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14. Bedridden
Dean winced as he drove; his stomach was twisting into knots and it was making sweat pop up on his forehead. He leaned over the steering wheel, trying to take some pressure off his stomach, but it didn’t seem to be doing much.
“Dean? You okay?” Sam asked from the passenger seat. His brows were furrowed with worry when he noticed the way Dean was hunched over and gritting his teeth.
“I don’t know, man, my stomach is killing me all of a sudden.” Dean winced again and wrapped an arm around his middle.
“Pull over, I’ll drive,” Sam offered. He didn’t like the way the color in Dean’s face was slowly changing from his usual pallor to a grey-green color. “Good thing we’re already heading to Bobby’s, huh?”
“Nnngh,” was all Dean said, slowing the car and pulling it to the shoulder. He pushed the gear shaft into park and practically rolled out of the car into the gravel on the side of the road, landing on his hands and knees.
“Dean!” Sam was around the front of the car in a flash, crouching next to his brother, a hand on his shoulder to keep him upright. “You okay?”
Dean nodded despite the heat rising up from the center of him; he knew what came next, as much as he didn’t want it to happen. His mouth began to water and sweat was dripping down his spine; his mouth forced itself open as a gag rose out of him, and before he knew it, he was vomiting onto the ground in front of him. It splashed, soaking the front of his pants and a bit of this shirt, but there wasn’t even time for him to readjust before more vomit was spilling out of him.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Let it all out,” Sam said while he rubbed Dean’s back. After a few minutes, it seemed like Dean was empty. “Done?”
Dean nodded, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Think so.” His stomach was still cramping violently, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up on his side and never move again.
“Here, let me help you into the car.” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and hoisted him up.
Dean let out a whine and closed his eyes against the dizziness that threatened to overtake him, but Sam wouldn’t let him fall.
Sam opened the back door of the impala and pushed at Dean until he was curled up in the backseat, the emergency blanket spread over him and Sam’s jacket balled under his head like a pillow. “You’re burning up, dude,” Sam said gently as he got Dean situated. He could feel the heat baking off his brother.
Dean didn’t say much; he just curled around himself and tried to alleviate the knots in his stomach.
“We’ll be at Bobby’s soon, okay? Just hang tight.” Sam closed Dean into the back seat and got into the drivers seat, speeding towards Bobby’s house.
“About time you two idjits showed up,” Bobby said as he opened his door for the Winchester brothers. “Woah, what happened to him?”
Sam was practically carrying Dean into the house; he was still covered in vomit and shaking, his fever sending tremors running through him. “Stomach bug, I guess. Came on really suddenly.” Sam pulled Dean through the door and straight up the stairs to the bathroom.
“Strip,” Sam instructed, sitting Dean on the toilet lid.
“I wanna go to bed,” Dean whined. His stomach was still roiling and cramping and he wanted nothing more than to crawl under the blankets of his twin size bed.
“Dude, you’re covered in puke. Strip.” Sam started the shower and adjusted the temperature so that it would maybe help lower Dean’s fever a little. When he turned back around, Dean hadn’t moved. Rolling his eyes, Sam sighed and stripped Dean down to his boxers himself and gently nudged him into the tub.
“It’s freezing!” Dean yelped, flinching where the water was touching him.
“It’s not, I promise. Just rinse off and then you can go to bed.” Sam handed him a washcloth and some soap.
Dean quickly washed and rinsed, shutting the water off as quickly as he could. Sam was waiting with a towel, and Dean dried off on shaky legs. He knew he was pushing his luck, being upright for so long.
“Beds are made, trash can is next to his,” Bobby called through the door as he walked by.
“Thanks,” Sam responded. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He wrapped Dean’s arm around his shoulder and helped him into their bedroom. Bobby had turned down the sheets on Dean’s bed, and the older brother immediately curled up on his side. Sam pulled the covers up over his shoulder and moved the trash can a little so it was in easier reach before resting his hands on his hips. “Need anything?”
“No, thanks.” Dean’s eyes were closed and scrunched as a cramp rolled through him. He heard Sam leave the room, and curled tighter in on himself. If he never moved again it would be too soon.
Sam looked at his watch. It had been six hours since he’d tucked Dean into bed and he hadn’t heard a peep since. “Think he’s still alive?” Sam asked Bobby.
Bobby huffed out a laugh. “Probably. Want me to check on him?”
“No, no, I can. Be right back.” Sam stood and climbed the stairs two at a time, pausing outside their bedroom door to listen for any sounds that Dean was still alive. He went into the darkening room and looked over at Dean’s bed. He was sound asleep, and there was no vomit in the trash can, so Sam called it good and left the room. He stopped in the bathroom to fill a glass with water before returning to their room and leaving the glass, along with some Tylenol, on the nightstand.
“How is he?” Bobby asked when Sam sat next to him on the couch.
“Hasn’t moved.”
“Damn. Takes a lot to keep him bedridden. Wonder what caused it.”
“I dunno. One second he was fine and then the next second he was pulling over to barf all over himself.” Sam sighed. “Hopefully he keeps his germs to himself.”
Bobby laughed at that. “Fat chance. Good luck.”
Sam sighed and settled in to watch tv with Bobby.