxious eye on him as he hit Bobby's number on the speed-dial of his cell phone. It rang for an interminably long time before Bobby answered, voice slurred with sleep. He snapped awake as soon as he recognized Sam's voice.

“Sam? What's wrong kid?”

As quickly as he could Sam summed up the situation. “Dean's been bitten by a water-nixie. I just... I need to know if they're poisonous.”

There was a silence as Bobby thought. “Hang on, I got this in a book. Pretty sure it's not deadly.” Sam heard the sound of rummaging, then paper rustling. “Yeah, got it. They're venomous, but it ain't fatal. Causes numbness, progressive paralysis until it wears off. Sort of like curare. It's to keep their victims from fighting back once they're in the water. He's going to have a bad night of it, kid. Make sure he drinks a lot of fluids, try to keep him from hurting himself if he seizes.”

“Right,” Sam wondered how he was going to get Dean to keep anything down. He'd have to cross that bridge when he came to it. “I have to get back to him, Bobby. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem. You call me in the morning to give me an update, you hear?”

“Sure. Thanks, Bobby.”

Dean was listing to one side, breathing ragged, and Sam shook him gently. “Come on, bro. You with me?”

“S'm?”

“Right here, Dean.”

“'m cold,” Dean managed.

“Okay, we're going to get you warm. You're going to be fine.” Sam realized that his own clothes were soaking wet from going into the river after the nixie. He stripped off, leaving the clothes in a sodden pile on the floor, crawled under the blankets next to Dean, wrapping his arms around him —carefully, gently, avoiding his brother's hurt ribs— and pulled the blankets over them. Dean's skin was cold, almost freezing to the touch, and he shuddered a little at the contact.

“S'm?”

“Still here.”

“N'xt time, I get t'be th'big spoon.”

“Sure, Dean.”

He felt Dean draw in a short, shuddering breath, and was surprised to feel him jerk forward in his arms with a wet sneeze. “HAPTSCHUH!” So surprised, in fact, that he burst out laughing.

“Whassofunny?” came the petulant demand.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam tried to get the laughter under control, knowing he was probably hurting his brother. “Between the venom, the near-drowning, the concussion and everything else, I totally forgot you got my cold, too.”

[telltale]

Ahaha, Dean as the little spoon! ::melts::

This is sooooo great. I think I'm going to wait until it's finished now and read the rest in one fell swoop so I'll be able to savour it even more.

[crazy_cat_girl]

I love this fic so. I just want to hold it in my arms. Poor, dear Dean. And lovely concerned and caring Sam.

[aussieblokeintexas]

VERY VERY VERY AWESOME! Thank you so much for the amazing fic....agrees thinking of Dean as the little spoon made me laugh. This has been a great study break/procrastination.

Sincerely,

Aussie

[W.I.N.]

Ahaha, Dean as the little spoon! ::melts::

This is sooooo great. I think I'm going to wait until it's finished now and read the rest in one fell swoop so I'll be able to savour it even more.

Hee! I figured Dean would object to being the little spoon. All those control issues.

I think I'll be done in the next couple of installments, if all goes well. Looks like the story is drawing to a close. I'm a little sad, actually.

I love this fic so. I just want to hold it in my arms. Poor, dear Dean. And lovely concerned and caring Sam.

Aww, thank you! Poor Dean, indeed.

VERY VERY VERY AWESOME! Thank you so much for the amazing fic....agrees thinking of Dean as the little spoon made me laugh. This has been a great study break/procrastination.

Sincerely,

Aussie

Thank you for the high praise! And yeah, the "little spoon" thing made me laugh as well, even though I was the one writing it. I hope I didn't wreck your studying!

~W.I.N.

[ID2006]

Can't wait for the next part... I can't imagine that cold water helping either of their colds.... hehehehehe

[W.I.N.]

Can't wait for the next part... I can't imagine that cold water helping either of their colds.... hehehehehe

Uh, yeah, probably not. Dean has bigger problems right now, but no, getting dunked in a freezing river isn't going to do them any favours.

~W.I.N.

[mr.moosey]

So cute! The plot to this is excellent!!

[obsessed]

Yet the plot continues! Lovelyness.

[Tari]

I'm just..... GUH!! Can't wait for the next part!!

[W.I.N.]

So cute! The plot to this is excellent!!

Thank you! And I agree, the boys are adorable.

Yet the plot continues! Lovelyness.

The plot does indeed continue! In fact, it keeps running away with me. A little inconvenient at times, I must say.

I'm just..... GUH!! Can't wait for the next part!!

Woo, I robbed you of speech! *preens* Uh, yeah. *cough* Thank you.

Next part is coming right up!

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Wow, 14 chapters already, and I'm not done! This story has really run away with me.

I am sorry to say that this chapter got kind of angst-filled on me. It wasn't my original intention, but you know how stories get a mind of their own and suddenly the characters run off and stop paying attention to your careful instructions? Yeah. That sort of happened here.

Again, not much sneezing, but I totally make up for that in Part 14, I promise! It's already mostly written, too, so you know I'm not making it up.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 14

Dean was shaking, teeth chattering, but whether it was from the cold or the effects from the venom, Sam couldn't tell. He rubbed his brother's shoulder, murmured soothing words in a low undertone, sing-song. Dean was barely conscious enough to hear, let alone understand; his breathing was laboured, but not so badly that Sam feared he'd have to take him to a hospital. Bobby had said they were in for a rough night, and that wasn't even taking into a account the injuries or the hypothermia. He pressed up closer to Dean, trying to calm the almost-convulsive shaking, feeling the difference in their body temperatures like a fever. It was only after a few minutes that he realized that he was sweating, probably running a low fever himself, after taking a ducking in the river. In this case, it was probably a blessing, as it would help to bring Dean's body temperature up more quickly.

Dean coughed, pressed harder against Sam in an attempt to get warm, and Sam heard him moan quietly, under his breath. After a while the shaking quieted to trembling, then stopped altogether, and Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He let himself fall into a light doze, his arm still draped over his brother. He wasn't sure how long he was asleep, but when he awoke he was surprised at how hot he felt. He reached over to stroke Dean's forehead, found it beaded with sweat. Shit. His brother shifted uncomfortably against him.

“S'm, quit petting me. Not a damned dog.”

“Sorry,” Sam smiled in spite of himself. Even out of it and in so much pain he was slurring his words, Dean still managed to be cranky. “You're warm.”

Dean tried to suck in a deep breath, flinched when his ribs protested. “'least 'm not cold anymore.”

Sam sat up carefully, trying not to jostle him. “No, you're too warm. How're you feeling?”

“St'p fussing.” The words were strangled, and Dean started to cough again, cradling his injured ribs in a futile effort to lessen the pain. “Ever'thing hurts.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mean ever'thing hurts,” was the impatient reply.

“Okay, one to ten.”

“Dunno. Seven?”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Uh-uh. Pr'mise.”

“Where does it hurt?” It was like playing twenty questions.

“Dunno. Like needles ever'where. Feel like a pincushion.”

“Shit. That's probably the venom working its way out of your system. It's probably going to keep hurting for a while, in that case.” Sam slid out from under the covers. He pulled the thermometer from the first aid kit, held it in front of his brother.

“I'm going to take your temperature. Open up.” Dean whimpered softly, tried to turn his head away, but Sam insisted, gently. “Come on. Humour me and my need for numbers.” He coaxed the thermometer into Dean's mouth, grateful for modern technology that only made it last a few seconds instead of the three minutes they'd had to wait as kids, watching the mercury rise in the little glass cases. He pulled the thermometer out as it beeped shrilly, pursed his lips at the result.

Dean made an odd sound, pushed himself up onto one elbow. “Sick,” he gasped, and Sam grabbed the trash can, held it for him while he threw up painfully, rubbed circles on his back with his free hand. Finally Dean fell back against the pillows. “This sucks.”

Sam filled a glass with water, held it up so Dean could drink. “I don't want to give you anything for the pain until I'm sure the venom's out of your system. I don't know how it'll react. Come on, Bobby says you have to drink as much as possible.” He coaxed and prodded until Dean choked down a few mouthfuls of water. “Okay, good enough for now.”

“Shit.” Dean mumbled, struggling to sit up, but the venom was making his movements sluggish and awkward, and he half-fell over, wincing as the movement jolted his ribs.

“You okay? Do you need the trash can again?”

Dean turned his head to the side, face slack. “Huh... HEPTSCHUH! HAPTSCHUUH! Nggh, son of a bitch!” he pressed a hand to his side, his face grey from the pain.

Sam got up, helped him lie back more comfortably on his side, propped up with pillows to take the pressure off his ribs. He didn't say a word, just let Sam settle him, and that worried Sam more than anything else. He was used to Dean's complaining constantly when he was sick or injured, and this near-silence meant nothing good. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, dragged a chair to the side of the bed, watched anxiously as Dean dozed uneasily under the blankets, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. After a few minutes he got back up, wet a facecloth under the tap, and placed it on Dean's forehead, wiping his face. Dean flinched, but didn't open his eyes, didn't so much as murmur a protest, leaned into his touch with a soft sigh. For a while Sam just watched him sleep, making sure he was breathing, propped up in the chair on his elbow. He could feel himself beginning to nod off, exhausted and a bit shaky, jerked awake a few times, and finally slumped in his chair, dreaming uneasily of murky water and creatures with jagged teeth.

He came awake with a start, fought for a moment to get his bearings, until he realized what had awoken him. “Dean?”

“Sammy?” His brother's voice was quiet, laced with panic, fingers clutching at the bed. “Happening again...” he managed, teeth clenched, before his muscles seized, arching his back, whimpering as the pain got worse.

Sam crouched next to the bed, put his hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremor in the muscles, tried not to look at Dean's eyes, to see the fear there. “It's okay, I've got you,” he murmured. “It'll be over in a few seconds. I've got you. Just breathe. Easy. It's okay.”

It was over in seconds, although it seemed longer, and Dean lay back down on his uninjured side, panting, sweat pouring from him. “Think you can drink something?” Sam asked softly. “We need to get you rehydrated. I'll get some water, and you try, okay?”

He came back with the water, sat on the chair. “Dean?” He reached out, taking Dean's hand in his. “God, you're burning up. Dean?”

Dean didn't answer. His eyes were open, dulled with fever, staring unfocussed at something just past Sam's shoulder. Sam shifted to the bed, leaned over him, and felt something lurch inside his chest when he saw tears slipping silently down his brother's cheeks. Dean's breathing hadn't changed, there was no sign at all of what might be going on inside his head, nothing but that terrible, glistening trail.

“Dean?” he whispered, almost afraid.

There was silence for a while, and then Dean spoke, so quietly that at first Sam wasn't sure he hadn't imagined it. “I thought it was real.”

Sam stroked his hair. “It's okay, shh.”

“I should've known. Couldn't be real. She couldn't mean it, not really.”

“You're not making sense.”

Dean's voice hadn't changed. He might have been talking about anything, except for the fat that tears were still spilling so fast that he was soaking the pillow. “She said she'd come with me. I should've known. Should've known. No one's ever wanted me to stick around. I should've known. I just wanted it, so much...”

“Shh,” Sam kept stroking his hair, his mind reeling. “It's okay.”

“I wanted it so much... and at the end, when she told me to come... I thought, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all...”

Up until that moment, Sam had always thought that having a broken heart was just an expression. “God, Dean...” With his thumb he gently wiped at Dean's cheeks, surprised at how warm the tears were.

“What's wrong with me?” Dean had started to shake again, hands clenching in sudden pain, eyes squeezed shut, and Sam gathered him in his arms, as though somehow he could protect his brother from all the pain in the world, if only he could just hold him tight enough.

“Nothing,” he whispered fiercely. “Nothing's wrong with you that we can't fix. I promise. It's going to be okay, you hear me?”

Dean shifted, clung to him in spite of how much it must have hurt him to do it, his fingers digging into Sam's arm. “S'mmy?”

“Right here.” He drew Dean closer, hand on the back of his neck.

“Don' leave me.”

“I won't.”

“Pr'mise?”

“Never.” Sam said, pressing his forehead to his brother's, feeling the convulsive trembling begin to subside, finally. “I promise.”

[obsessed]

Um... EEK. Dean being adorable, crying and whiny?

Amazingly fast updates... I'm jealous. But happy.

[mr.moosey]

I love a little angst! It wouldn't be SPN without it, haha. BTW - this is adorable!!

[crazy_cat_girl]

I nearly CRIED. This was an amazing chapter. The ending shot me right through the heart.

[ID2006]

Dean...crying...angst....seriously you're trying to kill me... in a good way of course. Gah. Wibbles. Melts.

[W.I.N.]

Um... EEK. Dean being adorable, crying and whiny?

Amazingly fast updates... I'm jealous. But happy.

Thank you.

I've always been blessed with the ability to read and write fast, which is both a blessing and a curse. Reading fast costs me a fortune in books (you have NO idea), and writing fast means that occasionally stories get away from me, and are often rough around the edges because I'm going too fast for my inner editor to catch up. Still, it's great for writing serial fiction.

Poor sick, whiny Dean. You can hardly blame him: he's had a crappy, crappy day.

I love a little angst! It wouldn't be SPN without it, haha. BTW - this is adorable!!

I love me some good SPN angst, I must admit. I really wasn't expecting it in this story, at least not to this extent, and then Dean turned around and BROKE on me and kind of left me with my jaw hanging. So I shrugged, said "Okay, Dean, however you want it," and ran with the ball.

I nearly CRIED. This was an amazing chapter. The ending shot me right through the heart.

Aww, I'm... sort of sorry?

This is what I love about writing. It means that comments like "You made me CRY!" are actually a compliment.

Dean...crying...angst....seriously you're trying to kill me... in a good way of course. Gah. Wibbles. Melts.

Uh, I'm not trying to kill you on purpose or anything.

More to come! Probably a little less angsty now that Dean's got this little thing out of his system.

~W.I.N.

[iluvsneezes]

Omg, what an amazingly written chapter!

[Tari]

Absolutely fantastic chapter! You are just awesome!!

[cupkake]

Omg! that was so cute and Dean crying? Don't you just love it when sickness gets in the way of peoples emotions.

[W.I.N.]

Omg, what an amazingly written chapter!

Thank you! Nice to see people are still reading and interested.

Absolutely fantastic chapter! You are just awesome!!

Aww, shucks.

I'm almost sorry that I'm finally getting toward the end of this...

Omg! that was so cute and Dean crying? Don't you just love it when sickness gets in the way of peoples emotions.

Oh, absolutely. The venom messing with Dean's mind was too good an opportunity to pass up, and the Muse insisted I write it. Good times.

~W.I.N.

[W.I.N.]

Still flyin', here. I fiddled with this part probably a lot more than I needed to, and I'm sorting out the next chapter or two, not sure how to wrap it up properly just yet. I ought to have something by tomorrow, maybe the day after.

Many thanks to everyone for all the lovely feedback! It makes me all warm and fuzzy and totally inspires me to write more.

~W.I.N.

*****

Part 15

By the time morning broke Sam was exhausted, but Dean's fever was down and he was sleeping quietly after a night of pain, fever and venom-induced nightmares. It was a small improvement if nothing else. He debated going to bed, trying to snatch a bit of sleep himself, but there was a lot to do today, and Dean was obviously in no shape to help out. He stood up and stretched, working out the kinks in his shoulders and spine, and cursing the fact that nobody made chairs to accommodate tall people who needed to spend the night sitting next to their sick brothers.

He scrubbed at his nose with the back of one wrist, the congestion back with a vengeance. Well, it would have been too much to hope that spending all that time in the cold water wouldn't have had lasting effects. At least he wasn't running a fever: it would be just typical of Sam to be sick just when Dean needed him. A dose of decongestants and he'd be right as rain. Or functional, at least. His nose twinged, and he pinched it shut, long enough to lock himself in the bathroom so as not awaken his sleeping brother with his sneezing.

“Hi'ih... hiihii'iih... hi'iih! Hep-KSHH!” he braced himself against the sink with one hand, the sneeze bending him forward. He grabbed a length of toilet paper, blew his nose, and with a sigh of resignation turned on the shower faucet, stepped under the hot spray. The steam helped a lot with the congestion, although his nose rebelled almost immediately. He gasped, breath hitching, then deliberately grabbed the shower rail with both hands, letting the steam do its work. “Hiihi'ih... hiih... hi'ihiih! HEISHOO!” he gripped the rail tightly, trying to keep his balance. “ISHOO! He'iih! HAISHOO! ISHOO! Uh...” he sighed with relief when the fit had passed, a little surprised at how good it had felt not to stifle. Maybe Dean was onto something after all, he thought with a smirk.

He made quick work of washing off the residue of the previous night's adventure —the film left behind by the river water, his own sweat mingled with Dean's— and stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel. He shook two decongestants out of the bottle and swallowed them with a handful of water, brushed his teeth, tried to start formulating a plan for going after the nixie and her sister before they killed anyone else. When he opened the door, he found Dean awake, propped up sleepily on his elbows. Under the bandages Sam could see vicious bruises spreading across his whole torso, contrasting with the mottled blue bites inflicted by the nixie. One eye was swollen under the lacerations in his scalp and forehead, and his face was drained of blood down to his lips. Sam hadn't seen him look that pale since the last time he'd landed in hospital. To add insult to injury, the cold he'd picked up from Sam was worse, and he was obviously congested, breath crackling in his lungs.

“Hell of a sdeezing fit you had there, Sabby.” He grinned weakly.

Sam felt a flush of heat flood his cheeks. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

Dean shook his head, carefully. “I was awake. Kind of dice to hear you dot killig those precious brain cells of yours.” He tried to push himself up, then sucked in a pained breath through his teeth, lay back on the bed.

“Here, let me help,” Sam picked up the pillows from his own bed, gently propped Dean up on them. “Better?”

Dean didn't quite manage to repress a grunt of pain, but he nodded. “What tibe is it?”

“A little after seven.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed, placed a cupped hand against Dean's forehead to feel for a fever.

Dean squirmed. “Dude, would you stop?”

“Your fever's still too high.”

He got a glare. “Fever's better thad broken ribs.”

“And you have both,” Sam pointed out unnecessarily. “I don't look like the look of those bite marks, either. Do they still hurt?” he tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

“Thagk you, Captain Obvious. Yes, they still hurt, she had freakig sharp teeth, ad I still feel as though someode's sticking me all over with pins. Do we have paidkillers?” Dean tried to sound nonchalant, but Sam could hear the pain in his voice, fighting for dominance with the congestion. He nodded, handing his brother a tissue so he could blow his nose.

“Yeah, we do. You think you could eat, if I brought you something? We've got codeine, but taking it on an empty stomach is asking for trouble.”

“Puking is bad,” Dean agreed. “Cold still bothering you?”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “You're concussed, torn up, poisoned and sick, and you're worried about my cold?” he laughed. “Dude, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about.”

“Me? I'm f-fine—” Dean's breath hitched suddenly, and he snapped forward. “HAPTSCHUH! HEPSCHUH! Oh, sud of a bitch!” he slammed his fist against the bedside table at the pain, eyes screwed shut, then sagged against the pillows, breathing hard.

Sam winced in sympathy. “Definitely codeine.”

“And coffee,” Dean's voice was strangled, as though he was trying not to cough.

“And coffee,” Sam promised, pulling on his jacket.

The day was bright and clear, the sun shining in his eyes as he stepped outside the motel door. He blinked, nose pricking. “Hi'ih! Hep-KSHH!” So much for not stifling. Maybe it would come with practice.

The diner was crammed with people, but there was no sign of Carrie, not that he was surprised. Word of the scene that Sylvia Matthews had caused the night before had made the rounds, and it was generally assumed that she'd called in sick because of it, although one of the other waitresses confided to Sam that she hadn't called in at all.

“Irresponsible of her, but then she's pretty young, and everything seems like a damn Greek tragedy at that age, don't it?” she said, handing over two paper bags with breakfast along with two large styrofoam mugs full of coffee. “You want creamers and sugar with that, hon?”

“No, thanks. I'm good.” He turned his head aside as his nose twinged again, catching the sneeze with his sleeve. “Hep-KSHH!”

“Bless ya, hon. You got a cold?”

Sam managed a weak smile, feeling himself blushing again. “Just getting over one, actually. You should have heard me yesterday morning.”

“I hear ya. I get a cold, first thing to go's my voice. Makes working a real bitch.”

He escaped the nightmare of small talk, hurried back to the motel. Dean was still propped up on the pillows, eyes closed, both fists clenched around the bedsheets, knuckles white with the strain. He barely stirred, acknowledging Sam's presence with the smallest of nods. Sam put down the food, rummaged in the first aid kit for the codeine. He heard Dean's breath begin to hitch, turned in time to see him snap forward painfully into his cupped hands.

“HETSCHUH! Sud of a bitch!” he groaned.

Sam slid onto the bed, pills in one hand, glass of water in the other. “Here, this'll help.” When Dean didn't move to take either from him he carefully pushed the pills into his mouth, held the glass to his lips, tilting it. “Just one swallow. Come on.”

Dean swallowed, choked, coughed, and clutched painfully at his ribs. “Torturer.”

“Yeah, I'm a regular one-man Spanish Inquisition. I brought toast,” he raised the paper bag with a flourish.

“Toast?” Dean made a face that looked dangerously like a pout. “Come on.”

Sam rolled his eyes, heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Toast first. If you can keep it down, then I've got food you'll like better.”

“Bacon?” The green eyes turned hopeful.

“Yes, bacon. Toast first.” Sam blinked as his nose started to itch.

“Dude, put the food down before you sneeze all over it.”

Sam glared, but did as he was told, twisting away from Dean, who smirked at him. “Hi'ih... hiihii'iih... hi'ihih! Sniff!”

“Don't stifle.”

“HISHOO!”

“Attaboy, Sabby.”

“Bite me. And it's Sam.” He glanced up, saw Dean's expression, smiled. “Your turn.”

Dean reached up, pinched his nose shut. “Nggk!” he bit back another groan.

“What happened to not stifling?” Sam smirked.

“You break your ribs, I wod't give you a hard tibe about stifling.”

“Hypocrite.” He reached up before Dean could react, felt his forehead. Dean jerked away, then hissed with pain.

“Dabbit, Sab, stop pawing at be! You and your freakig huge bitts. Feel like I'b the star attragtion at a pettig zoo.”

“Quit whining. It's that or the thermometer.”

Dean let his eyes close and flopped back onto the bed, sliding down until he was nearly horizontal again. “What is it with you and nubbers?” he mumbled.

“Specific numbers tell me when you need to sweat it out, when I need to dunk you in a bath, and when I need to rush you to the E.R. Smartass.”

“'M fine.”

“Uh-huh. Why don't we let me be the judge of that?”

“Pot. Kettle. Black.”

“I'm getting over my cold,” Sam observed. “More'n I can say for you. Have some toast.”

“'M dot hungry.”

“Just one slice. Otherwise you'll be sick as a dog from the codeine.” It took all of Sam's coaxing and cajoling skills to get his brother to take so much as a bite, but finally Dean ate enough to satisfy him, and he tucked the rest of the toast back into the bag and helped himself to the rest of the packed breakfast, sipping at one of the now-lukewarm coffees. “I'm going to take a look along the river, see if I can find where the nixies have been running their extracurricular activities. Maybe I'll find your clothes, too.”

“I should go with you.”

“Don't be stupid. You can't even sit up.” Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “I'm just scouting, I promise. No risks. You don't need to worry.”

“'Course I deed to worry. You attract trouble like sh—”

“I get the picture. Just... get some sleep, would you? I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'll leave water and tissues and stuff on the night stand.”

“You're all heart.”

Sam hesitated, catching something he didn't like in his brother's tone. “I can stay, if you'd like,” he offered diffidently.

Dean's expression turned mutinous. “It's fide. Dod't expect me to cobe pull your ass out of trouble.”

Sam shook his head. Sometimes there was just no winning with Dean. “Just get some sleep.”

[W.I.N.]

Okay, I FAIL.

I can't count. So the thread is now edited to reflect the PROPER number of chapters, and I am so sorry for the confusion.

~W.I.N.

[obsessed]

Eeek--freaking adorable. And the hypocrite part was a lovely, adorable touch.

[crazy_cat_girl]

Ahhhh! I am so happy you posted another chapter so quickly! And it is a great one, too. I love the interaction. Dean's swearing every time he sneezes from the pain is kind of adorable in a mean way. :-D

And the ending... Dean does want Sam to take care of him, I know it. Secretly.

I can't wait for more.

You rock!