Chapter Text
"Are you sure that you're okay, Sam," called Dean as his head popped up from the grave that they had been digging.
At least, it had been 'we' until a little while ago. Sam's constant coughing and sneezing had caused the congestion to shift in his head and caused his nose to just drip without any sign of stopping. So, Dean had told him to sit and hold the flashlight for him instead. However, it had just started to rain in almost thirty degree weather and now Sam looked even worse then when they started.
Dean huffed in anger when he saw Sam staring off into space and not answering him. "Sam!"
Sam jumped in shock as he looked at his brother. He let out a breath of fear before he gulped. "Oh, yeah, Dean," he sniffled as he rubbed a glove glad hand against his red, irritated nostrils.
Dean frowned. "I asked if you were okay," Dean repeated.
Sam wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question. His nose was twitching madly and he looked sicker than sick. His cheeks were flushed with obvious fever, while his throat felt like it was being constantly rubbed with sandpaper whenever he swallowed. His chest felt like an elephant was standing on it, and his ears were so clogged that he could hardly hear. If you didn't count any of that then he felt fine. He knew better than to lie to his brother, however, knowing that Dean would be able to see straight through him.
"I'b fine, Deadn. ATcschzzz!"
Dean jumped at the explosive sound of Sam's sneeze. Sam had tried to contain it to the best of his ability, but he wasn't very successful at it. He looked embarrassed as he glanced up, rubbing the gloved hand even harder against his nose. His glove was basically dripping in rain and his own snot by now and there was nothing that could be done about it and Dean knew that. That's why it pissed him off to no end.
"I can't believe that we couldn't wait to do this! But, no, Bobby said as soon as we could get this done we had to, and apparently that meant now, and you just had to catch a damn cold," Dean snarled, more annoyed at the situation than at Sam himself.
Sam knew that Dean wasn't directly talking to him and that he wasn't angry at him. But, it didn't help how loud Dean's voice had grown. Sam ducked his head down and sighed loudly, throat and mouth tickling like mad. He rubbed his glove against his face again and coughed painfully. He felt like he was going to pass out with his mind beginning to grow more hazy by the minute.
"Are you albost done," Sam whimpered.
Dean's attention turned from vengeful to caring older brother in no time flat."Yeah, Sammy, I'm almost done," he told him with a reassuring smile.
Sam dipped his head as he sat back on the muddy ground and flashed the light down. He sniffed hard since he didn't have any tissues on him, but his nose had started to run again and it was beyond the point of ignoring. He growled as he lifted his glove forcefully against his nose, which had turned almost raw and frozen to the touch.
"Dean," Sam called.
Dean thrust his shovel against the ground as firmly as he could as he threw the dirt onto the even ground. He turned to Sam, shivering himself. "Yeah, Sammy?"
"Do you habe a tissue or sobething," he pleaded as he snuffled heavily, choking back a glob of phlegm in the back of his throat. "My dose is ruddig.”
Dean patted each of his pockets twice and managed to produce a semi dry bandanna. He waved it around as Sam leaned forward and swiped it from his brother. He brought it up to his nose and blew his nose loudly. Once he was finished he leaned back and breathed with his mouth open. His nostrils gleamed in the moonlight and Dean could see the sweat on Sam’s forehead.
"Sam," Dean asked as he noticed just how out of it Sam seemed to be. The thought only intensified when he noticed that Sam’s hands were starting to shake so much that he couldn't hold the flashlight firm anymore and it was shaking all over the place. "Sam!"
Sam looked over in surprise as Dean walked over. The grave wasn't too deep yet and he was glad that this small town didn't practice the common 6 feet under rule that everywhere else did. He quickly pulled off one of his gloves and pressed a freezing hand against Sam's forehead. Sam actually leaned into his brother’s touch, which was Dean's first concern.
"Sam, you're like a freaking furnace," Dean fretted as he rested the back of his hand against both of Sam’s cheeks.
Worry showed on Sam's face as he gave a squelching sniffle. "Is that bad?"
"Just a little," Dean lied since he didn't want to worry Sam. However, this wasn't good. Sam had a tendency to spike crazy high fevers out of nowhere when he had a small cold. They had been lucky so far, but it was clear that their luck was about to run out. "Just stay focused on me, okay? When we get back to the motel you're going to have a bath."
Sam looked beyond confused. "Bath?"
"Yeah, Sammy. It'll help with that fever that you're sporting," he answered as he turned back to the task at hand. "Just give me like ten minutes and then we'll be out of here, okay?"
Sam wasn't really sure what else he could tell his brother. Instead, he sighed and nodded in defeat. "Yeah, Dean," he answered with his features drawn in exhaustion.
Dean went back to shoveling and the sound of it was probably the only thing that was keeping Sam awake. He dozed off a few times, but caught his head before it could fall forward. He was just cold, sick, and miserable, and wanted to get out of there.
Sam sighed as he turned his head to the side, grimacing as rain dripped onto his head and trickled down his neck. He blinked his eyes when he saw something almost transparent coming toward them. It stuck out a hand toward him as it floated over to them. Sam looked at it in surprise before he sniffled again, leading to an explosive volley of sneezes.
"AtTchzz! AtchChzz!"
"Bless you," Dean called over his shoulder.
Sam was too stunned by what he was witnessing to actually respond to his brother in any way. He continued to look forward with his mouth slight ajar as his nose ran freely, but it mixed with the rain dousing his face so he wasn't as bothered by it.
"Did you hear me, Sam? There's usually an accurate response when someone says 'bless you'," Dean pointed out, just trying to keep Sam awake. He really didn't care if Sam answered him or not, but he couldn't have him going to sleep with a spiking fever like that. That would require a trip to the emergency room and he couldn't bring in a soaked Sam there. They would have someone investigating them in no time flat.
Suddenly, the sound of a thud caught Dean's attention. He turned just in time to see the ghost of Mrs. Charleton throw Sam into a tombstone. His head snapped against it with a sickening crunch that caused Dean's blood to turn to ice in his veins.
"Sam," Dean screeched as he jumped out of the grave and shot rock salt immediately a her. She disappeared for the time being with a scream while Dean rushed to his brother side. He kneeled down and ripped off his glove and ran his fingers through Sam's wet hair, checking for injuries along his head and down his neck. "Sam? Sam! Sammy!”
Sam didn't respond and when Dean looked down he saw blood running out from under the back of his brother’s head and mixed with rain and sweat. Dean lifted Sam’s head delicately and saw an impressive sized gash that’s oozed thick crimson liquid. Alarm pooled in Dean’s stomach as he began to shake Sam's shoulders madly. "Sam!"
Sam opened one eye, but looked beyond disoriented. Dean went to touch his head, but Sam immediately winced and tried to draw back against the tombstone even more. Dean could only guess that Sam had some sort of a concussion thanks to the impact thanks to his skull colliding with the tombstone.
"You stay right here, Sammy. I-I'll be right back," Dean told him in a small whisper.
Sam didn't nod, but he did snap forward with an uncovered sneeze that almost caught’s Dean's hand in the spray. "AtcShzz! Atchshshzz! ATcshShzzz! Ow."
"Bless you. Hang tight," Dean whispered as he stood up and loaded another shell. He cocked the barrel back and looked around apprehensively, gaze scanning for any sign of the old hag. "Show yourself you son of a bitch!"
There was snickering all around him and Dean didn't even want to think where it could be coming from. He looked around in the darkness and let out a deep breath that he didn't even know that he was holding. He gazed around madly with the calculated moves of a hunter, butt of the shotgun pressed against his shoulder and stance shortened in case he needed to dodge or dart in the opposite direction.
There was suddenly a blast of cold as Dean was thrown backwards. He rolled sideways almost to the grave that he had dug. He smiled shyly as he stood up and hurried to light to match. He quickly struck the match against the box and threw it in the grave. Mrs. Charleton let out a scream as her casket went up in flames along with her bones. She looked down at her rapidly disintegrating form before she suddenly disappeared right in front of Dean’s eyes with a guttural scream.
"See, was that so hard," he muttered to himself as he stood up and tried to brush the dirt and mud off of his jeans as well as he possibly could. A moment later his attention turned to the most important thing: Sam.
Dean rushed over and kneeled beside his brother, planting a hand on his shoulder.
Sam hadn't moved so much and now his eyes were now closed. His chest rose and fell sporadically as though he couldn’t get a full breath in. Dean knew that if he couldn't let Sam sleep before, then he certainly couldn't now with the fever and the possibility of a concussion. "Sam, come on. You gotta wake up for me. Sammy!"
He suddenly shook Sam's shoulders against his better judgement and Sam moaned as he opened up one eye. "Whadt," he complained hoarsely, stuffiness settling deep in his sinuses.
Momentary relief coursed through Dean’s veins. “Come on, bitch. Let's get you back to the motel," Dean grunted as he grabbed Sam's arm and struggled to lift him with Sam basically being dead weight. Dean fought to keep him upright with Sam moaning and squeezing his eyes shut while hopelessly sniffing back milky mucus that threatened to spill from either nostril.
"Hurts," complained Sam when they had taken one step and he had almost collapsed to his knees. It was only Dean’s grip and quick thinking that kept him on his feet.
Dean almost dragged himself forward as he tried to at least keep Sam talking. "What? What hurts?"
"My head," complained Sam as he lifted a hand to his head and almost beat the side of it with a semi-closed fist.
Dean grabbed his hand just in time to stop him. He flinched as Sam twisted out of his grip. Clearly Sam was a little stronger than he cared to admit.
“I know it hurts. I’m not surprised in the least it hurts,” Dean murmured with a faint glance at the gash still seemingly blaring at him, leaking fresh blood down the side of his face. Sam didn’t even appear to notice.
"Why," Sam asked in case it wasn't damn near obvious.
"Because you have a concussion. As if a cold wasn't enough to deal with."