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They'd had a fight. Stupid really; Sam complained of a headache, Dean jumped to mean conclusions and Sam snapped back. But, no big deal; Sam clunked down on his bed with his laptop and settled in for a nice brood while Dean went out to get drunk.
It was only an hour after Dean had left when he was sliding the key into the door again. Turned out, bars closed early in this town (stupid bible-banging protestants and their prohibition bullshit), 2:34am was, apparently, too late to get a drink. Anywhere. Last call, 2:00am – county-wide. So Dean had settled for a six pack from the only 24-hour kwik-e-mart.
As he closed the door, Dean started to explain himself to Sam before an interrogation started but stopped short when he actually took in the room; the TV was off, there was no laptop to be found, Sam was curled up on the furthest bed, and the only light was the soft glow filtering through the curtains and the dim attempt from a lamp that Sam had thrown a shirt over, making it all but pointless.
“Sam?” He whispered, setting the six-pack on the table; the bottles rattled like firecrackers in the silent room. He saw Sam's shoulders flinch the slightest bit from the noise and that just couldn't be good. So Dean kicked his boots off and padded over to the bed, sinking onto the side of it. The dip of the mattress had Sam rolling and a very strangled moan got stuck in the younger man's throat. Dean didn't want to hear that again if he could help it.
“Dude,” Dean started, instinctively dropping his voice to the softest, quietest whisper he could manage, “you gotta tell me what's wrong.”
Sam whimpered in response but said nothing else. Dean was starting to think that was all the answer he would get when Sam finally took an obviously pained breath and rasped, “Migraine.”
Well, shit.
“Did you take anything?” Nnm-mm; damn it, Sammy couldn't even shake his head. “Ok, hang on.” And Dean was up off the bed and across the room, leaving Sam to groan as his body changed angles again.
He was careful to keep the bottle of pain killers as still as possible and when he had to tap the pills out, he did so underneath a pile of clothes, muting the noise. He swung the bathroom door closed as much as he could without latching it before he filled up a glass of water.
“Sam?” He didn't want to sit back on the bed, so he reached out and laid his hand gently on his little brother's shoulder. Relief filled him when Sam didn't jerk away from the touch. “You gotta roll over, okay? Take these for me?”
Sam rolled over but didn't seem to want to take the pills. “Dean,” he managed to say, “I'll puke.” And the beaten, desperate look that Dean saw peaking out through Sam's sweat-damp bangs broke his heart.
“Here, just get some fluids in you, 'kay?” Dean pushed the glass into Sam's face and Sam accepted it, albeit reluctantly, and managed to prop himself up on one elbow without complaining too much.
He took small, hesitant sips at first but Dean guessed Sam's nausea wasn't that bad because the boy downed half the glass in two swallows. He flopped into the mattress, head lolling on the flat pillow. “Put the pills there...,” He mumbled, motioning lazily at the beside table, eyes fluttering shut again. “I'll take 'em in a second...” Dean took Sam's silent moment to shuck off his layers, jeans and flannel dropped haphazardly on his duffel as he walked back into the bathroom.
Sam had managed to sit up on the side of the bed and was reaching for the pills as Dean walked back over to him. The elder brother set a cool, damp washcloth over the back of Sam's neck, letting his fingers run through the long hair curling around his little brother's ears. He was pretty certain he heard the word Thanks.
He sat down next to Sam as easily as he could, trying not to disturb the mattress beneath them. Sam brought the tablets up to his mouth, popped them in and – started chewing. Dean had to bite back shocked laughter. Sam's face twisted at the taste and he quickly chased the remnants down with the last of the water.
“Dude,” Dean couldn't help grinning like an idiot, “What the fuck?”
“I told you,” Sam sighed, rubbing his head and putting the glass back down on the table. “I'd puke... solid and all that... thought it'd be worth a try.” He sighed deeply again and tilted to the side until his head settled on Dean's shoulder. “This sucks...”
Dean frowned, wanting nothing more than to swap places with his little brother. “I know, Sammy,” was all he could say, letting his hand rub easy circles over Sam's back and then thread through his hair. They stayed that way for a while until Sam made a small, pleading noise and tugged at the back of Dean's t-shirt, can we lay down?
Dean nodded softly, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder in the softest, gentlest hug imaginable, and stood up while his brother laid back. He smiled down at the over-grown boy and pulled the washcloth out from under him, placing it on Sam's forehead instead. He took Sam's shoes off, then undid his jeans and, convincing Sam to lift his hips for just two fucking seconds, princess, yanked them off and threw them onto the other bed.
Sam didn't move after that; he stayed flopped back on the mattress, arms askew and legs hanging over the side of the bed.
“Sam.”
“Mmnph.”
“Sam,” Dean grumbled, “Come on.”
Sam grumbled continuously as he pulled his legs up and onto the mattress, straightening out with his head on the pillows.
“Such a little bitch,” Dean smirked.
Without missing a beat, Sam countered, “Such a big jerk.”
Dean hesitated at the edge of the bed, not sure of what to do with himself. It was late and Sam had to be exhausted, but Dean wanted to make sure his little brother was okay before settling in for the night. He started to turn away toward his own bed when he felt Sam's clammy hand wrap around his wrist.
“Mmnn,” Sam mumbled into his pillow and managed to tug at Dean's arm.
Dean gave his brother a skeptical look before settling onto the bed, propping himself up on a pillow. Sam immediately pulled him closer, arm wrapped around Dean's middle, and buried his face against his shoulder. Smiling affectionately, Dean twined his fingers in Sam's hair, playing with the soft curls for a while.
They must've drifted off to sleep at some point because the next thing Dean knew he was listening to morning traffic and the room was bright with daylight. He started to stretch but became instantly aware of the heavy weight on top of him. Looking down he saw Sam starting to rouse; hazels eyes blinked their way into consciousness and then up, through a mess of hair, to Dean's face. There was a long, drawn-out awkward moment as they both realized they'd spent the night this way.
And then Dean smacked Sam up-side his head, “Feelin' better, Sammy?” Signature grin cracking his features.
Sam groaned and rolled over, away from Dean, and curled around the extra pillow, “Go get some fucking coffee.”
Dean was happy to oblige.