Chapter Text
Dean was driving in the right hand lane. Classically Dean drove on the left because he was always going faster than everyone else. He only drove on the right when he wanted to be near the emergency stopping lane because one of them was sick or injured. He was barely even going the speed limit, and whenever he coughed he’d back off on the speed even more. They’d been on the road for nearly an hour when Dean pulled off suddenly onto the shoulder. He threw it in park and flung his door open, planting both feet on the ground and coughing in earnest towards the bitumen. Sam could see the sequence of events before it happened, and was already limping around to the driver’s side in time to catch Dean by the shoulder before he face planted into the road.
“Alright,” he groaned, holding Dean’s weight as he continued to hack, “You’re done.”
Dean held up a finger in the universal ‘gimme a minute’ gesture. He spat a mess onto the ground and leaned back, slumping against the seat.
“Dean,” Sam rubbed his forehead, wishing they’d stayed with Riley another day. Hell, another week .
“I’m okay,” he rasped. Sam shook his head.
“Come on.”
Sam manhandled him over to the passenger side and pressed a hand to his forehead.
“You got a fever?”
Dean shook his head, and to be honest, Sam wouldn’t be able to tell if he had one or not because he was feeling chilled himself and wondered if he was heading downhill just like Dean.
“I’ll find a motel,” Sam said, getting in the driver's seat.
“I can go a few more hours,” Dean whispered.
Sam gave a curt nod, “Okay. I’ll get us closer.”
Dean pulled his bandana out of his pocket and coughed into it. How that thing wasn’t at capacity at this point Sam had no idea.
The drive continued on with Dean shifting in his seat and coughing pretty much continuously. Sam himself was beyond tired. He had the same heaviness in his chest and ache in his bones he’d had for going on a month now but right now it was really making itself known. His head was pounding and every time Dean coughed it was like a jackhammer going through his brain. Which wouldn’t have mattered so much if Dean wasn’t coughing every five seconds.
He’d been behind the wheel for about an hour and a half and he’d already gone through two water bottles. He squinted over at Dean, who had just rearranged himself on the seat, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He was down to single layers. His grey t-shirt starting to show sweat stains under his arms. He leant forward, hand on the dash, the other pressing the sorry looking bandana to his mouth and he coughed so hard his face went bright red and the veins on his neck stood out boldly.
“Sam,” he panted, “I need to stop.”
He slumped back in his seat and shuddered. Sam felt himself relax at knowing he didn’t have to do this much longer.
“The next motel I see, we’ll stop.”
Dean nodded, saving his voice.
No one said anything else until Sam pulled up at a skeavy looking joint.
“Two rooms,” Dean rasped and Sam almost didn’t hear him.
“What?”
“Get two rooms. You need to sleep.”
Sam felt a pang of sympathy.
“I don’t think we should split up. We need to… keep an eye on each other.”
Dean shook his head.
“You need to sleep, Sam.”
“So do you.”
Dean coughed again, “Not gonna happen… like this.”
Sam frowned but he knew what his brother meant. Someone had to get them home and at this point it wasn’t looking like Dean was going to be the one to do it. And Sam’s head was screaming, his body bone weary and the thought of listening to Dean hack his way through yet another night was anything but appealing.
Sam sighed, “Alright, fine.”
…
Sam was groggy. Sleep tried to pull him back under. Thick tendrils of darkness wrapping around him. But something had woken him and he didn’t know what. The motel room was dark and quiet. And then it happened again. His phone ringing on the bedside table, buzzing against the wood and trilling through his aching head. He fumbled for it, knocking it to the floor. He scrambled out of bed, wound up on his ass, leg throbbing.
It was Riley.
“Riley,” his voice was husky and he coughed to clear his throat, struggling to catch his breath again.
“Sam, is everything okay?”
“Yeah… yeah, we stopped for a break.”
“Is Dean with you?” Her tone was full of concern and Sam was suddenly pushing himself to his feet.
“We, uh, got separate rooms. He didn’t wanna keep me up. Why do you ask?”
“He called me and I missed it. Now he won’t answer.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go check on him and call you back.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
Sam pushed his socked feet into his boots and grabbed the two keys for his and Dean’s rooms. Dean was across the lot. They didn’t have two rooms next to each other, not that Dean probably would have allowed that. He wanted Sam to get some sleep and motel walls were thin and the way Dean was coughing the sound was going to carry.
Sam was surprised by how bright it was outside, although they hadn’t made it far before they’d stopped.
He knocked on Dean’s door softly.
“Dean? You awake?”
No answer was enough for him to unlock the door and let himself in. His eyes went to the bed and he was worried for a split second to find it empty, before he saw Dean sitting up in the armchair by the window. He was slumped to the side, eyes closed, mouth open. Dead asleep. Not dead. Asleep. Sam confirmed, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Even like this, it looked like he was struggling.
The bed clothes were messed up. The two measly flat motel pillows bunched against the headboard. Clearly he hadn’t been able to get himself upright enough to be able to breathe so he’d passed out in the chair. The bottle of cough expectorant was open on the nightstand and looked significantly more empty than it had yesterday. Trust Dean to practically OD the first time he’s left unsupervised.
Sam approached his brother. His instinct was to press his fingers against the side of his neck to check his pulse and the warmth of his skin, but if he did that he’d probably end up with a 10 inch hunting knife buried in his abdomen before Dean even knew what he was doing. So he settled with hovering a palm close to his forehead to feel for heat. He was radiating a little warmth but he wasn’t cooking.
His phone was on the floor next to the chair, like it had been on the arm and he’d knocked it off. Or maybe the vibrating of Riley’s 8 missed phone calls had knocked it off.
Sam was a little concerned that the phone calls and his presence in the room hadn’t roused his brother but at least he was getting some sleep. His body had finally given in.
Sam closed the door gently behind him, pushing back out into the afternoon glow and pulled out his phone.
Riley answered immediately.
“What’s going on?”
“He’s okay. He’s sleeping. Out cold in an armchair,” Sam huffed, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.
“Okay… that’s good. I was just - “
“I know. He worries me too,” Sam laughed.
“Sam… you’ll watch out for him, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“No, I mean… you’re going to save him?”
Sam chewed his bottom lip, head down in a short clipped nod, “You’re damn right I will.”
“Okay, good… Sam… you’ll call me, right? If you need anything. If something…”
“Yeah.”
“Promise me.”
“Riley, I promise.”
Sam let himself back into Dean's room. His brother's right shoelace was undone but his shoes were still on. Sam sighed and knelt down at his feet. He carefully slipped Dean’s feet out of his shoes and placed them to the side. He took the top blanket off the bed and lay it over his brother before placing his phone in his lap.
He ran a hand through his hair, realised that his head was still pounding. He sat at the end of Dean’s bed and flopped onto his back. It felt good to be horizontal again.
The next thing he was aware of was his own shoes being taken off and his legs lifted up onto the bed, accompanied by some hoarse mumbling about getting separate rooms for a reason. And he let himself be comforted by his brother’s voice and only half tried to listen to the phone call he was making.
…
“Did you send Sam to come check on me?”
“Well, what did you expect me to do? You wouldn’t answer your phone.”
“Can’t a guy sleep in peace?”
“You called me, Dean .”
“I know… I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Not ever.”
“It’s just… it’s been hard, you know. Seeing you again. I don’t know what I expected. What I wanted.”
“Did you think it would be easy?”
“Well, you’re always easy, Riles.”
“Hey, watch it, hotshot.”
Dean laughed, coughed for a minute.
“Riley, I…”
“It’s okay... I know you do.”
“I never meant for this to happen.”
“What part?”
“All of it.”
“All of it?”
“Well, no, the crazy monkey sex I would do again, and again… and again.”
“Alright, okay.”
Dean grinned.
“Just don’t… don’t date guys like Jason. Find someone who treats you right.”
“Dean… I’m done with all that.”
“Don’t say that to me.”
“What? The truth?”
“I want you to be happy, Riley.”
“I am happy. And it’s not like I’m living life without knowing what love is.”
Dean felt the tears in his eyes and he grimaced trying to keep them there. He failed. He knew it was love. Because only love could hurt this much.
“Dean, it's okay. It’s enough. You’re enough.”
Riley was quiet while he cried. When he pushed out a controlled breath, trying to quell the tears, she spoke again.
“And if you’re ever around… come back to me. I don’t care for how long.”
“Look, Riles, I’ve tried this before. It doesn’t -”
“I’m not Lisa.”
“... excuse me?”
“That was her name, right? The one you tried to settle down with?”
“Riley, you don’t -”
“I’m not asking anything of you, Dean. I know how much you’ve poured out. So, this isn’t about taking from your cup. It’s about filling it.”
Dean shook his head and mustered a wry smile, “How do you… have this way of getting inside?”
“Piñata novia.”
“What?”
“It’s a song.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, Dean… if you get tired, call me. If you get low, call me. Just…”
“Call you?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
Riley hung up before he could muster a response.
Dean pressed the phone to his forehead and closed his eyes.
He was groggy from the cough syrup and sick to his stomach. He looked over at Sam, sprawled on his back across his bed. It was fine. He wouldn’t be using it anyway.
He’d tried to lie down earlier and realised he felt like he was suffocating and he didn’t have enough pillows to make himself comfortable and still be able to breathe. The chair was the last option, and while it really wasn’t comfortable and now he had a crick in his neck he couldn’t massage away, at least he could breathe.
He slumped back in his chair and coughed against the blanket. He coughed and wheezed for a few minutes until he heard Sam shift.
“Use your inhaler.”
Dean grumbled and got back up, searching his bag for the blue plastic canister. He hated the stuff but he couldn’t deny that it was necessary.
Dean pressed a palm against his sternum and took a few hits of ventolin. He took the inhaler back to his nest with him, covered himself up with the blanket, looked at Sam one more time, and crashed back into sleep.
…
The next thing Dean knew was being shaken awake. He was so deeply asleep, not even dreaming, that consciousness slammed into him like an 18 wheeler. He coughed and leaned forward, knocking Sam’s intrusive hands away.
“Dean.”
“Fuck me,” he groaned, trying to open his eyes. It was bright.
“It’s check out time,” Sam said, urgently.
“What?” He squinted up at Sam, who was sporting some impressive bed hair.
“We slept too long.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy just came around. We gotta go.”
Dean rubbed his eye with a fist, “‘Time is it?”
“11:15.”
“How the fuck?”
Dean got his eyes open as Sam dropped to a seat on the edge of the bed, massaging his right temple.
“Sam, y’okay?”
“Uh… yeah, ugh … headache.”
Dean held onto the chair as he got to his feet.
“Okay, gimme a sec to catch my breath.”
He shouldn’t have needed a sec but he did. He wandered into the bathroom and ripped off a length of toilet paper, blowing his nose and coughing for a solid minute. He threw the disgusting tissues away and grabbed a hand towel to wipe his sweat, coming back out to the room.
“Sam, go pack your crap. I’ll meet you in the car.”
Sam nodded slowly, giving away how much his head hurt.
“Take your pills.”
Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother, “Only if you take yours.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “No complaints here.”
Sam braced his leg as he stood and Dean watched the colour drain from his face.
“ Gahh, ” he moaned, “Think I, maybe, need the strong stuff.”
Dean cleared his throat, “Okay.”
“What about you? How’s the shoulder?”
Dean laughed which made him cough, he slapped his chest a few times, “The shoulder’s the least of my worries.”
Sam furrowed his brow.
“I’m fine. I’ll take first shift.”
Sam gave him a tiny nod and left, back towards his own room. That he hadn’t even spent any time in. What a waste of money, Dean cursed.
Dean could actually say he was feeling better. Getting a ridiculous amount of uninterrupted sleep will do wonders. Although he had to sit back down and brace his elbows on his knees while he coughed into the towel for a few minutes, shaking loose the remnants of infection.
Fuck, his chest hurt. He needed tiger balm or liniment cream or something. It felt like he’d gone 12 rounds with Tyson.
When he brought the towel away from his mouth it was flecked with green mucus and fresh blood. He cleared his throat and balled up the towel, chucking it through the open bathroom door.
He wished they hadn’t slept right up till check out because he needed to shower and to change. He was in the same clothes from the day before and hadn’t had the energy to do anything about it. He’d been sweating even more than normal and knew he was ripe. They’d have to hit a rest stop or something. If they took any more time they’d be hit with a bill for another night.
Dean bent to lace up his boots, clambering to his feet with a groan and grabbing his duffle when he was done.
Sam was across the lot, locking his room. He turned and nodded when he saw Dean coming.
Dean gestured over Baby’s hood, “Gimme your keys. I’ll… check out.”
He wished he hadn’t had to stop for a breath mid sentence, but he figured he was fairing better than Sam right now, even with his shortness of breath. He felt like he was in Denver.
“Dean, I can -“
“Get in the car, Sam.”
…
Sam woke to his seat rocking back and forth. It disrupted his neck and his head felt like it had actually cracked down the centre. He felt stiff as a board and his mouth was dry, tongue sticking to his gums.
He pried one eye open to see the dusky pink sunsetting sky out his window. They were trundling along slowly. Gridlock. He moved his leg and winced, bringing a hand up to rub at his crusty eyes.
Wait… sunset?
Looking at Dean, Sam realised what it was that was rocking his seat. Dean was coughing like a trouper, into what Sam could only guess was an old tshirt. He looked beyond exhausted, his eyes hanging out of his head, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Dean, what the fuck ?” Sam croaked, taking in his brother and his surroundings. “How long have you been driving?”
Dean opened his mouth to answer but a cough stole his words and he hunched back into the tshirt again, shoulders curled, body racking. Sam looked at his watch.
“It’s 5:45,” he said incredulously, “Did you even stop?”
Dean dropped the shirt next to him and palmed his forehead. They came to a lurching stop and Dean flung his door open. He made it 2 steps before he collapsed on the bitumen shoulder.
“Dean!”
Sam was not the quickest to respond to the situation. Guys from the two cars behind them were already out and crouched by Dean’s side by the time Sam could reach him, a third man running towards them from the opposite direction. Dean was conscious, clutching at his now grazed and bleeding elbow, red with embarrassment, or maybe fever. Sam put his hand to the side of his face. Confirmed.
“You’re burning up, dude.”
The two guys helped Sam get Dean up, one of them noticing how wobbly Sam was on his feet.
“Hey, are you alright?”
Sam nodded, feeling anything but alright, and stepped back to let the other guys drag Dean to the car.
“Careful of his shoulder,” Sam said, limping behind them. “He’s injured.”
“Need directions to the hospital?”
“You alright, man? Look at me.”
“Where are we putting him? In the back?”
“Do you need me to call 911?”
“ Sam ,” Dean's voice broke through the noise.
When Sam opened his eyes he was leaning against the car with his head in his hand. Dean was extracting himself from the good samaritans to get a closer look at his brother before Sam finally spoke up.
“I’m alright. We’re alright.”
Dean looked relieved for a split second and then his legs went lax underneath him and the guys caught him on his way back down.
“Put him up front. He has to sit up.”
Traffic was slowly navigating itself around the four cars stopped on the road, as the guys delivered Dean into the passenger seat. A woman approached who had also pulled over, holding out a couple of hospital sick bags.
“Here. You need these? I always have plenty in my car for the kids.”
Dean clutched them in his shaking hand and dropped them onto his lap.
“Thank you,” Sam smiled, “We’ll be fine, thanks.”
Sam folded himself carefully into the driver's seat, feeling like his head was about to explode.
“You’re such an idiot,” Sam huffed, pulling a clean bandana out of his back pocket and pressing it to Dean’s arm.
“Just -“ Dean broke off to gag into his sick bag, “wanna get home,” he groaned.
Sam sighed and dabbed at his brother's arm a few more times, thankful to see it had stopped bleeding, but he’d taken a fair chunk of skin off. He shifted the car into drive and rubbed his fingers across his pounding forehead. Traffic was moving slightly faster now so at least they wouldn’t be trapped in the car for too much longer. Dean gagged again and this time he released his stomach contents into the bag.
“You’re a mess,” Sam bit, “I thought you were feeling better.”
“Shut up,” Dean moaned, muffled through the plastic bag.
Sam shook his head and kept his eyes out for a hotel.
When he finally saw a sign he realised they’d made it to Louisville Kentucky. At least they were more or less halfway home.
Sam peered to the right at his brother through squinting eyes, trying to bring him into sharper focus.
Just wanna get home.
Sam had a feeling this wasn’t about what Dean was running towards. It was what he was running away from .
Sam found a hotel. Normally they didn’t like to stay in the middle of the city. Discretion was key in a job like theirs and finding something lower end, where strict records weren’t kept, and no one asked any questions was always preferable to comfort. But they weren’t on a job right now. They weren’t actively being chased by anything that they knew of. And they were both so bad right now that Sam didn’t think he’d be able to get them even twenty minutes further. They needed to stop now.
“Dean, are you conscious?” Sam asked, parking Baby in the underground garage.
Dean's face was still buried in the sick bag but he’d stopped retching, curled over, eyes closed, breath sawing.
“ Nnngh .”
“Yeah, I know, man. You did a good job getting us this far.”
Sam got out of the car and took a moment to lean on the roof. His head was still pounding and he needed to eat something. Dean was making no effort to get out of the car. Sam sighed and went to the trunk to grab their duffles. With both bags over his right shoulder, he went to collect Dean.
He opened the door, Dean was leaning so far forward his head was pressing into the dashboard.
“Dean, come on. I got all our stuff, you gotta help me.”
Dean groaned and coughed into the sick bag, stomach heaving again.
Sam ran a hand up and down his warm sweaty back, then wrapped his hand around Dean’s bicep and started tugging him.
Dean sluggishly navigated his feet out of the car onto the ground.
“That’s it. I got’cha,” Sam said, hoisting him upright.
They staggered towards the elevators, Dean still clutching the bag.
“You done with that? Here, toss it,” Sam guided him over to the bin and Dean relinquished the bag.
“Man, you smell like you’re homeless,” Sam teased, leaning Dean up against the wall to wait for the elevator.
“Where’r’we?” Dean mumbled, covering his eyes with his hand.
“Hotel,” Sam said as the elevator dinged.
“We have to go check in.”
They got to the ground floor where reception was and Sam settled Dean on one of the lounges, putting their bags at his feet while he went to the desk. Dean coughed into his elbow and Sam could see heads turning towards him. He couldn’t wait to get Dean up to the room and away from concerned citizens.
Sam quickly filled in the forms and handed over his credit card. The girl at the desk looked at him with sympathetic eyes and he couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. They looked terrible, they smelled even worse, and Dean hadn’t stopped coughing since he sat him down.
“Okay, come on, man. Nearly there.”
Dean slung his arm over Sam’s shoulders and the added weight hurt his leg even more. But Dean was furnace hot, and struggling just to breathe without coughing.
By the time they got to the room, Dean broke away, heading for the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and Sam heard him throwing up into the toilet. He sighed and sat down on the bed near the window, letting Dean have the one closest to the bathroom, and raised his leg up onto the bed.
After a minute, the toilet flushed and Dean staggered out.
“You alright?”
Dean nodded, looking pale and so weak.
“Why are you throwing up?”
“I don’t know,” he groaned, sitting on his bed, back to Sam.
“Yes, you do, Dean.”
“Sam, please.”
“It’s the mark, isn’t it?”
Dean cleared his throat and pulled his shirt off over his head, hissing at the pain in his shoulder. He bent to untie his boot laces and slip them off.
“What are you doing?” Sam sighed as he watched Dean struggling to unbutton his pants.
“Need’a shower,” he slurred.
Sam slowly got to his feet and grabbed the pills out of his duffel. The strong painkillers, nausea pills, and decongestants. He also grabbed Dean’s inhaler from his bag and placed it on the nightstand.
“It can wait. You’re burning up. Just rest a little.”
Dean shivered and accepted the pills, knocking them back with the smallest sip of water he could manage.
“Sam -“
Sam pushed at Dean until he flopped down with his head on the pillow.
“Go to sleep, big brother. You’ve earned it.”
Sam took some of the strong stuff for his head and was trying to find the room service menu when he realised Dean couldn’t breathe lying flat like that. The cough started and it was clear Dean didn’t have the strength to get himself upright.
“Alright,” Sam groaned, hauling Dean up to the edge of his bed, “Come on.”
Deans elbows found his knees and he coughed towards the ground.
“You good, man?” Sam asked, clapping him on the shoulder.
Dean nodded weakly.
Sam went to the wardrobe and found two more pillows on the top shelf. He created a ramp at the head of Dean’s bed and helped him lay back on them.
“Better?”
Dean closed his eyes, panting through his mouth, brow creased a tiny bit in the middle like he was in pain. Sam frowned and placed the back of his hand against his brother’s forehead. Dean opened one eye.
“Diagnosis?”
“I’m worried, man.”
Dean flapped a hand.
“It’s not fine.”
Dean squinted at Sam and then relaxed back even further, letting his eyes slip shut again, “Snuck up on me… I was okay until I wasn’t…”
Sam nodded even though Dean couldn’t see him. He grabbed his brother’s arm and turned it over gently to examine the gravel rash up his arm. It looked angry and was weeping serous. He would end up with a hell of a scab.
“We should clean this later.”
“Mm.”
“I’m gonna order some food.”
Dean didn’t reply. Sam found the menu on the desk and sat down on his bed before he fell down.
“ God, ” he winced, rubbing his temple. The pounding behind his eyes was so bad he could barely read. He needed something bland for Dean, if he could even stomach anything at all.
He phoned room service and ordered a chicken sandwich, a steak sandwich, and a bowl of tomato soup. He needed to get some food into himself before he could focus on Dean.
Sam allowed himself to lie back on the bed. It made his head pound even more and despite sleeping all day in the car he found he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Next thing he knew there was a knock on the door and a gentle “room service” being called.
He dragged himself upright, leaning on the wall with his eyes closed until the world stopped spinning, then hobbled towards the door. There was a young man on the other side with a trolley and 2 trays on it. His eyes lingered on Sam and for a moment he thought he was going to ask what was wrong with him but he kept his mouth shut and wheeled the trolley into the room. He actually did a double take when he saw Dean, who was doing a fantastic impersonation of a dead body, save for the wheezy breathing, but blessedly he didn’t make a comment. Just placed both trays on the table and left, telling him to have a good night.
Sam grabbed the plate with the steak sandwich and took it to bed with him. Dean stirred and moaned.
“Sorry about the food smells, man, but I gotta eat.”
Dean's breathing was getting quicker and shallower.
“You gonna be sick again?” Sam asked, not really expecting an answer. He shoved a bite of sandwich in his mouth and grabbed one of the sick bags, hurling it onto Dean’s bed like a frisbee.
Dean groped blindly for it, eyes still closed.
“ Fuck, this sucks,” he rasped.
“You gotta keep those pills down before your brain boils like an egg.”
“ Uuuuhhg ,” Dean shifted uncomfortably on the bed, let out an uncovered cough, “Could do with some… angel mojo right about now.”
Sam huffed around his sandwich, “We can’t ask Cas. Not with him living on borrowed grace.”
“Mm.”
They’d already discussed it before they took the hunt. Lying around coughing and sneezing miserably with the flu for weeks. But Cas was in no position to use his healing powers and they couldn’t ask that of him right now.
“Just try and sleep, Dean. I’ll wake you when it’s time for antibiotics.”
Dean put his right arm over his eyes and wet his lips. Sam waited until he was sure he’d fallen asleep again before he whispered, “I will find a way to save you.”