TITLE: Here and Now

SUMMARY: Season 1. It's a bad night. A nightmare leaves Dean to deal with his mess of a brother.

WARNINGS: Some swearing, gratuitous sick!Sam.

A/N: This is basically a depraved excuse to write a self-indulgent sickfic. Sorry...(but not really).

Dean had finally managed to doze off.

Four-freaking-thirty in the morning and his consciousness is floating in that numb limbo, dangling between semi-awareness and blissful oblivion.

He's been up most of the night listening to Sam. Listening for indicators and warning signs in his brother's breathing pattern. Listening for the choking gasp that tends to precede the screaming.

It's been a bad couple of nights with Sam's nightmares and anxiety spiraling out of control. The fire, though two months past, is still fresh in both their minds. Its omnipotent shadow dogging each step, dictating every next move.

Dean's been watching his brother like a time bomb. The kid's a wreck. And it's more than justified except that Sam has a really hard time admitting it. Acceptance is key and all that shit.

So Dean takes it day by day. Helping whenever he's wanted and many times when he's not. He doesn't really know what the fuck he's doing but most days Sam doesn't seem to care. Most days Sam is too busy internalizing and hoarding all of the guilt to himself.

Over in the next bed Sam coughs, effectively shattering the precarious silence. There's a choked gasp and Dean listens to the sheets rustling as his brother struggles out of them.

Seconds later, heavy steps slap the linoleum as Sam stumbles into the bathroom. There's a muffled thump that definitely wasn't the door shutting. Dean rolls onto his side, groaning as he pulls his protesting limbs out of the wonderful warmth to check on his brother.

Dean shuffles, mind groggy with sleep and yawning twice before reaching the door. He's grateful Sam hasn't bothered to flip on the light. He can just make out his brother's silhouette hunched over in the far corner by the toilet.

Well, fuck. He should've been expecting that. Sighing, Dean retreats to the bedroom, turning on the nightstand lamp before retrieving a bottle of water from one of their bags.

He hears Sam gag softly before he makes it back to the bathroom.

"Sam?" Dean says in the doorway, more to make his presence known than anything else. Sam's shoulders visibly flinch but he doesn't look up from the bowl.

"Sorry," he mutters, voice thick. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Wasn't asleep," Dean answers easily. He places the water bottle within quick reach before sitting down cross-legged beside his brother. The mildewed polka-dot wallpaper isn't exactly his headrest of choice but he can make do.

"Food poisoning or nightmare?" Because at least he can give Sam the dignity of an option.

Sam swallows, scrunching his eyes closed before breathing, "Nightmare."

"Okay," Dean says like its no big deal. He's learned that the calmer he pretends to be, the easier it is to coax his brother back from the edge of guilt-induced anxiety attacks.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Sam leans over with a grunt to spit.

"Still feel sick?"

Sam's squirming now, uncomfortably shifting his legs into another awkward position. "Dean, go back to bed. I'll be fine."

Dean squints, a little pissed off by the dismissal. His brother's ashen skin is on par with a few of the ghosts they've ganked. His forehead is clammy with cold sweat and he can't help swallowing every few seconds.

"Yeah, well you look fucking peachy."

Sam gulps, body lurching involuntarily with an unproductive retch. He inhales a couple of deep breaths through his nose, rocking back and forth a little on his knees.

"Sammy," Dean places a hand on his brother's back. "You're doing that thing again."

"Mmm," Sam hums and the sound is utterly indignant. He has to compromise because opening his mouth to respond isn't an option at the moment.

"Dude, seriously," Dean continues, plowing over his brother's protest. "I know you hate it but let yourself throw up if you need to."

Sam makes a choked noise deep in his throat, shaking his head as he pushes back from the toilet to rest his cheek on the rim.

"Sam," Dean coaxes, rubbing his brother's back through the damp t-shirt.

"S-stop," Sam grits out, clearly miserable. "Touching makes it worse."

"Sorry," Dean removes his hand and decides its safe to lean back against the wall. "Just trying to help."

"I-I don't –" Sam is really struggling now. The stubborn idiot just can't let it happen, absolutely refuses to relinquish control. On some level, Sam has to realize this is nothing but a physical manifestation of psychological trauma.

Ugh, too many fancy college words for five o'clock in the morning. Dean blames his brother.

"Just relax, man."

"I can't relax," Sam groans, eyes trained on the taunting water. Dean frowns as a repressive tremor shoots down the kid's spine.

"Sammy," he tries soothing in a neutral tone. "You're making this worse than it has to be.

Silence and a few more desperate swallows.

"Fuck," Sam whimpers as he lurches over the bowl to retch up nothing again. A wet belch bubbles up as he coughs. Tears track down his flushed cheeks from the exertion, dripping silently into the water below.

Reaching the end of his patience, Dean sits up to squat behind his suffering brother. Screw this no-touching bullshit. He plants one steadying hand on Sam's neck and wraps the other around Sam's waist, pressing a palm to his contracting stomach.

"D'n, don'-" Sam's abruptly cut off by another sick burp.

"For fuck's sake, Sam," Dean presses up just a bit. "Just let your body do its thing."

"I c-can't!" Sam hiccups, close to actual tears now as he presses his forehead on the edge of the porcelain. "It fucking hurts –"

"No shit. But as soon you get this over with we can go back to bed," Dean tries to keep the yearning whine out of his voice as he's forced to bite down on another yawn. He distracts himself by massaging the base of Sam's neck.

"God," Sam moans, hauling back up to lean over the bowl. "I really hate this. I hate that –" he swallows down on another gag, "-y-you're here to see it."

"I know, bud," Dean says, applying firmer pressure to Sam's belly.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Sam pleads, breath hitching.

"Because you're hurting," Dean responds firmly. "And because you're an idiot."

Sam jabs a weak elbow in Dean's stomach, "Fucking jerk."

"Hey," Dean rubs harder, "-remember that organic chicken salad goop I brought you last week? You left it in the fridge so long it started hatching eggs of its own. The mayonnaise turned that slimy brown color and –"

That gets the job done.

Sam heaves so forcefully that he almost knocks Dean off balance. Obviously the visual imagery was the missing trigger to flipping his little brother's switch. Sam retches up a thin stream of bile, moaning as it trickles down into the bowl.

"Here we go," Dean encourages. Sam pants and squirms as his body visibly contracts. "Dude, quit fighting. Let it happen, okay?"

Another vein-popping heave and Sam's hurling up a stream of projectile vomit.

"All right," Dean continues rubbing Sam's abused stomach muscles while the kid white-knuckles the sides of the bowl through the next bout. "Okay. You're okay."

"You –" Sam heaves again, bringing up another wave of bile and half-digested dinner, "-suck," he growls.

"I know I do," Dean concedes amiably as if pacifying a toddler. He moves his hand from Sam's neck up to his forehead, pushing the sweat-soaked bangs away from his face.

Sam chokes for a few seconds before weakly spitting out the rest. He's shivering hard.

"Jesus," Dean picks up the water bottle, uncaps it. "You sure this isn't food poisoning?"

Sam's too exhausted to do anything but shake his head. Dean hands him the bottle and he takes a few careful sips, takes one more and spits it into the toilet. Sam pushes Dean's leg out of the way and slumps against the wall, panting.

"You done? Feel better?"

Dean earns a poisonous glare for his efforts. But he'll take dirty looks over a miserable brother any day.

"No, jackass. And quit touching me." Sam bats Dean's hand away before taking another swig of water. He flushes the toilet before struggling to wobbly legs and trudging over to the sink to wash his face.

Dean stands and heads back to the bedroom…and bed.

When Sam finishes up he crawls back onto his own mattress, but he doesn't lie down.

"I'm sorry," Sam says, voice rough, "-about all that."

Dean looks at his brother. Tired, grief-stricken eyes and a heavy slump resting in his shoulders that's never been there before. Sam's carefully constructed version of normal was destroyed in a single night and Dean wasn't there to stop it. In fact, he was the reason Sam wasn't there to stop it from crumbling to ash.

"Not your fault," Dean says. He wishes there was something else he could say. Because he knows how much that doesn't help.

Sam's red-rimmed eyes fill momentarily. Then he swallows, forcing it all back down.

The fucking Winchester way.

Dean can't believe he's offering, but he can't stop himself when he mumbles, "You wanna talk about it?" Sam just huffs a tired laugh and runs shaky hands through his sweat-messed hair. "The nightmare, I mean," Dean clarifies, inexplicably embarrassed.

Sam flinches, just sits there looking sick. He swallows hard, like maybe he's gonna throw up again. He clenches both sides of the mattress and glares at the carpet as if it'll burst into flames.

"Not really," he whispers, trying to smile. It looks more like a constipated grimace. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah," Dean says, voice gentle.

Sam nods, nervously shakes out his trembling hands and wipes a palm over his mouth before heading to the desk with his laptop.

"If the light keeps you up I can take it outside," Sam says as he opens the screen and types in the password.

"Nah," Dean yawns and rolls over. "Try and get to bed soon."

"M'kay," Sam responds mechanically.

He's already typing, utterly immersed in whatever the hell he's researching now.

Dean doesn't kid himself. He knows when he wakes up in a few hours his little brother will be in the same goddamn spot.

Sam won't be getting anymore sleep tonight.

END