A/N: Welcome to the new & improved revision of this fic! A project starting now with the completion of my Dystopia Bang fic, Moon-kissed, starting with chapter one and hopefully ending by end of next month July!
So the original chapter length of this was 2.2k and unlike most of my revisions this chapter actually increased in length to 2.8k!
So let's dig in, shall we?! Happy readings!
"Want me to do the whole, uh... airplane thing with the spoon?" Dean asked, hoping to get a response out of his brother.
Nothing.
Dean threw the spoon down.
"When was the last time you ate?"
Sam frowned and shook his head then shrugged.
"I don't-"
"Days, Sam. S'been three days."
Sam rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. Sam was spacing his meals out considerably but it wasn't three days.
Was it?
Dean determinedly pulled a thermometer out and studied it like he'd never seen one before.
Sam took the bait, huffing and leaning back in his chair.
"When'd you get that?"
"When you started throwin' off heat waves," Dean grumbled. He shook it a couple times and leaned in towards Sam, extending the thing out.
"No," Sam half laughed, backing the chair out and dropping the stupid blanket Dean had thrown on him from before. A sharp pain in his side and Sam had to slow down. "Enough," Sam murmured, stumbling over as he rose to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he still saw Dean approaching. "Dean, please..." he finished, too fatigued to be genuinely pissed but too well to take Dean's ministrations.
Dean withdrew and pursed his lips.
"The bloody handkerchief, the fever, the shaky legs. This is not good," Dean waved at Sam.
"Well I'm not good... and I'm not going to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial-"
"Trial? I wouldn't let you start a moped," Dean shot back, throwing the thermometer on the table. "We're on the rails with this thing, okay? And the only way out of it is through it. Believe me, I know. And you know how badly I want to slam the door on all those sons of bitches," Dean lectured, then softened, "...but you gotta let me take care of you, man. You gotta let me help you get your strength back."
Sam sighed, exhausted.
"This isn't a cold. Or a fever or whatever it is you're supposed to feed. This is part of it all. Those first two trials... they're not just things I did - they're doing something to me. They're changing me, Dean."
Dean let Sam's words hang in the air. He had too many things to say and he couldn't streamline them. The primary one being that he hoped Sam wasn't changing - at least not fundamentally. Dean kinda liked Sam.
Instead Dean nodded and let his eyes drift to the bowl on the table. He picked up the spoon and threw it onto the tray.
"You gonna eat?" he asked, forlorn; he already knew what Sam's answer was going to be even after spending over an hour on their dad's kitchen sink stew.
Sam sighed, knowing Dean knew how Sam felt.
"I'm not hungry," Sam lamented. At least he was apologetic. With inexplicably stiff and sore movement, Sam settled back into his chair.
"Okay," Dean said softly, disapointed anyway. He'd been the one to make the meal this time. It was a comfort food no less, a family favorite.
Dean headed back to the kitchen. The stew always tasted better fresh but Dean found he wasn't hungry anymore either. Despondent, he just rummaged around until he found some old plastic Chinese take-out containers they'd saved. He poured the whole pot full into a few of them and left them in the fridge to cool, to keep, to lose flavor.
...
Sam blinked water out of his eyes and sniffed as he hovered over the papers spread out on the table. His vision was blurring. Still cogent, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be dyslexic. The letters jumped and shifted in front of him, whole words were floating and shaking.
He leaned back in his chair to take a break. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You tired?" Dean asked, voice calm and low but it startled Sam. He looked up to see his brother next to right him, leaning against the table.
"-Jesus..." Sam breathed, more to himself. How could Dean have gotten so close without him noticing?
"Sorry." Dean's voice was low as he moved over the table to pile the papers together.
"No - Dean! What're you doing? They're organized," Sam jumped forward in his chair, trying to get Dean to stop. At his brother's touch, Dean stopped and turned to scrutinize him.
"Okay," Dean put his hands up and stepped back. He pulled a chair up right next to Sam and measured his tone so it'd be less abrasive this time. He leaned his elbows on his legs so he was looking up at Sam.
"You know what time it is?" Dean asked.
Sam blinked cloudy eyes, shook his head and shrugged. Dean pressed his lips together and forced himself to withhold judgment. He pointed at his watch then extended his wrist out so Sam could read it too.
Sam squinted and leaned closer. Dean's brows furrowed. Was he having trouble reading?
"Nearly one in the morning," Dean supplied, genuinely concerned now. "We'll pick this up later, Sam. C'mon," Dean feigned a casual tone and stood up. He made no move to help, hoping it wasn't necessary but suspecting it might be soon. Sam seemed grateful at any rate. He relented, letting out a long sigh and rubbing his eyes.
"Okay," he whispered, setting his palm on the table for balance as he moved to stand up. He rose and hovered over the table, dizzy. Dean pulled away the chair behind him.
"Dean, don't-" Sam said, irritated even just by that one small gesture. Dean came up alongside him.
"Are you okay to walk?" Dean asked seriously, his hands at his side and ready to reach out any moment now. Sam winced.
"Yes, I'm okay to walk, Dean," Sam snapped. "So back off." He pushed off the table and shoved Dean away as he moved past him.
Fuming, Sam managed straight steps to the end of the table. His anger and frustration with Dean had sharpened his senses. Now however they were fading under the onslaught of his own body's limits.
Sam reached for the end of the table, overheated and light-headed but kept going, not wanting to let on.
One foot in front of the other. The floor was starting to spin.
Sam saw the step down he needed to take. One step down then he'd get to the hallway then bed and everything would be fine.
Sam grimaced as he worked to remain upright and steady. Just as he thought he might be fine he realized the step wasn't actually steep. His depth perception was shot to hell.
Sam gasped as the ground shot up and twisted like a kaleidoscope underneath him. He rolled his ankle and the floor spun closer. He threw his hands up to brace for impact but he could tell his reaction time was off. His head was definitely about to take a hit.
Instead he felt a sudden harsh constriction around his chest, a hand clamping tightly and painfully along his side, and a tug that forced his body to tumble a sharp left.
Sam landed on his side, his head hitting Dean's chest as Dean took the full brunt of Sam's weight in the fall.
"Damn it," Dean wheezed, eyes tearing from the impact.
"Dean-" Sam gasped, rolling off his brother onto his stomach. His breathing had gone fast and shallow. He was so dizzy and weak that he couldn't lift himself up as he lay prone. "I.. can't.." Sam gasped.
"Sam," Dean breathed, scrambling back up. "What is it?"
Dean placed his hands on Sam's shoulders and hips like he was about to roll him. Dean was never anything other than gentle with Sam when he was wounded but whatever was happening, it was making him way too sensitive for that kind of touch. Dean's hands felt rough and destabilizing, likely to shake and rattle him into full-fledged vertigo any minute now and the anxiety was getting to Sam just as much. Sam couldn't help it when he made a sound at the back of his throat. Unfortunately Dean took it as a sign to flip Sam over. He choked back a wail as his spine met the wooden floorboards.
"Hey-hey-hey, Sam? Sammy?!"
Sam grimaced and made an effort to open his eyes. Dean's solicitous expression was too close hovering over him so he lifted his gaze.
The vaulted ceilings were huge and brilliantly lit. They started to swirl above him, darkening in color until it was a sickening storm. Sam closed his eyes with a miserable sob.
"Over on your side," came Dean's sudden order and Sam took deep breaths as Dean lifted him and set him up in recovery position.
Dean's hand pressed on his stomach then chest.
"No..." Sam moaned. It was too much touching; too much sensation for him to handle.
"C'mon Sam, it's okay..." he heard his brother murmur. Tears welled up in Sam's eyes as he shook his head.
"I'm... gonna... be sick..."
"No you're not. You haven't eaten anything for the past three days," Dean replied quickly from behind him, the meaning of his words flashing fast enough for Sam to understand. "Just pull through it. Breathe."
Dean's hand braced Sam's forehead, warm and smelling like cayenne pepper from the stew. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and gave a trembling nod. He felt sweat trickling down his face and knew that Dean must be feeling the temperature spike.
"Shit, Sam," he heard Dean mutter. Sam sucked in air as he suppressed tears. He was always Dean's burden. From the start of the trials Sam had vowed to himself he'd be strong. He'd carry this like Dean would.
So how the hell had it come to this.
"I'm sorry," he panted. "I... didn't..."
Dean wiped Sam's hair back from his face. "Sam, stop," Dean interrupted quietly, "Are you shaking because you're cold?" or just upset?
"I... don't know," Sam answered honestly, shame coloring his cheeks. He felt a pressure on his side as Dean leaned over him then the weight of a heavy blanket.
"Okay, just relax and breathe, the floor's comfortable, right?" Dean joked but it was strained. Sam offered half a smile and followed Dean's instructions, remaining still and focused on his breath.
"Okay," Dean broke the silence after a while, "you still feel sick?"
Sam blinked at the polished hardwood.
"Floor's not moving anymore."
"Well that's a good start," Dean chuckled quietly and started to roll Sam onto his back again. Sam could only look up at Dean as he wrapped the blanket around him. He closed his eyes as a headache he hadn't even realized he'd been ignoring worsened. Sam clasped a hand over his eyes.
"This sucks," Sam grunted.
"Yeah," Dean agreed softly, "Open your mouth." Sam brushed his hand off his face and opened his eyes to slits to see Dean ticking the thermometer back and forth in front of him. Sam sighed and pleaded one last time with his eyes. Dean tilted his head. "Dude, c'mon."
Dean leaned in and lifted Sam's head up. Sam acquiesced with a tortured sigh, taking the thermometer under his tongue.
Dean pushed Sam's sweat-slicked hair back and pressed his fingers against Sam's neck to check his pulse.
"Too fast." Dean got up and left Sam's line of sight.
"I coulda told 'oo that," Sam sassed, the thermometer still in his mouth.
"Don't go anywhere," Dean ordered with a smirk and Sam chuffed with indignity.
Dean's footsteps echoed as they grew distant like he was walking down a long tunnel eventually dissipating. Dean had vanished to some other part of the bunker, leaving Sam on the floor with a blanket and silence for company.
Finally alone, Sam could despair.
"Shit," Sam gritted out. He tasted copper and pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. It had a now recognizable pinkish residue on it, Sam's blood. He wiped it off with his sleeve and tried to swallow until the taste went away. He clutched himself tighter. His whole body was on fire and now he had Dean completely duty-bound to help him.
Dean, the one person Sam didn't want to stress with the trials, the one person he didn't want seeing him like this because Dean had already done enough for Sam. He'd always done everything for Sam.
This was supposed to be something Sam could do for Dean. This one mission. This one thing he could take and carry for Dean so Dean wouldn't have to. And for once, Dean had let him.
And now instead it was like they were backsliding into their old roles again with Dean taking care of him.
Somehow Sam had taken on the trials in Dean's stead but the bigger burden was still Dean's-?
Sam covered his face as a fresh wave of tears threatened to break. He would've just broken into sobs if he hadn't heard the sounds of his brother's returning footsteps. Sam took a few deep breaths and pulled himself together. He palmed the floor to lift himself up to a sitting position.
"Hey no, stay down," Dean ordered. Sam automatically did as he was told. He sighed and shook his head. This was embarrassing. "How you feeling?" Dean asked, totally oblivious.
"Like shit," Sam answered witheringly, giving up all pretense.
"Symptoms? You took the thermometer out," Dean noticed lightly. Sam was relieved Dean wasn't mad.
"Said 102.5," Sam lied. Dean sat cross-legged in front of him.
"Mm," Dean responded, distracted. He took hold of Sam's wrist and set it on his knee.
"Wh-what're you doing?" Sam asked groggily.
"You wouldn't," Dean said calmly as he tied a band around Sam's forearm, "let me play big brother, " Dean uncapped a needle, "so," he settled it over a vein, "now I'm playing doctor," he trailed off slowly, his tone miserable as he carefully directed the needle into Sam's skin.
Sam bit his lip and made an effort to stay still. Once in the vein, Dean glanced at Sam as he pressed cotton balls lightly around the puncture. He twisted around and grabbed a strip of tape he'd had ready and taped the IV down.
"S'just for a couple of hours," Dean promised, tone soothing when Sam didn't deserve it.
"What is it?" Sam swallowed, his mouth dry now.
Dean gave a small shrug as he lifted the bag, then an eyebrow.
"Can you read it?"
Sam squinted.
"Saline."
Dean nodded approvingly. "Good job. Where you want to sleep tonight?"
Sam groaned.
"Here's good."
Dean chuckled and Sam twitched smiled wanly at the sound. At least he could still make Dean a little happy even while he was scaring the crap out of him.
Sam started to turn over, thinking Dean's question about where to sleep held a tacit suggestion to get up. He placed his free hand against the floor again for leverage.
"Hey hey, hold on," Dean reached out and got Sam to lie down again, his touches feather light. "We're in no rush. Let the drip do something before we get up, all right?"
Sam lazily turned to look directly at Dean and nodded his acceptance. His eyelids drifted low.
They remained silent together on the floor.
Dean preferred the lack of conversation. There were less distractions so he could better monitor Sam's breathing. He checked the solution every once in awhile.
"The ceilings are too high," Sam pronounced.
Dean turned, brow furrowed.
"What?"
"They're- the ceilings," Sam pointed up. "They're vaulted. Way too high. Looking at them makes me..." Sam swallowed, accidentally revisiting the nausea.
Dean's warm and dry hand slipped into Sam's so he could guide it back down to his chest.
"All right. Just don't look up. Focus on me, okay?"
Sam winced, swallowed, and nodded as he blinked up at Dean.
"Ugly," Sam tried to joke.
"What?"
"Your ugly face."
"Yeah Sam, my ugly face. Just relax, man," Dean replied absently, sighing as he looked around the library.
It struck something in Sam that Dean didn't go with him on it. Dean had a sense of humor which he used for almost everything. Except for when he was angry and especially for when he felt contempt.
Dean was thinking he couldn't do the trials.
Sam clenched his jaw and blinked back tears.
"...Dean?" Sam's voice was small, tentative. Dean looked down at him, expression back to concern but Sam knew.
"What?"
"I can do the third trial."
Dean's eyes light with anger. He tried to turn away so Sam couldn't see but Sam saw. He saw the back of Dean's head shaking.
"I promise," Sam pleaded, "Dean-?"
A tear rolled down Sam's temple and into his hairline.
When Dean turned back around Sam was surprised he scooted closer to Sam.
"I know, Sammy." Dean put his hand over Sam's on his chest. "I know you can."
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! Love, Alex