Life in the Fast Lane

His sleep had been fitful since it had begun. He tossed and turned, body aching, strange horrific dreams invading his mind. And he was cold. Unbelievably cold. Hours of his nightmare dragged on, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, the sheets and blanket the motel room provided scraped against his raw skin with their rough make up.

Suddenly something icy touched his forehead. He groaned in his semi conscious state, pulling away; but it followed him. Whatever it was, he wished it would go away.


Dean hadn't been able to sleep and envied Sam for making it look so easy. He noticed the tossing and turning. He figured it was the uncomfortable beds they were accustomed to. He didn't, however, see Sam wince every so often, or see that Sam was burying himself deeper and deeper under the covers.

He was jolted awake from a short-lived doze when Sam groaned aloud. He stood up, waiting to make sure he hadn't imagined the noise. When Sam groaned again he immediately went to him.

He carefully pulled the covers away from Sam's face so he could see him. Sam's cheeks were flushed to a deep red, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He was shivering under the covers and he cringed when his face was exposed to the open air.

Dean gently laid the back of his hand on Sam's forehead. He frowned, brows coming together and worry instantly filling his body at how hot Sam's head was.


Sam groaned again, his face screwing up in discomfort. His eyes peeled open slowly. He saw what the source of the cold was. His brother's hand. Dean was looking at him, concern deep in his face.

"You feelin' okay, Sammy?" He asked quietly. Sam shook his head. Sam didn't acknowledge right away that Dean didn't know why he felt so awful.

He hadn't seen her in two weeks. Two whole weeks. His body was both confused and trying to fix itself. It was a painful task.

Dean didn't know, or he chose to ignore it.

"You got a fever, buddy," He said. Sam could hear fear in his voice. Another wave of tremors shook Sam's tired body. He winced deeply. Dean bit his lip. "Alright, I'll be right back." He said, disappearing from Sam's view.

Sam shut his eyes, trying to get through the dull pounding in his head with little success. He barely noticed when Dean sat back down. In fact, he didn't notice until Dean slipped the thermometer in his mouth. He grunted and tried to jerk away out of reflex. He couldn't. His head was so heavy.


"Easy, Sammy," Dean said. "It's okay." It beeped a few minutes later. Dean eased the thermometer out of Sam's mouth, instinctively rubbing his baby brother's forehead. His heart gained speed when he saw the numbers. 103.7. He swallowed hard, rubbing Sam's burning forehead again.

"Okay. Okay, Sammy, hang on just a minute. I'll be right back."


Once again, Dean disappeared from Sam's view. He was shaking almost violently. He was so cold. And his face was so hot. He felt utterly miserable. But Dean was here. Dean would take care of him.

You don't deserve it, A voice told him. You've been lying to him, and you've never been there for him since he got out. You don't deserve him taking care of you.

"I know." Sam whispered, shutting his eyes.

They flew open when something very, very, very cold touched his forehead. He whimpered, trying desperately to get away from it.

"Hey, hey, easy, Sammy," Dean said softly. "I told you it'd be cold."


Dean got the wash cloth wet with cold water and rung it out. He went back into the motel room and sat next to his brother.

"This is gonna be cold, Sammy."

"I know." Sam whispered, closing his eyes. Dean carefully laid the rag on his forehead. Sam's eyes snapped open. He whimpered frantically, trying to squirm away from it.

"Hey, hey, easy, Sammy," Dean soothed, taking the cloth off of his face. "I told you it'd be cold." Sam blinked a few times, registering what was happening. Dean gently dabbed his face, wincing when Sam whimpered.

"It's okay, buddy," He assured. "It'll be alright." Dean pushed two Tylenol in Sam's mouth and pressed a glass of water to his lips. Sam shuddered when he swallowed.

"Try and go back to sleep, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Sleep's probably the best thing for you right now, okay?" Sam nodded and started to close his eyes.


Nausea swept over him quickly, blind-sighting him. He sat up and stumbled into the bathroom. He wretched painfully in the toilet. His stomach heaved and rolled. The air around him was freezing, his body trembled, painful tears welled in his eyes. The bile stung his throat horribly. He coughed hard, the feeling ripping his chest. The coughs turned to sobs as his stomach continued to roll.

He felt a hand rubbing his back.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's alright, let it out. Shh…"

Tell him, The voice begged. Tell him, please. He can help you.

"No he can't!" He thought hopelessly. "He's hurt enough without knowing what I've done!"

He deserves to know why you keep leaving him!

"I can't…I can't…" He breathed, stomach still pushing up nothing. He collapsed back into his brother, who caught him easily.

Sam's breathing was heavy and labored. He gasped between sobs in Dean's arms.

"You're okay, Sammy. It's gonna be okay."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam cried softly. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh…It's okay, Sammy. Don't' be sorry, it's not your fault you're sick." Sam cried harder.

"N-no, Dean you do-don't understand-"

"Shh, it's okay, Sammy. It's okay, shh…It's not your fault." Whether Dean thought Sam was babbling in his fevered state or truly did not want to know, Sam had no idea.


Dean, however, did. Sam's fever was very high, his thoughts muddled. He didn't know what he was saying.

Sam lurched out of his arms, his face falling once more into the toilet.

"I'll be right back, Sammy." Dean assured. He went back into the motel room, knowing that Sam would probably be in the bathroom all night. He grabbed the pillow and blanket off of Sam's bed, the glass of water, the thermometer and the Tylenol.

He set everything down when he came back into the bathroom and started rubbing Sam's back, comforting his little brother.


Sam's throat was on fire, ravaged by the bile. His chest was tight and ached, his head pounded.

"Dean…" He whimpered.

"Shh…Let it out, Sammy. It's okay, just let it out. Shh…" Sam fell back once more, stomach empty and finally finished.


Dean draped the blanket over Sam's shaking shoulders. He put the pillow in his lap and gently lowered Sam's head onto it.

"I don't feel good, Dean." Sam whimpered.

"I know, I know, Sammy. It's okay. I'll get you better. Shh…" He brushed Sam's bangs out of his face, wishing he could make everything go away right now. But he couldn't.


Sam held onto his brother, tears seeping into the pillow.

You see what you're doing to yourself?

"I just have to make sure I don't drink it all next time."

You need to stop. Look at what it does to you. Look at what she's doing to you!

"I can't. I can't…"


Life in the fast lane

Surely make you lose your mind


--Next chapter should make u less angry, i hope (if u r angry). Please review!--