cowboyguy: (sick sam)
[personal profile] cowboyguy
Title: Unsettled
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Written for the Triple Play fic meme at OhSam. The general idea of the meme is to write fics involving hurt or sick Sam, and the prompts are all in the format of “location, other character, situation.” This prompt was for the bunker in the middle of the night, Dean, and stomach flu.

Oh, God…

Sam stumbles out of the bedroom, stomach churning, and doesn’t know where he is. It’s still not familiar, this place. It’s still too new. He falls to the floor, landing on his knees and elbows, and retches. Dinner makes its reappearance on the cold tile floor, and he groans as the spasms rip through his body.

Motels are easy. Look left or right and there’s the bathroom. Ten steps and you’re there. This place is too big, everything too far away. And in the middle of the night, with the lights turned down low, he doesn’t remember which hallway, which turn will—

His stomach twists again, and he whimpers pathetically as he starts heaving again. It leaves him gasping for air, and when it’s over, he pushes himself up, away from the mess on the floor. He flops back against the hallway wall, legs splayed out in front of him, and closes his eyes against the light that’s making his head spin. There’s no way he’s getting anywhere on his own.

“Dean…” he pants, voice hoarse and almost too soft to be heard. He coughs roughly and tries again. “Dean!”

It’s silent for a moment, apart from his own harsh breathing as he tries to get his rebellious stomach under control. Then there’s sound of a door being opened, and Dean’s voice, immediately concerned, calling, “Sam?!”

Sam opens his eyes to see his brother rush around the corner, disheveled and carrying a wicked-looking knife. At the sight of his brother, the knife clatters to the floor and in an instant, Dean is at his side, crouching down in front of him. Dean’s hands are on his face, smoothing back sweaty hair. “Sammy, you’re burning up,” Dean murmurs, running a calloused thumb across Sam’s forehead.

“Sorry…I couldn’t…” Sam apologizes breathlessly, hating himself for not making it to the bathroom in time. He grimaces as his stomach twinges, gasping at the sudden sharp pain.

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” Dean says, and Sam knows he means it. “Do you still feel sick?”

Sam doesn’t answer, but the way he swallows thickly and starts breathing quickly through his nose are all the answer Dean needs. He hauls his brother to his feet, and they stumble down the hall together towards the bathroom.

They make it just in time. Sam pushes away from Dean and rushes into one of the bathroom stalls, crashing to his knees in front of the toilet. He gags, bringing up a rush of liquid and bile, and he wishes he was deaf so he didn’t have to hear it. There are tears in his eyes, and he can barely catch his breath between his stomach’s desperate attempt to rid itself of its contents. But there are Dean’s hands again, pushing his hair away and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“It’s okay, Sammy, just let it out. Alright, buddy, you’re gonna be fine…” Dean’s soft voice keeps murmuring words, and Sam tries to focus on that instead of the nausea still surging through him.

He coughs and chokes and tries not to cry, and when his stomach finally calms down for a moment, he crawls away from the toilet, nearly bumping into Dean’s legs behind him. He’s feeling lightheaded and drained, and he clings to Dean for balance. “Hate this…” he whispers, and Dean runs a hand through his hair.

There’s the sound of the toilet flushing, and then Sam feels himself being lowered to the floor, Dean’s strong arms making sure he doesn’t hit his head on the hard tiled surface. Sam curls in on himself, unable to stop the groan that escapes him. He watches as Dean moves away for a moment, walking across the big room to grab some towels from the rack by the showers. When he comes back, he pillows a couple of them under Sam’s head and drapes three more over his shivering body.

“You just woke up and felt sick, huh?” Dean asks, rubbing Sam’s bare shoulder through the soft terrycloth.

Sam hums in agreement under his breath. “Mmm…” He takes a careful breath, steadying himself. “Was fine last night… I don’t know what… happ’nd…”

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean sympathizes. “You probably just picked up a bug somewhere.” He sits there, cross-legged on the floor, for a few minutes longer until it looks like Sam is at least somewhat stable. “You gonna be okay here for a minute if I go grab some stuff? Figured we’d get comfortable here for a while, what do you think?”

Sam contemplates the idea and then nods. This doesn’t feel like it’s over, and the bathroom is such a long way away from his bedroom.

“Okay,” Dean says, pushing himself to his feet. “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

“…’kay…” Sam answers softly, tugging one of the towels up further. He knows he’s got a fever, but he can’t stop the chills wracking his body, making him tremble uncontrollably.

Dean heads out of the room, then pauses in the doorway and looks back at Sam. “Hey, at least we’re at home, right? Better than some crappy motel in the middle of nowhere.” He smiles reassuringly and then disappears, leaving Sam alone on the floor.

Home… It doesn’t feel like home to Sam. It just feels like another place.
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