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Just need some sleep, Sammy. (SPN)


MissBayliss

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Hi everyone,

This is my first EVER fanfic! Please be kind, I'm still learning congested speech and spelling sneezes so I've tried to avoid them for the first go. There is more where this came from so if you guys like it you will get more! I'm a huge fan of sick Dean if you can't tell. And I'm more into sickness and coughing but there are a few sneezes in there for most of you guys. Let me know what you think...

PART 1

Every step felt like he was walking up hill. He felt weird. The ache in his stomach sometimes sent seering pain up through his chest. He couldn’t focus his thoughts on anything but not passing out. When he past something he’d put an arm or a hand on it to steady himself. He felt that if he didn’t he’d lose control of his legs and pass out in the middle of the crowd. That would definitely draw attention he didn’t want, especially from Sam. As it was he was already keeping an eye on him. Giving him constant sideways glances. He hadn’t asked him if he was alright though. Which was probably good. Dean didn’t want to lie to his brother but he would if he had to. But at the moment he couldn’t think about even trying to hide it, all he could do was focus on staying upright.

Dean swallowed painfully again. Sam watched him breath out slowly through his mouth.

“Dean,” he said, startling him, “You listening to me?”

His glassy eyes searched his expression for a moment before he seemed to check back into his body.

“Yeah,” he said, with fake bravado, but even that sounded weak and tired. “There’s just, a lot of people in here,” he looked around and swallowed again, leaning more weight on the table.

“Well, let’s get out of here then,” Sam said, tapping him on the arm, “I think we’ve got all we can.”

Dean nodded, focusing on not falling over again, incapable really of an answer. He was just happy Sam had said they could go.

Sam was worried. Dean hadn’t been listening to anything he’d said all day, and he wasn’t being ignorant for a change, he really just seemed like he wasn’t at home. His vacant expression, following Sam through the crowd, taking his lead, letting him ask the questions. It just wasn’t like him, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was wrong. He hadn’t asked him though if he was ok. He’d learnt from experience that that wasn’t how to handle a situation like this. If Dean was sick he’d never admit it, and Sam acknowledging it would cause him to try and push through even more, try even harder at pretending and end up driving himself into the ground. So Sam would chose his words very carefully and lead Dean where he thought he could do the most good.

“You want me to drive? You drove like 7 hours yesterday,” Sam offered, remaining cool.

Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and threw them to Sam, “Sure, Sammy,” he replied weakly.

Ok, so he was worse then Sam thought.

Dean fell into the passenger seat and rested his head against the window, his thumb and forefinger rubbing the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows, eyes tightly shut against the brightness of the world. His head was throbbing, his stomach ached, his back and shoulders twinged with pain even when he stayed still and it felt like a hippopotamus was sitting on his chest. Sam paused to look at him before starting the car. Dean was asleep by the time they were on the highway. His breathing becoming more and more laboured as the congestion built up in his lungs and face.

He woke to coughs that racked his entire body, trying to loosen whatever had settled in his chest. It took him a moment to stop, and Sam reached around to the back seat and grabbed a water bottle, throwing it at Dean. He guzzled it like he hadn’t seen water in days. Sam kept eyes on him, furrowing his brow as Dean let out an involuntary moan. He leaned back and put a hand across his forehead that was now beading with sweat. Suddenly Sam was pulling off the highway.

“Sam?” Dean rasped, “Where are we going?”

“Just gotta pick up something,” he said pulling into a small town shopping centre in the arse end of nowhere, “I assume you want pie?”

Dean groaned, “Nah, I’m good.”

Sam watched him sink down in his seat, eyes still closed, before getting out of the car.

Dean eventually threw his legs up on the drivers seat, lying down across the bench, trying to stop his head spinning. When Sam got back Dean was sound asleep, he opened his door and looked in at him.

“Dean,” he called. When he didn’t stir he whacked his boots, which were right where Sam needed to sit down.

Dean flailed his arms as he startled awake by Sam’s touch, coughing slightly and groaning again. It was involuntary. Every time the sound passed his lips he cursed himself, but his body couldn’t hide how truly awful he felt. Sam stared at him, a concerned expression that was automatic.

Dean peered up at him, “I’m fine,” he growled.

“Didn’t ask,” Sam replied, “You gonna let me get in the car?”

Dean moved his feet off the seat but stayed with his top half lying down, he honestly didn’t have the strength to get back up.

The impala roared again, sending Dean back to sleep. Sam wasn’t taking any chances on this one. He was pulling into a motel car park before he could even think about changing his mind. He stared down at his brother, he was pale, covered in sweat and he was breathing shallowly, mouth open. Sam wrinkled his forehead again before going to get a room. He wasn’t going to stir Dean until he absolutely had to.

It took some effort to wake him up but he eventually did, still insisting he was fine even though Sam wasn’t asking.

“Where are we?” he said, in a husky voice.

“Going to crash here tonight, man. Get some research in,” he said, grabbing the bags out of the back seat.

Dean struggled to sit up and wavered when he finally go to his feet. He sneezed three times into his sleeve, groaned and shook his head, which was evidently a very bad idea as his vision went totally grey for about 20 seconds.

“Dean,” Sam called, it wasn’t the first time he’d said it.

Dean sniffed and looked at him through glassy green eyes, “What? You gonna stand there all day staring at me, sunshine? Get moving.”

Sam frowned but led the way to the room, carrying all of the bags, Dean having a hard enough time carrying himself.

The two small steps up to the door felt like mountains to Dean’s aching legs, and it took him longer than it should to get through the door. He sat down, heavily on the nearest bed, leaning his elbows on his knees and cupping both hands around his face as he sneezed again.

“Alright,” Sam sighed, dumping all the gear down on the other bed, “I think it’s time to call it.”

“I think ‘bless you’ is more customary,” he rasped, clearing his throat.

“Here,” Sam said going through the bag of stuff he bought at the store, “Tylenol, dayquil, orange juice and,” he threw a box at him, “Tissues. Get some rest.”

Dean’s head was spun from how quickly Sam had jumped to this conclusion. He was mad at himself for being weak, for being human, but he was so relieved that Sam had the foresight to be prepared for this, to have seen his rapid decline without even talking to him about it. It still didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and work through it, but with Sam on his side it would makes things a little easier.

Dean stared at his brother, “Wake me up in an hour,” he said, taking his jacket off and kicking off his boots. He swallowed down 2 tylenol with the orange juice and fell back against his pillow. He didn’t get to sleep as quickly as he did when the soothing sound and motion of the impala rocked him to sleep, but eventually the sound of Sam tapping away at the computer let him slip away from consciousness.

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Oh yay, I'm a huge fan of sick dean too and this is a great fanfic for your first one :) I really liked reading this story, are you going to continue??

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As Kaida said, very nice first fic! And Welcome :D May the inspiration be with you to continue the story, or start another one!

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First fic?. Woah man I never would've guess. Don't fool me son >.> . This is really TOO GOOD to be a first fic ! :) . Continue continue sick Dean <3

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Hey, welcome!

I loved this, and how sick Dean is already. wub.png I'm a huge fan of sick!Dean too - he's actually the only character on all of tv I actively search out this kind of fic for; there is just something about him. And I'm just as much into fevers/other aspects of illness as I am into sneezing, so I appreciated that too.

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Wow! Thanks everyone!

Part 2

An hour passed too quickly and Sam let him sleep only 15 more minutes, knowing that if he didn’t wake him he’d be pissed.

“Hey,” Sam said, touching Dean on the shoulder. He gasped, then coughed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” he said, scratchy voice and all, “What you got?”

“I was going to go talk to the roommate. And I got his mother’s address. Suit up,” he said slapping his leg as he stood.

Dean hated the restrictiveness of the tight collar and tie around his neck, but he had been feeling better than he had been that morning. He downed some dayquil and the rest of his orange juice before leaving with Sam, once again allowing him to drive no questions asked.

“I’m Agent Smith, this is Agent Wessen,” Sam introduced, both of them flipping open their fake FBI badges. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Paul.”

“Uh, sure,” the young man said, leading them down the hall and into what looked like a study. He closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?” Sam said, watching him close the door.

“Oh no, it’s just... I got a girl upstairs.”

Dean couldn’t help but smirk as Sam frowned at him.

“Right,” he said. There were only two chairs in the room, the one Michael was sitting in and another. Sam stood and raised his eyebrows to Dean, asking him with his mind to take the seat. Dean breathed in and raised his chin indicating he wasn’t sitting down. Sam made a face and took the chair before Michael started asking them what was going on.

Dean checked back into the conversation a few questions in. Sam wasn’t looking at him but Michael was. He coughed lightly into his fist, then cleared his throat, Sam still didn’t look at him.

“Was Paul acting strange at all, before he went missing? Like he might have been scared?” Dean asked, the husk in his voice letting anyone who heard it know how sick he was, aside from the congestion and inability to breath through his nose.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked, looking at the sheen of sweat on Dean’s face.

“He’s fine, answer the question,” Sam said. God bless Sam. During the answer to his question though, Dean left, quietly excusing himself. He walked to the end of the hall, letting out the rib splitting coughs he’d so needed to do. He faced the wall, one hand leaning against it as the coughs shook his body. Eventually he breathed, not as deeply as he wanted to, afraid he would start something again. His eyes were closed. Don’t fall over, don’t fall over, going through his head. Suddenly Sam was tapping him on the shoulder.

“Dean, you alright?”

He did a double take at Sam, “Yeah, I’m fine,” he groaned.

“Let’s go back to the motel,” Sam suggested, hoping Dean would take his advice. No such luck.

“No,” he said, pushing off the wall, trying to stay steady, “You finish up here. I’ll go talk to the mother.”

“What?” Sam said, worried about him going off by himself in his current condition.

“I’ll meet you at the motel in an hour,” he said, leaving.

“Dean,” Sam called, as he walked out the door. He sighed. He wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

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Aww, this is lovely! I love how sick and disoriented you've portrayed Dean, it's adorable and comes through in the writing really well! The writing is fantastic, and the pace is perfect. And stubborn Dean, aww! <3 I adore this :wub:

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Aww, this is lovely! I love how sick and disoriented you've portrayed Dean, it's adorable and comes through in the writing really well! The writing is fantastic, and the pace is perfect. And stubborn Dean, aww! <3 I adore this wub.png

Thank you! :) I LOVE how stubborn he is! :P

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Part 3

In minutes Sam had finished up with the kid, so he decided to go to the library. Crashing Dean’s interrogation was not going to win him any brownie points.

His phone rang loudly in the calm of the library and he quickly excused himself.

“Hey,” he said into the phone, expecting to hear his brother’s voice.

“Um, hello. Is this Agent Smith?” A woman’s voice said.

Crap.

“Yes. Where’s Agent Wessen, is he alright?”

“Well, um, not exactly. He wouldn’t let me call an ambulance...”

“I’ll be right there,” Sam said quickly hanging up.

What was Dean thinking going off by himself? More importantly how sick was he really? He could have been close to dying before he let anyone know.

---

He switched off the engine and bounded up the steps of Paul’s mothers house. She opened the door before his fist even connected with it.

“Where is he?” he said, stopping himself saying ‘my brother’.

“Through here, Agent,” she said, softly, directing Sam through to the lounge room. Rounding the corner he saw Dean, leaning back on the couch, a wash cloth pressed against the side of his head, red with blood.

“Dean,” he couldn’t stop himself saying that, “What happened?”

Dean just groaned, his eyes closed.

“He stood up and passed out. Hit his head on the corner of the coffee table,” She explained, sending a concerned look in Dean’s direction.

“Thank you, for looking after him,” Sam muttered, leaning down grabbing Dean’s arm. “Come on, Dean. Let’s get out of here.”

“Careful with him,” she warned, “Standing up is what did it last time.”

Sam pulled him up slowly. Dean reluctantly leaned into him, legs wobbling as he stood.

“S’mmy,” he groaned, pushing away from Sam weakly, “‘M fine.”

Sam manhandled him out of the house. Yes, sure, he was “fine”. He put him in the passenger seat and got in the driver’s side, quickly thanking Paul’s mum then driving off towards the motel.

“What’s going on, Dean?” he asked, annoyed.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he grunted back, coughing into a fist.

“You passed out,” he said bluntly.

“I didn’t pass out,” Dean rebutled, trying to sound all alpha male but his voice not allowing it. “I just wanted to rest my eyes...”

“On the coffee table?”

Dean shrugged and then sneezed into his sleeve, letting out one of those pesky involuntary moans.

“This case is on hold,” Sam commanded, “Until you’re done “resting your eyes”.”

“Oh, come on, Sam,” he argued, his voice breaking like a 12 year old boy.

Sam didn’t answer him. He felt it best to keep quiet until he had Dean back in the motel, where he could wrap him up in a blanket, feed him hot soup and chain him to the bed post.

---

“Dean, we have one murder. Nothing to go on. This might not even be our thing,” Sam rationalised as he opened the door to the motel room, the sun setting behind them.

Dean shoved past him into the room, slumping heavily into the creaky wooden dining room chair in their dingy kitchenette.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked sitting in the chair across from him.

“Research time, Sammy,” he grunted, “Where’s your laptop?”

Sam glanced over to the far bed where his computer lay, then back at Dean.

“Well?” Dean said, expectantly.

“You get that yourself without stumbling and you can research all damn night,” Sam grinned.

Dean pursed his lips and readied himself to stand before slumping back further in the chair, coughing. He tried again standing slowly. It felt like he was moving through treacle, and he could swear he could hear his knees and back creaking. He broke the deal as soon as he was upright, stumbling forward and leaning a hand on the table, his eyes closed and a palm pressed to his forehead.

“Dammit,” he said, shaking his head, which only made things worse.

“Hey,” Sam came to his side, grabbing an arm.

Dean pulled away, “Alright,” he huffed, “You’re better at research anyway. I’m just gonna...”

He made for the bed and flopped down on the covers fully clothed.

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Welcome to the forum! I only had time to read the first part right now, but I'll continue soon! Great story, honestly! :) And I didn't mind the lack of spelled out sneezes at all! The denial part totally made up for that! :D

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Thank you so much everyone! You're so positive and supporting. I am actually a writer so this is really good to hear :) I just do this for fun though :P

Ok! Part 4 introduces my favourite female character from the SPN universe. Hope you like Charlie's appearance :) and I feel like I'm going to keep making Dean get better and then worse, just because it's adorable to see him vulnerable! I'm terrible, I know! Hope you enjoy the next part...

Part 4

12 hours passed before Sam decided it was time to wake his snoring brother. He looked terrible, pale but red around his eyes and nose. He snuffled and turned his head out from the pillows he’d buried it in.

“What time is it?” his voice cut out halfway making it a whisper.

“Seven,” Sam said, putting a hand on Dean’s forehead.

“Dude, get off me,” he said, swatting his hand away and yanking himself up to a sitting position. He coughed into his fist and his throat recognised the horrendous burning that tore through it even as he did so, but the vibrating in his chest had other plans. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his palm, breathing out through his mouth as his nose was completely blocked. He felt like ass.

“I think you have a fever,” Sam said, sitting on the bed across from Dean.

“Shut up. What’s the news?” he rasped.

Sam pursed his lips then went on. “There’s been another murder. Just came in on the police scanner. But, man, I think you should sit this one out. You look awful.”

Dean stared daggers at him, before getting up, clearing his throat. “I’m having a shower then we’re going.”

Dean was longer than he usually was, well, longer than he would have usually taken if they were rushing to get to a crime scene.

“Keys,” he demanded, as they walked through the motel car park towards the impala.

“Dude, you’re not driving. You’ll kill us both.”

Dean grunted but didn’t continue to argue.

----

As they approached the yellow crime scene tape they heard an all too familiar voice. Dean cleared his throat and Charlie, who was busy grilling the homeless man that had discovered the body spun around.

“Ah,” she said in surprise and tried to hold back the grin, “Agents.”

“Can we talk to you, in private?” Sam said, clenching his jaw.

They walked far enough away from prying eyes and Charlie leapt at Dean, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Her weight almost brought him to his knees and he found himself leaning on her to keep himself upright. She pulled away and he shifted his weight onto Sam in the form of a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Charlie said, a little too worried.

“He’s sick,” Sam said, before Dean could even answer.

“I’m fine,” Dean grunted, using his voice for the first time in a while and it showed. It didn’t exactly sound like he was fine. He pushed off Sam and stood shakily, sniffing thickly. He turned away from them and sneezed into his hands cupped around his mouth and nose.

“Bless you,” Charlie and Sam said in unison.

“Shut up,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Do you want to sit down somewhere?” Charlie offered, her concern almost tangible.

“No...”

“Yeah, Charlie, could you take him into town for breakfast. I’ll check out the crime scene and finish up with the witnesses. Meet you there.”

Charlie wasn’t one to take the back seat but from the look on Sam’s face it seemed the job he’d given her was more important than anything monster related. She would make sure Dean didn’t pass out again.

Dean evil stared his brother but didn’t dare open his mouth again, afraid his voice would fail him completely. He looked back at Charlie.

“Come on, Dean. Sam’s got this,” she smiled, offering an arm to him that he just ignored and started walking to her car.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his pronunciation muffled by the congestion and half the words lost in his throat.

“Scoping out a case for you guys. What’s it look like?” She bounced along beside him.

He coughed wetly into his fist almost needing to stop and catch his breath. Charlie didn’t give him a choice this time, she grabbed his bicep and continued walking him back to her car. He gratefully leant against her as his legs were already killing him and it had started to rain lightly.

They got into the diner and Dean pulled off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, unbuttoning his top button. He was covered in sweat. When did it get so hot?

“You look like death, Dean... No offense,” Charlie yapped, sitting down.

Dean fell into the chair across from her, coughing again.

“Thanks,” he whispered, with an annoyed smirk on his face.

Before Charlie could pry anymore a plucky waitress bounced up to the table.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, her perky expression fading slightly looking at Dean.

“The big breakfast,” Dean nodded, trying out that winning smile, it being marred slightly by his pale appearance. He felt ill. He wasn’t even hungry but he wasn’t going to sit there munching plain toast and sipping on lemon tea like some pansy. He wasn’t a pussy.

“I’ll have the same,” Charlie smiled, clearing trying to flirt with, “Rebecca,” she added, checking her name tag. Dean was too busy trying to breath to flirt with the waitress so Charlie was taking advantage.

“Sure thing,” she smiled back and flounced off. Charlie watching her walk away. She did a double take at Dean.

“What?” she said, “Nothing wrong with mixing business and pleasure.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” Dean huffed, leaning back, before snapping forward again to sneeze into his napkin. He held it against his face for a while until two more sneezes followed. He groaned and rubbed his nose, closing his eyes.

“Bless you,” Charlie said, wrinkling her nose at him. He looked and sounded awful and he was sweating buckets.

“Were you really scoping out a case for us?” Dean rasped, getting back to business and trying to ignore the gravel in his voice.

“Yes,” she lied, “What else would I be doing?”

“Hunting,” he grunted, “Alone.”

“Dean, I wouldn’t...” he raised an eyebrow at her. “Fine,” she caved, “I thought I could work a couple of the easy ones, you know?”

“Charlie, there are no easy ones. Do you understand? You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“It’s no worse than you hunting like this,” she said, gesturing towards him, “You’re a biohazard, Dean.”

“I have Sam,” he said, firmly, even though his voice was failing him.

Just then Rebecca showed up, smiling at Charlie as she poured her some coffee.

“Here’s some orange juice, hun,” she said, looking sympathetically at Dean.

“Thanks,” it only came out as a whisper.

“Come on, is she flirting with you or me?” Charlie said, looking at Rebecca as she came back with their food.

“Here you go, guys. Enjoy,” she said, winking at Dean before walking off again, knowing she was being watched.

“Dammit,” Charlie sighed.

Dean went a slight shade of green looking down at his food. Determined to show Charlie he was capable of hunting he shoved his fork into a sausage and raised it to his mouth. Trying not to think about the grease dripping off it or the pain in his throat and in his stomach from ingesting nothing but his own mucus for days. He took a bite and struggled it down. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

“I gotta... hit the head,” he swallowed down his own vomit as he made a mad dash to the mens room.

He crouched in a cubicle emptying his stomach of all it’s juices. The sweating gone to a whole new level. He stood on shakey legs and leaned against the wall, coughing.

He made his way to lean on the sink. Yeah, he looked terrible. He sniffed and looked down. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out.

Just then Sam came in. Dean didn’t even look over at him. He had no idea how long he’d actually been in there. He’d lost sense of time.

“Dean!” he said, rushing to him as his legs gave way. He threw an arm over his shoulder and put a hand tightly around his waist hoisting him up.

“S’mmy,” he mumbled, leaning his head into his shoulder, “Something’s wrong... Don’t feel good...”

“Shh, it’s ok, Dean,” Sam hushed, walking him out of the mens room. He gestured to Charlie who was over at the table, her jaw fell open when she saw Sam carrying Dean and threw some bills on the table, grabbed Dean’s jacket off the back of his chair and followed the boys out into the car park.

Sam leant Dean up against the impala and opened his door. A shiver tore through Dean’s body.

“Where’s my jacket?” he coughed.

“Here, Dean,” Charlie said, helping him into it. Suddenly he was very cold, hadn’t it been boiling in the restaurant? He pulled the jacket close to his body and allowed Sam to guide him into the passenger seat.

“We’re staying at the Sun Motel, can you get some supplies?” Sam said to Charlie who was already heading to her car.

“On it!” she called back.

Sam got in the drivers seat and started the impala. Dean flicked the heating on to full and huddled against the window, trying to pull the jacket even closer.

“You cold?” Sam asked. It was a stupid question really.

Dean grunted a yes. “Was hot in the diner but...” he coughed again and he thought his ribs would split in half. Sam reached out a hand to the back of Dean’s neck, definitely hotter than this morning.

“Yeah, you’re burning up,” Sam confirmed, putting her in drive and heading towards the motel.

“‘M sorry, S’mmy,” he groaned, slipping away from consciousness.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Sam replied, glancing at his pale shivering brother. “You’re gonna be alright.”

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It's only short but here's some more!

Part 5

Dean coughed almost the entire way back to the motel. Sam had started counting how many seconds between the fits and he hadn’t got passed five. He sneezed about once a minute as well, on average. A long coughing fit was going on that Dean could no longer suppress in his throat. It lasted almost 20 seconds before he could gasp, “Pull over.”

Sam pulled the impala off the road and Dean fell out of the car, dry heaving on the bitumen. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up. Sam had raced around and was rubbing Dean on the back.

“Just breath, Dean,” he kept saying but it was easier said than done. Finally he got a lung full and calmed down, air able to enter his body again. Sam hoisted him up slowly and put him back in the car.

“It’s ok, Dean. There’s nothing in your stomach to throw up.”

Hmm, he should probably get some water into him. One thing at a time, first he had to get him to the motel.

They finally arrived and Dean shoved himself upright on shaky legs, batting Sam’s assistance away.

“Just need some sleep, Sammy. I’ll be fine,” he said, in a barely recognisable, disgustingly congested voice.

“Sure,” Sam huffed, staying ever vigilant as his brother stumbled towards their room. Sam hurried in front unlocking the door for Dean who trudged in and sat down on his bed, breathing heavily through his mouth. Sam handed him a couple of tissues in time for Dean to sneeze again. Three times. He groaned and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Take your jacket off,” Sam kindly instructed.

“Too cold, Sammy,” Dean said, from under the tissues.

“You have a fever. Take your jacket off,” he ordered.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket as he was told, kicking his shoes off. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He eased himself back onto the pillow, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing his brow, shivers racking him again.

“Dude, you look terrible,” Sam said, sitting down on the bed next to Dean’s.

Dean opened his eyes to slits and looked at Sam. The light hurt. His throat hurt, and lying on his back was making mucus stream down the back of his throat. He coughed, and soon realised he couldn’t breath in the position he was in. He struggled to sit upright, and Sam grabbed an arm, helping him. He coughed into his fist, the sound of fluid moving through his lungs.

“Gahh,” he groaned, “Take me out the back and shoot me, Sammy.”

Sam huffed a little laugh, “Not gonna happen, brother. You’re gonna have to man up.”

Dean just groaned and lay down on his side, rubbing a fist against his chest.

“Your chest hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” he moaned, being evasive as usual. He closed his eyes and started rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“Dude, why don’t you just tell me you’re sick before you get this bad?”

“Shuddup, S’mmy,” he breathed, sleep quickly taking him, and his breathing evening out to muffled congested snoring.

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The image of Dean rubbing his chest with his fist is so freaking hot. I don't why, but holy crap. I just want to bundle him up and feed him ice chips! You write a gorgeous vulnerable Dean. I can't wait tll the next part!

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Part 6

Charlie knocked on the door and Sam jumped up, praying that it hadn’t woken Dean. It hadn’t. He nuzzled further into the pillows but stayed sleeping.

Sam opened the door, and gave her his concerned look, furrowed brow and pursed lips.

She sighed back and came in through the open door, carrying bags full of medicine and decent food. Her eyes lingered on the sleeping Dean for a while before quietly setting the bags down on the table.

“I can hear him breathing from here,” she whispered, glancing worriedly at Sam.

Dean coughed himself awake and struggled to his feet, finding his way quickly to the bathroom door. He leant on the door frame having swallowed down the urge to hurl again. Sam and Charlie already had hands on him asking him if he was okay. Of course he wasn’t okay. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest, while also inflating a balloon inside his head at the same time.

“Here, Dean,” Charlie ordered, “Tylenol, fever meds, vitamin C and orange juice.”

He eyed her evilly because he couldn’t manage any other facial expression. And as much as he found it adorable that she was this concerned, he hated the attention on his ailment. He just wanted coffee and to gank some evil sonsofbitches, end of story, no matter how much he felt like ass.

“Your concern is touching,” he croaked, still leaning on the doorframe, ignoring everything she was offering him.

“Come on, get back in bed,” Sam said, a strong hand on his back, trying not to flinch at how warm it was.

“Dude, it’s... What the hell’s the time?” he grunted, turning around.

“Just after 9,” said Sam.

“Urrgh,” he groaned, going to lie down. At least in the bed he could huddle up in the covers. This chill had set deep in his bones and he couldn’t seem to get warm.

“I’m gonna take your temperature,” Charlie said, riffling through the bags for the thermometer.

“Like hell you are,” he groaned, rolling around trying to get comfortable.

“Dean,” Sam pleaded.

“What? It’s up. Doesn’t take a genius,” his voice scratched out like his throat was sand paper. He really needed to stop talking because it was incredibly painful, he swallowed slowly, wincing.

Sam huffed, looking down at him. “If you don’t let us do it now, we’ll wait till you’re asleep and stick it in your ear.”

Dean blinked at him, expressionless for a minute, then he rolled over and sat up against the headboard.

“I’m so glad you said ear.”

Sam huffed, “Shut up.”

With a temperature of 103.4, Dean slept most of the morning away, having been stripped down to boxers and only allowed one sheet. Even in his sleep he shivered and coughed, and even sneezed once.

Sam and Charlie sat at the table researching the case, revealing that there definitely had to be something supernatural going on and the killings looked very much like ritualistic killings, and that another one would happen... tonight.

“You should tell him,” Sam said.

“I’m not gonna tell him! You should tell him,” Charlie argued.

“He’s not going to listen, you know that right?”

“He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Charlie said, flipping the case on her tablet closed.

“Who’s a stubborn son of a bitch?” Dean’s voice crackled from the bed. He was staring at them with puffy bloodshot eyes.

“Ah, no one!” Charlie said, getting up and sitting down on his bed, putting a hand to his forehead. “You don’t feel as hot anymore,” she looked at Sam and his face told her that she shouldn’t have said that. Dean would try to come with them either way but someone saying he was slightly better would just add to his ammunition.

Charlie got up as Dean sat in his bed, swinging his feet around to connect with the floor.

“Now is -” he coughed into a fist, his lungs rattling, “- someone just going to tell me, or what?” his voice had dropped about 2 octaves from when he went to bed, and words longer than one syllable only seemed to last that long. Sam and Charlie really had to pay attention if they wanted to hear him, because no one wanted him to have to repeat himself, least of all Dean.

“Ah, you were right, Dean,” Sam began, “There is something supernatural going on here.”

He nodded, saving his voice.

“And... there’s going to be another killing... tonight,” Charlie added, hesitantly.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said, leaning forward heavily to stand up.

“You’re staying here. Charlie and I can do this one.”

He glared before announcing, “I’m coming with you.”

“What? Dean, why?” Sam said, exasperated.

“Because I’m your big brother and I said so.”

“No, Dean. You’re sick.”

“I feel better, alright,” he winced again as he swallowed.

“You don’t sound better, in a few hours I don’t think you’ll be able to talk at all.”

He shrugged.

“Look, I’ll have the fever meds, okay? I’ll have one of everything. I honestly feel better, just let me have a shower and we can go,” the last of it became a whisper as he retreated to the bathroom.

“You’re a stubborn son of a bitch,” Charlie directed at the closed bathroom door.

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Awwwww I love stubborn Dean :) He's really gonna work himself to oblivion, isn't he? Someone's gonna have to tie him to a bed *evil smirk*

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